"Betrayaaaalll," I whined from the floor.
"Goddammit, you're the boss. Show some dignity!" Cobblepot scowled at me over the papers spread across his desk. "I'm already running myself ragged keeping this damn thing together. The least you can do is stop being a pain in my ass."
I rubbed my chin as I contemplated his completely fair complaint. "Okay."
"Fucking finally, you're listening to reason—"
"Just give me a couple hundred million dollars, and I'll go." I made sure to give him my most sincere look. "Pretty please?"
Cobblepot dropped the papers onto his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you think money grows on trees?"
"Yes."
I waved my hand and pulled a small potted plant from my inventory. A long green stalk rose from the soil, but instead of normal leaves, clusters of green dollar bills sprouted from its branches.
It had been born from one of my failed experiments with a shapeshifting potion and a little help from Ivy. Unfortunately, the money eventually rotted and felt like leaves to the touch, but the bills looked almost exactly like the real thing.
Cobblepot quietly stared at the plant for a long moment.
"You know what? I'm not even going to question that." He pinched his brow harder. "Let me put this in simple fucking words, kid. We don't have the money."
He snatched up one of the papers and shoved it toward me.
"Do you have any idea how much overhead the Union has? We've got competitive wages for every schmuck working under us, payouts to all the freelancers you keep dragging in, party expenses, property costs, equipment, transportation, and enough bribes to make half the city look the other way."
Cobblepot slapped another sheet onto the desk.
"Then there's Poison Ivy's new foundation, the army of lawyers handling false charges, education funding, medical expenses, housing programs, and every other charitable whim you decided to throw money at." His glare sharpened. "We make a shitload of cash, but we spend almost as much keeping this whole circus running."
Cobblepot gestured toward the towering stacks of paperwork surrounding him.
"Honestly, it's a fucking miracle the entire thing hasn't exploded yet."
"But…" I leaned forward. "We are making money, though?"
"Yes!" Cobblepot threw both hands into the air. "Boatloads, shitloads, craploads, every kind of load! Your potions are selling like hotcakes, and somehow most of our real estate is booming."
"What's the problem, then?"
"I didn't want to become an accountant!" He slammed his fist against the desk. "But with sums this large, I can't trust anyone else to handle them. We've made more in the past few weeks than I did throughout my entire fucking criminal career."
Cobblepot's anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He slumped into his chair and covered his face with one hand.
"Want me to send my angel friend over to help?"
"Dear God, yes…"
"Okay." I held out my hand. "She charges a pretty large commission, though, so pay up."
Cobblepot stared at me in defeated silence before pulling out his checkbook and scribbling down a number.
"Here's the most I can give you without impacting our operations." His forehead struck the desk. "Just leave, for God's sake."
"Awesome as always, Cobblepot!" I patted him on the shoulder as I grabbed the check.
I hummed to myself as I left his office and looked over the number. It wasn't a bad start toward what I wanted to build.
But I wanted something big.
Something that could rival Wayne Tower, at the very least. Maybe I could find a few investors to cover the rest.
Asking Bruce was the obvious choice, but getting money involved with friends only made things messy. I imagined that remained true even for trillionaires.
Still, maybe I could ask him to introduce me to some other major investors. Bruce probably rubbed shoulders with plenty of wealthy bigwigs.
Queen Industries or Kord Industries might be willing to hear me out.
Oliver Queen and Ted Kord were both supposed to be pretty cool from what I had heard. Even if they weren't interested, though, I could be very persuasive.
—
Oliver suddenly felt a chill crawl down his spine.
What the hell?
"You okay?" Black Canary asked.
"Yeah…" He glanced around the Watchtower's mess hall, but everything seemed perfectly normal. "I'm fine, just got the chills all of a sudden."
He shook his head. It was probably nothing.
—
Despite Lex's recent setbacks, the work never ended. Unlike some of his "compatriots" within the Light, he was far more flexible when it came to his planning. Losing Cadmus and the backing of Apokolips had been irritating, but the damage to his personal interests remained relatively minor.
Unlike the caveman and the senile old ghoul, who both seemed capable of focusing on only one objective at a time, Lex understood the value of adaptability.
It was a quality the two immortals had likely lost after spending centuries drowning in their own egos.
The loss of Project Doomsday and the investigation the so-called "heroes" had launched into Cadmus afterward were certainly vexing. Still, the research notes Lex had recovered, along with proof of the creature's capabilities, had already given him several ideas of his own.
Given enough time, he knew he could create something even better. When that day came, he would relish watching it break the pretentious alien squatting in his city.
Even the few advancements he had extracted from Apokoliptian technology had already proven useful. They were mostly minor improvements to existing materials and chemical processes, but once implemented, they would likely earn LexCorp another few billion dollars.
Let it never be said that Lex Luthor allowed anything to stand in the way of progress, even if it meant coming to Gotham.
Lex stared out the skyscraper window overlooking Gotham City. It was a cesspit filled with deranged monsters and mindless trash, all of them crawling through streets that seemed determined to remain filthy no matter how much money was poured into them.
He had never felt any desire to expand LexCorp's presence in Gotham beyond what was strictly necessary. Unfortunately, necessity had brought him here. To fully capitalize on his recent discoveries and maximize profit, dealing with Wayne Enterprises was unavoidable.
LexCorp was the superior company, of course. However, when it came to importing foreign materials, Wayne Enterprises held a slight advantage in international logistics.
"Apologies for the wait."
Bruce Wayne approached with a sheepish smile before launching into the usual pleasantries.
Lex resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the brainless fool, listening with only half an ear as Wayne continued speaking. Still, he was hardly the most wretched thing Gotham had produced.
Lex suppressed a shiver as the memory of that smell resurfaced.
"Is something wrong?" Wayne asked.
"Nothing." Lex straightened his cuffs. "Let us finish our business."
This city truly was home to madmen. The sooner he completed the deal and left, the better.
"Of course. Let's just—"
"Bruce!"
A voice called out from across the building.
Lex scoffed at the interruption and glanced over the railing. His annoyance vanished the instant he recognized the approaching figure.
Jean Valjean.
The primary suspect responsible for Klarion's disappearance and, far more importantly, the brute who had subjected Lex to that horrendous torture.
Valjean spotted them and raised one hand in an enthusiastic wave.
Lex immediately quickened his pace.
Bruce looked confused for a moment before glancing over the railing. The instant he saw Jean, his expression became strangely fixed.
No doubt he was equally eager to escape the approaching menace.
The two men began power walking away without another word.
"Heeey!" Jean called after them.
Neither acknowledged him. They continued forward as though they had heard nothing.
Lex risked a glance back and found the blasted man rapidly closing the distance.
"Walk faster, Wayne."
Bruce glanced over his shoulder before matching Lex's pace. "You know… sometimes I go jogging through Wayne Tower."
Of course the brainless hack would make a fool of himself in front of his entire company. As if Lex would ever stoop to—
"Heeey!"
Jean raised a familiar bottle above his head.
Lex paled and immediately increased his stride. "Well, what are you waiting for?"
They broke into a brisk jog, racing up the central staircase with as much dignity as either man could maintain.
Unfortunately, the madman failed to take the hint and continued chasing them.
"Heeey!" Jean Valjean shouted after them. "Why are you running?"
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.