Atop a House of Cards

The car barely came to a full stop before the canopy slid open and Batman was hauling himself out of the vehicle. His feet touched down before the engine stopped rumbling and he was walking straight for the supercomputer an instant later.

Last night had not been as fruitful as he liked it to be. His search of Quality Tool & Die had given him a couple leads, but none of which he could follow through right then and there. Thus he had returned to the Cave to make further progress. Admittedly, the sun was starting to rise, so his search had gone on for the entirety of the night.

Reaching the supercomputer, he immediately awoke it from its hibernation status. Ignoring all the other windows that had been running analysis on the backhoe the day prior, be began doing searches on the leads he had gathered. Z.E.A. was at the top of his list and the first search he performed.

Setting up a few more searches, he then checked the other windows, finding the analyses to be complete. The first he came across were shoe imprints found in the dirt around Alfred's grave. Eliminating his own shoe size, he inspected the findings, discovering there were four sets of footprints. So it had taken four men to remove Alfred's casket, give or take the backhoe operator. Each one wore men shoes, sizes ranging from 7 ½ to 12.

Minimizing that window, he moved to the next. This one was an analysis over the tire tracks found near the grave. According to the findings, it was a tire size belonging to a truck, or trailer. The model of tire was in line with a popular brand, so there wasn't anything too distinguishing there. Chances were it had to be a truck since the graverobbers would not want anyone seeing their cargo. A moving van, perhaps? Opening yet another window, he put in a command for moving van rentals, specifically by Thomas Payne, or Z.E.A.

One by one, he checked the other windows, closing them down if they didn't provide him any further leads, or setting them aside for further consideration. He even checked his searches, finding the computer still sorting through the trillions of—

No, wait, his search of moving van rentals completed. Focusing on that window, he saw there had indeed been a rental, this by Z.E.A...as represented by Payne. So Payne was definitely linked to this Z.E.A. Alright, who was this rental company and what more could they—

His computer beeped. Batman paused as he glanced at a flashing light. That one indicated a phone call was coming in to the Manor. A part of him wanted to ignore it and he was going to.

Except, his brain caught up and realized that wasn't an alarm for the house phone. It was to his cell phone.

Pulling off his mask, Bruce set it aside and allowed the fatigue of the night to affect him. It would make for a convincing, tired, and just waking up playboy billionaire. Hitting a button, he answered in a very grumpily tone, "Who is this and why are you bugging me?"

"Bruce, it's Lucius," came the response. Already, Bruce could feel his mood souring. Wayne Enterprises was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment and he really didn't have time nor cared what it wanted from him.

"What is it now, Lucius?" he whined. "I'm trying to—"

"You can sleep later." This caused the dark-haired man to blink his eyes in bewilderment. Lucius never cut him off like that, not unless he felt it was something of great importance. The thing was, he was usually right. "You need to get your butt to Wayne Enterprises immediately."

Bruce paused for a moment before he hesitantly asked, "What is this about, Lucius? Can't it wait for another hour or two?"

The line was silent for a moment before an aggrieved sigh came over the receiver. "No, this can't wait, Bruce. You need to get to Wayne Enterprises right now, or I swear to God I will drive out to your house and drag you here."

This was not happening. He had too many things going on right now to deal with the family business. Yet, the tone his long-time friend was using was warning him that perhaps he needed to at least check on this. "Alright, let me shower and get dressed. I'll be there—"

"Within the hour, Bruce," Lucius immediately cut him off. "That's all the time I think you have and I know you can make the drive here in less than that. Call me when you're on the way and I'll cover for any delays. Understand, this is not a joking matter."

And with that, Lucius ended the call. Owlishly, he stared at the computer console, unsure of what had just happened. He knew that Lucius wouldn't call him unless it was important and he wouldn't have used that tone with him if it wasn't. Perhaps he needed to heed the man this one time.

