Twenty-four hours after the raid, the counterattack began.
At noon, a lawyer whose name appeared on letterheads for half the corporate boards in Gotham stood before a crowd of reporters in Gotham Square. The man was immaculate. Behind him, a massive banner read: JUSTICE FOR MR. FALCONE.
Camera flashes went off like strobe lights as he began speaking.
"My client, Mr. Carmine Falcone, is a law-abiding entrepreneur and philanthropist who has made invaluable contributions to Gotham's economic development and social welfare for decades. The illegal items seized by the police during the dock operation have absolutely no connection to Mr. Falcone or any of his legitimate businesses. This is a targeted, irresponsible smear campaign. A reckless act by certain individuals who, for the sake of their own ambitions, are willing to undermine Gotham's overall stability. The GCPD has overstepped its authority, and we will not stand for it."
More flashes and questions shouted from reporters.
The lawyer raised a hand for silence.
"Mr. Falcone has been a pillar of this community for decades. He has donated millions to hospitals, schools, and charities. He has employed thousands of Gotham citizens. And now, because of baseless accusations and fabricated evidence, his reputation is being dragged through the mud by a commissioner who doesn't understand this city and a police force desperate to justify its own failures."
He held up a thick folder of documents.
"We have filed formal complaints with the mayor's office, the city council, and the District Attorney. We demand a full investigation into Commissioner Barnes' conduct, and we will not rest until Mr. Falcone's name is cleared."
The press conference lasted another twenty minutes. By the time it was over, new headlines were already being written:
"SHOCKING! Business Leader Falcone Smeared - Strong Protest Against Police Overreach."
"Stability at Risk? The Falcone Affair Triggers Chain Reaction in Political and Business Circles."
"Chief in the Eye of the Storm - Barnes Moves Forward Despite Praise and Threats."
The newspapers ran the photos: the lawyer in his expensive suit, holding his statement. Paired with enormous exclamation marks in the headlines, the images sped through the printing presses and hit the newsstands within hours, snatched up by thousands of eager hands.
Public opinion, which had been solidly behind Barnes that morning, began to fracture.
---
In a private office on the upper floors of a building in Gotham's financial district, Hamilton sat behind his desk, staring at the newspaper in his hands.
His fingers trembled slightly as he read the article for the third time.
He was normally the picture of composure. On television, he was warm, folksy, the kind of politician who could shake your hand and make you feel like he cared about your problems. His hair was always perfectly combed. His smile was always ready. He'd built a career on looking trustworthy.
Right now, he looked like a man on the edge of a breakdown.
His forehead was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, making his face look greasy and pale.
Across from him, standing in the center of the room, was Zsasz. He didn't move or speak. His eyes fixed on Hamilton with the kind of hollow, dead stare that made you feel like you were being measured for a coffin. He wasn't carrying any visible weapons. His presence alone radiated menace.
Hamilton's secretary, a young man in his mid-twenties who'd been standing near the door, tried to step forward. His voice shook as he spoke.
"Mr. Hamilton is just feeling a bit unwell. Maybe you could come back another—"
Zsasz tilted his head slightly. He made a soft sound in his throat.
The secretary froze mid-sentence. The color drained from his face. He stumbled backward until his shoulders hit the wall, then slid sideways toward the corner, trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible.
Zsasz still hadn't looked at him.
Hamilton swallowed hard. His mouth felt like it was full of sand.
"Mr. Falcone..." He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "What does he... what does this mean? Barnes was appointed through legal procedures. His work has been effective. The public—"
Zsasz moved.
It wasn't fast. He just walked slowly toward Hamilton's desk. When he reached the desk, he extended one finger and brushed it across the surface of a framed family photograph. In the picture, Hamilton was holding his young daughter. Both of them were smiling.
Hamilton's heart nearly exploded out of his chest.
"Mr. Falcone is very disappointed." Zsasz's voice was low and hoarse. "He thought you were a man who understood gratitude. Who understood what stability really means in this city. Stability doesn't come from the reckless antics of some outsider playing hero. It comes from rules and understanding how things work."
"I understand!" Hamilton blurted out, almost cutting him off. He was gripping the newspaper so hard it was starting to tear. "I understand the rules! But Barnes has supporters. The mayor's office approved his appointment. The dock operation earned him public support. I can't just—"
"Public support?" Zsasz tilted his head again. "That can be guided. The mayor will see reason as well, once the right conversations are had. Mr. Falcone sends his regards. He hopes you remain healthy and safe." Zsasz's finger drifted back to the photograph, tapping it lightly. "He hopes your wife continues to shine at her charity galas. And he especially hopes Lisa comes home safely from school. Every single day."
All the blood drained from Hamilton's face in an instant.
His lips trembled. His hands shook. He couldn't form words. Hearing his daughter's name spoken aloud by Zsasz was more effective than any direct threat could ever be. It painted a picture so vivid and horrifying, that his imagination did the rest of the work for him.
"Mr. Falcone doesn't wish to see anything unpleasant happen," Zsasz said quietly. "He's given you three days. Make the commissioner leave."
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. He disappeared into the shadows of the corridor like he'd never been there at all.
The office was silent.
A full minute passed before Hamilton seemed to lose all the strength in his body. He collapsed back into his chair, gasping for air. His shirt was completely soaked through with sweat. In the corner, the secretary slid down the wall and sat on the floor, staring at nothing, his face blank with shock.
Hamilton waved a trembling hand, and the secretary scrambled out of the office like his life depended on it. Once he was alone, he picked up the phone on his desk. His hands were still shaking as he dialed.
