I can actually read the label.

It takes a moment or two to find, granted. Initially, I'm too distracted by the fact that there's a large, leather trunk sitting outside my front door to even think there might be a label. But then, sure enough, my fingers brush up against a small piece of heavy parchment, and the braille reads as plain as day.

To Matt Murdock.

I suppose it is that time of year, isn't it?

Curious as to what's inside -- and fairly confident it isn't a guide dog to go with the laser cane I rarely use -- I slide my thumbs along the seam in search of a latch, coming across a cool brass keyhole with a key stuck inside. Slipping the key into my trouser pocket, I push open the trunk right out on the front porch, and stick my hand in.

Is that--?

"Silk."

A tie. No, wait-- A labelled tie. A small metal tab's been sewn into the back.

Blue, white stripes.

Could it be the Island's actually given me something useful?