Chapter Text
The city of Gotham has never been described as "sleepy" or "docile;" those words were better suited to the colonial giants. New York, Philadelphia - even Boston. It's hard to think of a city being busier than one of those, but Gotham seemed to be just so. Of course, it wasn't just the hum of cars or the racing of trains upon their tracks that made it feel so alive. Crime was ever present, organized and fierce, brooding yet capable of dangerous deeds.
Within the center of the aged city of some two-million residents were rows upon rows of distinctly unique and yet brutally similar skyscrapers and office buildings, glinting and gleaming in the clear summer day. Greatest of all were the Gotham Central Bank, the Ogilvy Law Center, and, of course, Wayne Enterprises Tower. It was directly outside of this latter building that a few choice men stood.
One might think that it's easy to pinpoint a gangster or some other criminal, especially in a crowd full of upstanding citizens. The fact of the matter is that it's anything but. The true character of a man lies within - it doesn't show itself easily. One might look into a crowd and see a thousand saints or a thousand sinners, but certainly not ten average men wearing average clothing usual for the chilling day of late October, with completely unsuspecting pork pie hats and second-hand trousers. Even the most skilled detective among the laymen would be more concerned with observing the newest hybrid car driving by than the men gathering together and nodding amongst one another.
Their leader stepped up and stared each of them down before silently motioning for them to cross the road. They did so amidst the congestion and stopped vehicles, masked by the rush of the citizenry to their next interview, errand, or entertainment. The doors of the Wayne Enterprises Tower were open, and more than a few people walked in and out. The security guards outside seemed unbothered and rather bored, but nevertheless did their due diligence (or at least the semblance of it) and cast an eye over those entering. The leader of the interloping group simply nodded to them with the hint of a well-meaning grin and meandered on in, followed by his cronies.
They had all just made it inside when a small device on his hip began to beep nearly silently. He picked it up and flipped it open, revealing a caller ID marked "unknown." Casting an eye to the nearest security guard, the man casually answered the call as his companions stood around patiently yet slightly unsettled.
"Yeah?"
"Cutting power in thirty seconds,"
"Copy."
He dropped the phone on the floor and smashed it with his foot, gaining the attention of a few onlookers. It was far too late, anyways. With a quick eye to his pals, he threw off his hat and peeled a black mask over his face, complete with simple protective armor; those with him used simple ski masks and likewise cast their low-brimmed hats aside. Withdrawing a submachine gun from the interior of his coat he raised it up to the high ceiling and fired off a burst of shots that caused the glass from the hanging chandeliers to rain down on startled occupants.
"Everyone down...this won't take long," he shouted as if almost bored, although that was the farthest thing from the truth. Two of his companions doubled back and wordlessly killed the nearby security guards as the rest in the main lobby, taken by surprise, slowly lowered their handguns to the floor. At that moment the lights went off, and a distinct thump could be heard as a number of elevators came to a sudden halt in their shafts.
The leader casually walked up to the main desk and chose a receptionist at random with the barrel of his gun; the young lady it landed on went as pale as the moon and began to quiver. "We're here for the key to the records room, doll; be a dear and reach into that drawer for it."
"T-t-the key is w-w-" She began, but he cut her off with an immediate impatience, as if she wasn't quite nailing her part.
"With the acting records manager and the general floor manager, yes, I know. What you don't know I know is that a backup key is in the drawer to the bottom left, in the vault that-" The man paused as one of his thugs manhandled a middle-aged businessman over, "-this strapping young fellow can unlock. By retinal scan." He added as the thug threw him across the desk and then jumped behind.
"I won't do shit for you-" The man began, but the thug whacked him across the head.
"The great thing about retinal scans is that we only really need the eye." The leader reminded him. The man looked around hopelessly for a moment before complying; the vault's recognition system buzzed approvingly as the door clicked open. With one final whack the businessman went down in a pile and the receptionist - at the prodding of the thug - reached in and grabbed the key. The leader slid effortlessly across the desk and pointed his gun at her as he took her by the neck. "For insurance." He proclaimed with a grin barely readable beneath his mask. He and the thug opened the door behind the lobby desk and fired blindly down it, clearing it of worried workers.
The records vault was surprisingly close to the lobby, but not without its challenges. More than one security guard attempted to waylay them, but it was all in vain as the two gangsters gunned them down with ease. A clerk at his desk stood up at the sudden intrusion of the thugs but was likewise shot dead before he could get a sentence out. "Open the vault, honey," the leader ordered, prodding her forward with the tip of his gun. Whimpering, she did as she was told and went to slide the electronic key, but the other thug stopped her. She looked at him confused, but a moment later the auxiliary power kicked on. "Now." He barked gruffly.
The vault's door accepted the key without suspicion and opened. "Thank you, doll," the leader stated smugly as he dropped her with a round before stepping in. The room was both larger than expected and smaller than imagined, which made their job of finding the correct file all the more challenging. "Look fast and don't bother checking twice - it should be a blue folder labeled "Members and Account Information;" it should be in one of these filing cabinets."
The two of them scrounged around for a lengthy minute as shouts could be heard in the lobby. "I found...files of Mark Rowley, Herbert Lingston...Bruce Wayne..." The other thug stated, rifling through them.
"They're not impor-here!" The leader exclaimed, pulling the desired file from its place. The other thug looked up excitedly, but instantly turned concerned as the file was shoved in his arms. "Go to the lobby and get those out. They'll be looking for me, and we want them to continue thinking that."