Glancing up at the computer monitor, he then shrank the windows until only the desktop was visible, not that it was loaded with desktop icons or anything. It was just a blank, black backdrop, only with several grey tabs at the bottom of the screen indicating all of the windows that were open and running programs.

Turning away, he began taking off his armor. There was a shower nearby, so he'd do a quick rinse off here and go upstairs to a nearby room. There would be a couple suits there that he could get dressed in quickly rather than making the entire trek back to his bedroom. There were a few other sets of clothes too, namely bed wear should he have unexpected company late at night.

Hopefully, whatever this business was at Wayne Enterprises, it would be dealt with shortly.

Bruce kept his stride even and slow. That was the walk of Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire. He rushed for no one and on one rushed him. A part of him was anxious about Lucius's call, but he couldn't act out of the ordinary.

Strolling to an elevator, one just so happened to open before he even pushed the button, a few people exited the elevator, which he in turn boarded. Hitting the button for the top floor, he waited patiently, one hand fidgeting with a cufflink, the only sign of his anxiety.

The moment the elevator doors opened, he stepped out, only to have a secretary—Lucius's to be exact—move right up next to him. "Mr. Wayne, Mr. Fox would like you to meet him at his office," she told him.

"Thank you," Bruce replied before he walked towards Lucius' office. It seemed everyone was just a step ahead of him as the man in question suddenly exited his office, his head snapping right to him.

"You've really done it this time, Bruce," Lucius said to him the moment he reached him, only for the older man to begin leading him towards the boardroom. "The Board is not happy with you."

Already, the younger man could feel his worry turn into annoyance. This is what he had been dragged up here for? The Board wanted to ream him? He had no patience for such things. "Is this why you had me drag myself out of bed?" he asked, doing nothing to hide his irritation.

Lucius shot him a look, one that plainly told him not to act petulant. And there was something else, something warning him. "I've been warning you about this for years, Bruce," he reprimanded him. "I told you something like this could happen and you let it. Your negligence is coming home to roost and by God, if I have to drag you in there, I will. We have a ton of damage control to do and I don't think this meeting is going to solve all of it."

Bruce would have let out an aggrieved sigh, but did so internally. There was only so much childishness he was willing to exhibit, especially to Lucius. The man did have his own interests in mind. "Alright, let's get this over with," he grumbled.

By then, the two men had reached the door to the boardroom, Lucius opening it. The moment Bruce passed through the threshold, he found the Board in its entirety staring back at him. Glancing from face to face, the ones that he could see anyways, he read them in an instant. Some were defiant in their gaze while a few looked away uncomfortably.

And then there was Lincoln March. The man was looking right back at him, expectantly, coolly. Walking around the table, Bruce found his chair and took a seat, Lucius doing the same at the head of the table. "So, I understand you wish to see me?" he prompted the group.

"That's right, Bruce," Lincoln replied as he shifted in his seat. "The Board has many concerns in regards to your absenteeism and neglect of the company."

The billionaire stared at the man. "Has Wayne Enterprises been losing money?" he questioned. He looked to the rest of the Board. "Has my management caused this company any problems?"

"Oh, there have been problems." Lincoln opened a folder that was resting in front of him. Lifting up a piece of paper. "Your...nightly shenanigans...have been hurting the company's image."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, but my personal life has nothing to do with Wayne Enterprises."

"It does when incidents like the Man-Bats serum occurs," Lauren Granger spoke up, surprising the dark-haired man. "You going out and partying when so many people in Gotham were affected by those attacks were out-of-touch and hurt this company's reputation. It took years before we recovered from that fiasco."

"As I recall, that was due to our pharmaceutical branch not monitoring the projects," Bruce defended before glancing to March. "And you just happen to be the director of that branch, March."

"But it is your job as CEO to also know about the company's projects, which you always are ill-informed and oblivious," the man countered. "There have been numerous attacks on Wayne Enterprises employees during your tenure as well. And then, you haven't even been promoting Wayne Enterprises at those parties you're supposed to attend. In fact, you haven't been attending any of them. I would know since I do attend and I don't see you."