"I need you to dig into Barnes. And arrange a meeting with Thorne as soon as possible. I don't care what it takes."
He set the phone down and stared at the family photo on his desk.
"I never should've gotten involved in this shit," he muttered to himself.
But it was too late now.
---
Across town, in the mayor's office at City Hall, O'Brien was having his own version of the same conversation.
"Your operation was absolutely brilliant!" O'Brien walked around his desk and sat down next to Barnes. "But you have to understand, the pressure we're under right now is enormous."
He lowered his voice.
"Those accusations ultimately lack a direct evidentiary chain pointing to him personally. A lot of business associations are protesting. Donations are being withheld. For the sake of Gotham's overall stability, could we consider... maybe slowing things down? Or perhaps redirecting your talents toward other pressing public safety matters?"
Barnes looked at the mayor quietly. His eyes seemed to see right through the forced smile, past the politician's mask, straight to the fear underneath. He wasn't angry. If anything, he looked amused.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I understand your concerns," Barnes said evenly.
He stood up.
"But please convey this message to whoever's applying pressure, and to Falcone himself. I've seen intimidation before. On battlefields. In military tribunals. Anonymous phone calls? Media pressure? Passing messages through politicians?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "If he thinks these cheap tactics are enough to make me back down, then he's truly disappointed me."
O'Brien opened his mouth, but Barnes kept going.
"It only proves that the so-called Roman has already exhausted his bag of tricks. When faced with a real challenge, this is as far as he goes."
He straightened his posture and gave the mayor a crisp military salute.
"My duty is to cut out this city's cancer, no matter how polished the disguise it wears. The operation will continue. And if I fall on this path..." He smiled grimly. "It'll be my honor. Good day, Mr. O'Brien."
Barnes turned and walked out without another word.
O'Brien sat alone, staring at the closed door.
"Of all the people they could've sent me, it had to be that stubborn bastard." He rubbed his face with both hands. "What rotten fucking luck."
---
In the back seat of his official car, Barnes watched Gotham's streets rush past the window. The fighting spirit in his eyes burned even brighter than before.
Falcone's reaction had been entirely within his expectations. If anything, it was weaker than he'd anticipated.
You think bribes and threats can control everything? Times have changed. When your tricks stop working, what else have you got?
He smiled to himself.
This was going to be easier than he thought.
---
Back at the East End Precinct, things were more cheerful.
When a representative from Wayne Enterprises placed a sample check for one million dollars into Bob's hands, every cop in the building looked at Marco like he'd just performed the fucking loaves-and-fishes miracle.
"This is... really not necessary..." Marco muttered. He quickly helped Bob escort the Wayne representative out of the precinct lobby, pushing him toward the exit.
Once they were outside on the front steps, Bob lit a cigarette and took a long drag, his expression more relaxed than Marco had seen in weeks.
"Chief," Marco said quietly, jerking his thumb back toward the building. "We sorted out the loose ends?"
Bob exhaled smoke, squinting against the cold wind. "Still a few people left to deal with, but it shouldn't be a problem. None of them are clean anyway, and besides, who's going to pick a fight with someone who can make this kind of money fall from the sky?"
He paused, then frowned slightly.
"There is one thing, though. Barnes knows about how we covered for Cobblepot when Mooney turned on us. But he didn't mention what came after."
Marco's eyes narrowed. "You mean Flake?"
"Most likely. He's the only one who got kicked out before everything went down, and lost access to the information pipeline."
"Then I'll go find him—"
"Don't bother." Bob's expression turned cold, and he let out a laugh. "With his luck, he's probably already had an accident. These things have a way of working themselves out. Shh..."
His gaze shifted toward the parking lot. Marco turned and saw several officers getting out of unmarked cars, walking toward the precinct steps with purpose. Bob's demeanor shifted immediately. He plastered on a welcoming smile.
"Hey! Renee! What brings you all the way out to the East End?"
The lead officer, a sharp-looking woman in her early thirties with the kind of no-nonsense energy that screamed good cop, extended her hand. "Hello, Chief McGinnis."
She turned to Marco next, offering her hand. "Renee Montoya. Internal Affairs. Commissioner Barnes requested an investigation into you and the East End Precinct. Crispus Allen and several other IA colleagues will be stationed here to audit your accounts, both the precinct's and yours personally."
The air on the steps went still.
Marco and Bob exchanged a glance. Marco forced something resembling a smile.
"Well... you're certainly welcome. But procedurally speaking, couldn't you have just run a quiet investigation? No need to announce yourselves, right?"
Renee shrugged slightly. "In theory, sure. But what would I say instead? That I'm here for a picnic?"
She looked at Marco, and her expression softened just a fraction.
"I was on the ground beneath Wayne Tower that night. I saw how you fought. That unauthorized weapon you brought probably saved lives. Our casualties would've been a lot worse without it."
Bob and Marco led the IA team into the lobby. Renee raised a hand, stopping Bob before he could follow.
"No need to escort us. We'll find our own way to the finance department."
She turned to Marco.
"Captain Vitale, I'm required to advise you of your rights. You have the right to remain silent and to refuse to answer any questions from Internal Affairs without a lawyer present."
She paused, then added with a faint, rueful smile, "I'm not here to make trouble. But Commissioner Barnes did say that if I successfully close your case, I'm up for a promotion. So I won't be going easy on you either."
She gave them both a brief nod and walked into the building, her team following behind her.
Bob and Marco stood on the steps for a moment, watching them disappear into the precinct.
Marco let out a long breath.
"Well," he said quietly, "guess we'll leave it to fate."