"B-but sir-"
"Now!" The leader yelled. The thug ran out of the vault, leaving the masked man with the remainder of the records. He looked at them all, years and years of meticulous notes not yet digitized or else kept for an extra layer of cushioning. He could torch it, he wanted to inflict a little chaos, but he knew the parameters of his mission. Sighing, he turned and walked out of the vault, taking care to shed his distinctive clothing and mask, but instead of turning towards the lobby he instead made his way to the opposite of the building. Using the keycard of the deceased clerk, he successfully gained the side street as gunfire could be heard.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out another phone, eyeing a nearby camera but knowing it had no line of sight on him. Dialing a number with practiced efficiency, he raised it to his ear and grinned.
"Hello?"
"It's done."
"And the evidence?"
"Planted, like you wanted.
"Good. There's going to be a shakeup, Sionis, once the lions eat themselves. You have a place in that."
"I'm counting on it."
~*~
"The attempted theft of our members' valuable personal information has been alarming, gentlemen," Mark Rowley stated as he stood at the forefront of the Wayne Enterprises Directory Table. The sentiment was generally accepted up and down the leather-padded seats, although a few notables - such as Lucius Fox - remained still and attentive. "The criminals captured have revealed Maroni to be behind the attempt."
"How will Falcone feel about that?" Asked one of the Directors from her seat near the Chief Director.
"As a member, I'm sure he's less than thrilled."
"The real question, Mr. Rowley, is how you've come by this information within just a few hours of the attack." Fox stated; not a question, but pointed.
"Privileged information. Speaking of which-" Rowley began, but was cut off by the door of the conference room sliding open decidedly. In stepped a young man, confident to the fullest extent of the term, yet lacking the bright go-gettedness of youth in his eyes. His practical walk to the head of the table seemed unbothered, but hidden within was a calculation.
"Speaking of what, Mr. Rowley?" Bruce Wayne asked as he placed a hand on his long-empty chair.
"Mr. Wayne...I would have thought you were in the Bahamas with your, ehem, choice companion," Mr. Rowley replied with obvious unease.
"The Maldives, actually, with companions, plural," Bruce replied, plopping down in the owner's chair and fighting the urge to mime choking on dust, "but when I heard about the tragedy that was the break-in this morning, I knew my place was here."
"Rest easy, Mr. Wayne: your information is safe." Mr. Jones spoke up from across the table with obvious contempt.
"But those who were there firsthand weren't. Debby at the desk and Charles at the vault definitely weren't."
"Bet he looked 'em up beforehand," one of the directors whispered near Mr. Fox, causing him to scowl.
"Point is, obviously Wayne Enterprises has suffered in my absence." Bruce stated.
"An absence which - excuse me, Mr. Wayne - you decided to take after finishing schooling for business." Mr. Rowley countered.
"I obviously didn't take what I learned to heart, it seems," Bruce cracked a grin that was just infectious enough to spark a chuckle or two around the table.
"Which is exactly what I'm afraid of, sir. I mean, naturally you have a right to come back after four years and take the helm, but are you ready for the responsibility?"
"I've managed my personal wealth more than aptly in that time, including what I inherited from the founder of Wayne Enterprises...my father. But don't you worry, Mr. Rowley: I have you, and Mr. Strange, and a few others who my father left responsibility to which can help, ah, guide me in my future endeavors."
"And will one of those future endeavors be to take the company public?" One of the directors asked.
"I'm sorry, folks - you'll have to get rich some other way." Bruce answered with a knowing look towards Mr. Fox. "Meeting adjourned." He announced, hopping up and smoothing out his dress coat.
"You can't just end the meeting-"
"But of course I can, I'm the owner. Besides, the files weren't really stolen, and I've already directed my people to take care of the families of the victims - and to take stock of the security measures around here." Bruce replied, stepping up to Mr. Rowley with a casual defiance that dared him to fight back.
"Your people? This should be handled in-house."
"It is being handled in-house, Mr. Rowley. My people are the house."
"Then can Wayne Enterprises use your people?" Asked one of the stunned directors.
Bruce stopped on his way out of the room and chuckled, though his eyes showed no great levity, "No - they're my people." He cracked a grin and nodded to Mr. Fox, who got up rather quickly for his older age and accompanied him out.
As the Directors gathered their things and began to exit the room, Bruce led Lucius down a side hall and out of earshot. "Thank you for notifying me. I found two of my phones tapped by someone here, but they don't have the "personal" one."
"You're the owner, Mr. Wayne: you deserve to know when people die in your own lobby."
"You know I don't like it when you call me by my father's name, especially since you knew him. You're the man I'm going to rely on most to help me clean this whole mess up. He trusted you, you know, and I'm ready to do the same."
"I'm not sure quite what I can do for you, Mr. Way-I mean...Bruce. I'm still only in charge of the experimental division, and they won't hardly let me in on their overall doings."
"But you're a Director-"
"Who isn't in line with the ideals of Mr. Rowley and some other bad actors." Mr. Fox replied.
"And who do you classify as bad actors?" Bruce asked, stopping the man in a secluded section of the walkway and away from any sort of camera or listening device; he had chosen his route well.
"Oh...nothing for certain...Maroni maybe...Falcone definitely...Hugo Strange took the Arkham division and ran wild with it - almost worse than the two dons combined."
"Falcone? And you know this for certain?"
"He is a member, Bruce."
"When did that happen?"
"Does it really matter when? Point is, he's a member now. It seems your escapades allowed the rodents to get into engine."
"Well, that's too bad - for them. I can replace the engine, I have the money to spare." Bruce stated dryly.
"What happens when the rodents have the means, too?"
"We'll just have to see."