Bruce wanted to scowl, but that was not in line with his public persona. "I've had other obligations that—"

"That's another thing." It was Brian Jennings who interrupted him. "We've heard this excuse before and no one knows what that means. I believe the Board deserves to be informed."

This time he couldn't help but narrow his eyes slightly. "Again, what I do in my personal life is just that—personal. You have no reason, or right, to ask me that. Wayne Enterprises has had record profits that last few quarters."

"But is that because of you, or in spite of you?" March pressed. "With your absence at functions, not to mention your neglect of the company's inner workings, it has to be asked what exactly are you contributing."

Slowly, Bruce began looking at each and every face of the Board, seeing many that hadn't been able to look him in the eye earlier staring right at him. It was as if everyone here was ganging up on him. Even Lucius was just watching the proceedings, his hands clasped together in front of his face.

"Alright, what's going on here?" Bruce demanded, allowing some of his anger to leak out. "What is this meeting about?"

March straightened out his posture as he closed the folder in front of him. "There is a growing number of people that believe that Wayne Enterprises can function without you being present. In fact, we've been doing that for the last couple of years. This meeting isn't to address our concerns with you.

"This is a meeting to vote you out as CEO."

A cold, numb feeling overwhelmed Bruce, flowing throughout his body. This...this couldn't be happening. Slowly at first, then with the rush of a wildfire, rage burned through the dark-haired man. "You have to be joking." He openly scowled, directing his ire right at March. "No, you're insane. There is no way I'd allow you to vote me out. This is my family's company and I will be damned if you take it from me."

"You don't have a choice in the matter." March leaned forward in his seat, a look very much like a shark writing itself over his face. "All it takes is a supermajority of the board to remove you. We'll of course offer you an acceptable severance package—"

Bruce slammed a hand down on the table, startling the Board as many looked at him with wide eyes as he cut off March. "I don't have time, or the patience for this farce!" he shouted. Standing up, his chair sliding across the floor before toppling over, clattering on the polished floor, the billionaire said, "I will not stand for—"

"That's enough!" Dithers roared as he glared at the younger man. "You've done enough damage and it is well within the Board's right to consider your aptitude for your position. You've only yourself to blame." He then leaned forward in his seat to emphasize his next words. "Now sit down, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce couldn't help himself. "I...will...not," he growled, his voice dropping out of his high-octave billionaire voice into the lower-register of Batman. It took him a moment to realize just what he had done, which caused him to glance at the Board. If his outburst hadn't surprised them, they were all now staring at him in astonishment. Even Lucius was looking at him incredulously. Clenching a hand tightly into a fist, Bruce took a couple of deep breaths before he stopped back and knelt down, picking up his chair and setting it back up right. He then moved it back to the table, where he took a seat. "Let's get this over with," he grumbled moodily.

There was always a nice kind of satisfaction you got when a job was well done. From all the chatter about Nicholas Galtry's arrest, Tim felt like a man accomplished. After letting Beast Boy work out some aggression, the call was placed and cops were there, maybe a bit too quick on their part.

Something to think about later. What really mattered was the proverbial rabbit hole left behind, one the GCPD fell into and had no choice but to investigate fully. Because of Galtry's status of wealth, some of the upper ranks were involved in the investigation and with each and every sordid detail that came out, it would be harder and harder to defend such a criminal.

And this would only be the beginning.

Reading the last paragraph of one such article that covered this little incident, Tim shut down the iPad so that he could concentrate on more important things. Still, he couldn't help but think about the various news organizations covering the mess. Even the sleazy tabloids were getting in on it.

Certainly, it was a change from the relatively unknown takedown of the Church of Blood. No one really cared about those guys and were more interested in the latest alien invasion adventure.

Okay, enough of that stuff. The loose ends were all tied with the exception of one. That one was getting his teenaged teammates back to Jump City and to make sure they stayed there. The welcome in Gotham was already wearing thin and the teen didn't want to attract the wrong kind of attention. In his experience, though, it was best to get a headcount before shipping out of the local marina.

...on a borrowed yacht of all things, yeah, but he'd figure out what to do with that later. It was an incredible amount of luck its owner hadn't come looking for it, and them by proxy. Seemed like Bruce Wayne really was a chill guy.

Strolling across the deck, the Gotham native/transplant began his search for the others. It didn't take long to find the girls, and how was it not easy? Each stuck out for various reasons. Starfire, or Kori—her real name was a little hard for him to properly pronounce even after all this time—was on the deck, specifically the bow. Apparently that was the best place to catch some good sunlight, and heat made this alien from the stars nostalgic. Tim certainly understood the feeling; Gotham was to his left with its massive skyscrapers and crime-ridden alleys. Home was right there but he couldn't' take it with him or stay in it.

In the yacht's bridge, sitting on a couch was Raven, the pale-skinned girl reading from a large tome—yeah, that's what that really thick book was called—with her hood down. She looked comfortable so Tim didn't feel the need to disturb her. Besides, she already knew he was there, checking up on her, but wasn't going to point it out. No point, that was most likely her reasoning.

"What's up, Red?" And there was Cassie, or Wonder Girl as she was often teased. She too stuck out, mainly because compared to the others, she was mundane in appearance, but for the average guy, she was hot. Worst part was, she knew it, but admirably she didn't take full advantage of it. The key word there was "full."

Cassie was an endless source of teasing, and taunting depending on the situation. Lately, her snark levels had been ratcheted up to a hundred, but it seemed like she was getting comfortable again. Despite the fact that she used to burgle before he came across her, the girl was not the biggest fan of change of any kind.

Since she was in a pleasant mood right now, Tim felt he would go with it. "Making sure we got everything. We took care of all our business here, and it's time we start heading back. I don't know how much longer my folks are going to buy my excuses. So doing a headcount before we pull up anchor and head out. Plus, looks like it's going to be a nice day, you know. I don't see a cloud in the sky anywhere."

"Not gonna tell your friends here goodbye? Oh wait, let me guess, you already did it." The teenaged male wasn't looking at the hot blonde but he could feel the smirk on her face.

"Did it before we paid Galtry a visit. They're all expecting me gone right now and I wouldn't want to disappoint them."

"Oh? And you're not going to introduce us? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to keep us away from them. Or is it them from us?" After so many months, Tim was finally able to recognize what was genuine, playful teasing, and what was snarky taunting. Thankfully, this was the former.

"In all seriousness, if this was Jump, I'd be more willing. This isn't, it's Gotham," he explained. "There are things here that it would be best to avoid. No sense inviting trouble, especially when this city will give it to you whether you want it or not."

"This is new," Cassie remarked. "You seemed to like butting your head into my business whenever you could. Still do. I would have thought you'd want to stick around a little longer."

"There's a story, and I'll tell you once we've set sail," the teenaged male answered. "It's a bit long and...why's it so quiet?"

It had just occurred to him; with as many teenagers as there were in such a small space, it was quiet, way too quiet. Running over his head count, Tim let out a groan. He was three for five. The duo of Victor and Garfield could never be silent for too long. There had to be some kind of noise, whether from their own vocal cords or from a speaker of some kind, television, computer, radio, you name it.

"You've seen the guys? Cyborg and Beast Boy?" he asked. Tim noted how Cassie scrunched her nose, a sign that she was giving the question some actual thought.

"Now that you mention it, I have no idea where those idiots are."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear. That was the furthest thing from what he wanted to hear.

"Maybe Raven or Starfire will know," the dark-haired male said aloud, voicing his desperate hope.

"So that explains why I was able to get so much reading done," had been Raven's answer. Obviously, she did not know where the other two males were. While her tone made the cloak-wearing girl sound disinterested, there was a subtle hint buried in it that revealed that she was peeved. What that annoyance was was anyone's guess.

Starfire, it turned out, had a better lead. "I saw our two friends leaving the vessel some time ago. When I asked what they were doing, Gar said something about...the word is difficult for me as its meaning was not explained to me. Excuse, but the exact word, I believe, was 'sightseeing.' I struggle to understand what this word means. Is it something bad?"

Sightseeing. Those two. In Gotham. Take a deep breath. Exhale.

Struggling to keep his emotions in check, Tim asked the resident alien, "Do you know how long ago this was?"

"It is very fortunate that I have been able to grasp your measurements of time much faster than your colloquialisms. If my estimate is correction, it has been approximately two or so of your Earth hours, though it may be less than that."

That was way too much time and who on earth knew where their errant teammates were. Gotham was huge, bigger than Jump City. They could literally be anywhere and doing anything that could attract the kind of attention that the young vigilante did not want. He wasn't just thinking about the criminal element either.

"Okay, we can't leave without them. We need to find them. Raven, think you can try and hone in on them?" Tim requested, thinking out loud while he was speaking. His stress levels were really starting to spike right now.

"Those two surrounded by nearly ten million people? Maybe more? Possible but it will take time," the empath answered after considering the task he was asking of her.

"How much time?" Now was not the time to be vague.

"No clue. Unless either of their emotional states spike for whatever reason, it will take however long it will." Raven wasn't going to be comforting now, was she?

"Aren't you close with Cyborg? Can't you just zero in on him?"

"Like I said, his emotional state will need to spike first, and unlike some people, Victor tends to remain calm more often than not. It usually takes a lot to get that kind of strong emotions out of him."

"What about Beast Boy?" He was grasping at straws right now.

"What about Beast Boy." Raven's tone implied that she could really care less about the green kid.

"He's usually more excitable, right? Must be leaving a trail of excitement behind or something."

"And you imply that I want to be victim to how strong his emotional states can be. I can get a headache when we're in the same room. I find it easier to keep him out of my head so that any bombardments he thinks my way don't knock me out." A logical reason spoken in a deadpanned tone.

Okay, now they were running out of options.

"So, Red, any thoughts how we're going to track those morons down?" Cassie asked, leaning back with her arms folded. Unlike other times where she would sound like she was taking delight in his frustration, right now the blonde was empathizing with him. Maybe she wanted out of Gotham more than him. A question to ask for later.

Swallowing and finding out his mouth had gone dry, Tim decided to put some kind of plan into place. "We're going to have to search the city for them. No flying, I want us to keep a low profile."

"What, you think the crooks here are going to be a problem?" Cassie asked, a bit of snark leaking out. However, before he could engage her in a battle of wits, she suddenly had a thought of her own. Tim only knew this because the blonde suddenly said, "Or is it you don't want to get the cops on us. We are on a stolen boat."

Yeah, there was also that, but the cops weren't the only ones Tim was concerned about.

"I'm not worrying about any of the criminals we might run into. I know we all can handle ourselves. It's the people who fight those criminals that might have a problem," he stated.

Memories of two blank, white eyes glaring down on him flashed through the teen's mind.

That was the real situation he wanted to avoid because he knew it was not going to be a pleasant event.

He felt numb. Everything had just wrapped up, but Bruce's mind was not in the present moment.

He was still coming to grips with the results of the vote. It was near unanimous; he was no longer the acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Other than himself and Lucius, the rest of the Board voted for ouster, even the Crypt—Dithers, a man who had been with this company since his father had run it.

Just like that, his company, his father's legacy, had been stripped from him.

Like the cowards they were, the Board members were leaving, none making eye contact with him. In a matter of minutes, the billionaire was alone in the conference board, still seated at the long table. He was alone, accompanied with only a severance package.

Despite it all, even with his rational and logic based mind, the dark-haired man still couldn't grasp or process the last twenty minutes of his life. There was a part that was in denial, that this was a bad dream, one he would be waking up from at any second. