Bruce remained by the window for several moments after Kieran disappeared back toward the ballroom, staring out over Gotham while the city glittered beneath him. Behind the closed doors, the gala continued as though nothing of importance had happened. Music drifted faintly through the corridor, accompanied by the muffled murmur of hundreds of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter from people who had never needed to worry about what happened in Gotham's darker corners.
Then he heard Kieran.
That laugh.
It carried through the doors with irritating ease, warm and genuine enough to convince anyone listening that Kieran Everleigh was having the time of his life. Bruce knew better. He had spent enough time studying the man to understand that the charm was not merely something Kieran wore when necessary. It had become almost indistinguishable from the man himself.
Ra's al Ghul was in Gotham, Bruce's jaw tightened.
That was the part he couldn't let go of.
He had known Ra's was moving pieces around the world. He had suspected the League might eventually take an interest in the Continental, especially as Kieran's influence expanded, but suspicion was different from certainty. Ra's was careful. His movements were difficult to track even when Bruce knew where to look, and somehow Kieran had learned that the immortal had come to Gotham before Bruce had even realized he was there.
How?
Bruce's mind immediately returned to the comment about Talia.
She wouldn't have told Kieran anything of their past so how did he know.
Of that, he was certain. Whatever history existed between Talia and the man calling himself Kieran Everleigh, she had no reason to hand him information about her. If anything, she would have gone out of her way to conceal it.
So how had he known?
Bruce considered the possibility that the answer was connected to whatever abilities Kieran possessed. The man's physiology was already difficult enough to explain. Enhanced strength, speed, durability, accelerated recovery and a psychological profile that seemed to change depending on which persona was in control had made him an anomaly even before Bruce discovered how extensive Kieran's network had become.
Perhaps his abilities extended beyond the physical and mental. Over the years Bruce dissected Kieran's ability to influence emotions it seems he can't influence those with a strong mental fortitude.
Telepathy was already ruled out so what was it?
perhaps the more disturbing possibility was that Kieran possessed capabilities Bruce hadn't even begun to identify.
Bruce hated that possibility. He hated even more that he couldn't dismiss it.
The ballroom doors opened behind him, and Bruce finally turned away from the window. Whatever questions were circling through his mind, he couldn't afford to pursue them here. Not tonight. There were too many eyes in the room, too many cameras, too many people watching every interaction between Gotham's wealthiest families.
He straightened his jacket and deliberately allowed his expression to change.
The tension disappeared first.
Then came the relaxed posture, the slight looseness in his shoulders, and finally the familiar smile that Gotham had come to expect from Bruce Wayne.
The playboy returned.
Bruce stepped back into the gala.
The atmosphere immediately swallowed him. A donor from one of Wayne Enterprises' charitable foundations intercepted him before he had made it five steps, enthusiastically discussing the restoration project while Bruce nodded along and offered the occasional laugh. He accepted congratulations, shook hands, posed for photographs, and listened patiently as wealthy Gothamites explained why they believed the city could be saved through another enormous donation.
It was exhausting.
It was also necessary.
Bruce glanced across the room. Kieran was already working the crowd.
He stood surrounded by donors, businessmen, and several members of Gotham's social elite, holding court with a glass in one hand while entertaining some story being told by an elderly industrialist. Every few seconds Kieran laughed, touched someone's shoulder, or offered a perfectly timed compliment.
He looked completely at home.
Kieran had only gotten better at this.
Years ago, there had been something slightly artificial about him when he entered these circles. His clothes had been perfect, his manners impeccable, but there had always been a sense that he was studying the room rather than belonging to it.
That was gone now.
Kieran didn't look like a man pretending to be one of Gotham's elite. He looked like he had been born among them.
Worse, Gotham seemed to believe it.
The city had accepted him. Businesses respected him. Politicians wanted his support. Charities wanted his donations. Socialites wanted him at their tables. Even people who had once been suspicious of the mysterious owner behind the Continental now spoke about him as though he were an established pillar of Gotham's upper class.
He had become respectable.
Far too respectable.
Bruce's gaze remained on him as Kieran said something that caused the group around him to laugh. Kieran's own laugh followed, effortless and infectious.
Then, as though sensing Bruce watching him, Kieran turned.
Their eyes met across the ballroom.
Kieran smiled.
Bruce smiled back.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Kieran excused himself from the group and crossed the ballroom.
"Bruce," he said when he reached him, his voice warm enough for everyone nearby to hear. "There you are. I was beginning to think I'd offended you."
Bruce gave him an easy laugh. "You? Never."
"I'll consider that a compliment."
"It was meant as one."
Kieran glanced toward the crowd around them and lowered his voice just enough to make their conversation seem private without actually becoming secretive. "I'm glad we had the chance to speak. I was worried our little conversation might put a damper on the evening."
"Not at all," Bruce replied. "Business is business."
Kieran's smile widened.
"Exactly. Besides, if we allowed a little competition to ruin a friendship, we'd both be rather poor businessmen."
Bruce raised his glass slightly, "To competition, then."
Kieran tapped his own glass against it.
"And friendship."
Bruce could feel eyes on them from across the room, and he knew Kieran understood the same thing. So they played their parts.
They laughed.
They discussed the gala.
Kieran complimented Wayne's contribution to the restoration project while Bruce praised the Continental's expansion and its growing presence in Gotham. To anyone watching, they looked like two wealthy businessmen who genuinely enjoyed one another's company.
Bruce even laughed when Kieran made a joke about one of Gotham's notoriously difficult councilmen.
It felt wrong.
Not because the act was difficult.
Because it wasn't.
Kieran had become frighteningly good at it.
Bruce watched him work the room for another few minutes, moving seamlessly between conversations and adjusting his personality to match whoever stood in front of him. With one person he was charming and self-deprecating. With another he was serious and business-minded. With a third he was warm enough to make them feel like old friends.
No indication that the man beneath the smile was anything other than exactly what Gotham believed him to be.
Bruce had spent years learning how to disappear behind a mask.
Kieran had apparently learned how to make the entire city forget he was wearing one. Everyone knew at the back of their minds what Kieran really did.
And that, more than anything else he'd seen tonight, unsettled Bruce.
Because if Kieran could blend into Gotham this completely, then Bruce had to ask himself a question he wasn't sure he wanted answered.
What would happen if he were to get taken out of the city? He has rooted himself deeply any disturbance would set the underpass on a war path and business crashing.
Bruce took another sip of champagne, his eyes crinkled into a smile. He learned something tonight Kieran couldn't hide despite his perfect act.
His plan to choke him out with money was annoying Kieran, he will make a mistake.
****
A folder thumped onto the table in front of Quentin, "this just came in from rat catcher sir." Quentin nodded and plucked it from the table
He opened the folder and began to skim a frown forming on his lips as he continued to read, "I hate when I'm right." He sighed and stood
"Prepare a car."
***
A black sedan rolled into the rear lot of the Iceberg Lounge, followed closely by three identical vehicles. Their headlights swept across the cracked pavement before disappearing beneath the building's overhang. The middle sedan came to a stop, and almost immediately the rear door opened. Nolan stepped out wearing a perfectly tailored black suit with a red tie resting neatly against his shirt. Two men emerged behind him while another pair stepped from the accompanying vehicles, forming a loose security detail around him without making a spectacle of it.
Nolan paused before entering the building, his attention briefly wandering toward the homeless men and women gathered around the edges of the lot. Some watched him from beneath blankets while others sat against the brick walls, their faces illuminated by the weak glow of the security lights.
He gave them a small nod. His gaze moved settling on a small rat sitting beside a dumpster, staring directly at him with its nose twitching. Nolan gave it a slight nod before smiling to himself. "Evening." The rat vanished beneath the dumpster, and Nolan chuckled as he walked inside.
The moment he entered the back of the Iceberg Lounge, Penguin's men made way for him. They knew who he was, and more importantly, they knew the arrangement between Cobblepot and the Continental. Nolan passed through the first checkpoint as he passed two of his guards stayed behind. This pattern followed for each checkpoint.
The double doors leading into Cobblepot's office opened before Nolan could reach them.
"Well, look at you," Cobblepot said from behind his desk, a cigar burning between his fingers. His eyes traveled over Nolan's immaculate suit before settling on his face. "Walking in here like you fucking own the place. Wasn't long ago you scurried around me."
Nolan's mouth curved into a faint smile as he stepped farther into the office. "I don't remember ever scurrying around you, Oswald, but I suppose we remember those days differently. Regardless, I haven't come here to reminisce."
Cobblepot leaned back in his chair, studying him through the smoke. "Then what the hell do you want?"
Nolan accepted the chair offered to him with a quiet nod but declined the cigar and whiskey when Cobblepot gestured toward them. He settled comfortably into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. "I have a problem. While traveling back to Gotham from Metropolis, I discovered that assassins were waiting for me on my plane. Normally I wouldn't find that particularly interesting, considering the nature of my profession, but the circumstances were unusual. The return trip wasn't planned, and the aircraft was arranged through a rather discreet service that I only know one other person in Gotham to use."
Cobblepot's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"
"I'm not accusing you of anything," Nolan replied calmly. "Not yet, anyway. I didn't want to draw conclusions before I had evidence, so I kept my suspicions private and had a few people investigate the matter. Imagine my surprise when they came back with something rather interesting. Apparently, the man who arranged the assassination came through the Iceberg Lounge, and the order ultimately traced back to you."
Cobblepot's expression hardened immediately. "I didn't do shit, Everleigh. We have a deal, and I respect my fucking deals."
Nolan studied him for several seconds, and the faint smile on his face became almost sad. "That's precisely what confused me. You couldn't possibly have thought the assassination would succeed, because you're not stupid enough to believe that killing me would somehow end this arrangement. You know what would happen if you broke our agreement, and you know me well enough to understand that I would come looking for whoever was responsible."
His fingers began tapping slowly against the armrest. "So I investigated further. That's when I noticed something interesting. Your newest project isn't here tonight."
Cobblepot's expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
"Ignatius Ogilvy."
Cobblepot took a long drag from his cigar and slowly exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling. "I understand." He reached toward the communicator on his desk and pressed the button. "Bring me Ignatius."
The wait was mercifully short. The double doors opened again, and two guards escorted a tall blond man into the room. Ignatius looked confused as he entered, his eyes moving between Cobblepot and Nolan before settling on his employer. "Boss, what's going on?"
Cobblepot didn't answer immediately. He simply stared at him, the disappointment in his expression becoming more apparent with every passing second. "You tell me, Ignatius."
Ignatius looked toward Nolan and immediately shook his head. "Whatever he's told you, boss, it's a lie. I swear to God, whatever this is, I didn't—"
"I took you in," Cobblepot interrupted.
The anger had disappeared from his voice, replaced by something far worse.
"I took you in when you had nothing. I taught you everything I knew. I gave you responsibility when everyone else in this city would have looked at you and seen another disposable street rat. I trusted you with my people, my businesses, my secrets, and eventually I started treating you like family." Cobblepot's jaw tightened as he looked at the younger man. "And this is how you repay me?"
Ignatius stared at him in disbelief. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Let me guess," Cobblepot said, rising slowly from his chair. His expression remained remarkably calm as he stepped around the desk. "You thought that if Everleigh died, I'd have no choice but to give you more responsibility as the Iceberg expanded. You'd become indispensable. Then, if he survived, you'd simply make sure he traced everything back to me. I'd be dead, you'd inherit what remained, and you'd finally get the position you believed you deserved."
Ignatius's face paled.
Cobblepot stopped several feet away from him. "Does that sound about right, Ignatius?"
For several seconds, Ignatius said nothing. Then the fear in his expression gave way to anger, and the anger became something uglier. "You let this fucking snake run Gotham!" he shouted, pointing toward Nolan. "We used to run this city! We had respect! Now he comes in from nowhere, buys a few buildings, puts on a fucking suit, and suddenly everybody treats him like he's royalty. He's not even from Gotham!"
His voice grew louder as the resentment he'd apparently carried for years finally spilled free. "You've all grown fucking weak! Every one of you! I deserve to take over because I'm willing to do what you won't. I deserve to snuff these fakes out and take back what belongs to us! What happened to the great Oswald Cobblepot? What happened to the man who used to make people tremble when he walked into a room? Now you're sitting here letting some fucking outsider treat you like a dog!"
Cobblepot listened until Ignatius finally fell silent, breathing heavily.
The old crime lord looked at him for a long time.
Then his expression softened.
"I remember when you were a boy," Cobblepot said quietly. "You couldn't have been more than sixteen. You'd been beaten half to death in an alley, and when one of my men tried to help you, you bit him."
Ignatius's anger faltered.
Cobblepot gave a small, almost mournful smile. "I remember thinking that you reminded me of myself. That was why I kept you. I thought perhaps I was giving another version of myself the chance I never had."
His smile disappeared.
"I should have realized that was a warning."
"Boss…" Ignatius whispered.
Cobblepot shook his head. "If your idiotic plan had worked and Everleigh had died, there wouldn't have been an Iceberg Lounge tomorrow. You seem to have forgotten something important, Ignatius. You weren't killing a businessman. You were killing the man who currently keeps half of Gotham's criminal world from turning against this place."
He glanced toward Nolan before looking back at Ignatius. "If you had succeeded, Everleigh's men would have come looking for whoever was responsible. If they traced it here, they would tear this building apart brick by brick until they found the answer. You weren't taking over my empire. You were setting fire to it."
Cobblepot reached toward the umbrella stand beside his desk and wrapped his fingers around one of the ornate umbrellas resting there. Ignatius watched him, suddenly understanding what was about to happen.
"Cob," he said quietly, taking an instinctive step backward.
Cobblepot looked at him with something approaching genuine sorrow. "I'm going to teach you one final lesson, Ignatius. For old times' sake."
The umbrella came up.
Ignatius barely had time to react before Cobblepot pulled the trigger.
The concealed weapon discharged at point-blank range, the blast tearing violently through Ignatius's torso and throwing him backward into the wall. Blood sprayed across the dark wood paneling as his body struck hard enough to rattle the framed photographs hanging nearby. He collapsed onto the carpet, leaving a widening stain beneath him as the room fell completely silent.
Cobblepot remained standing with the umbrella lowered in his hand.
For several seconds, he didn't look at Nolan. He simply stared at the body of the young man he'd once taken from an alley and raised into one of his most trusted lieutenants.
When he finally spoke, his voice had lost all of its usual arrogance.
"I really did love that boy."
Nolan's expression softened.
"I know."
Cobblepot swallowed, his eyes remaining fixed on Ignatius. "That's the worst part, isn't it? When someone you love betrays you, you don't get to decide which part hurts more. The betrayal or the fact that you still remember why you loved them in the first place."
Nolan didn't offer some empty reassurance. There wasn't anything useful he could say. Instead, he allowed the silence to sit between them while Cobblepot stared down at what remained of the man he'd once considered family.
Eventually, Cobblepot pressed the communicator on his desk. "Get him cleaned up. And make sure nobody outside this room hears anything about what happened here."
His guards entered and began carefully removing the body.
Nolan watched them work, his expression unreadable.
—-
A/N: Ignatius is actually a really cool character. Sadly I wish I built him up more but, this is a good look into what the Gotham crime scene operates like currently.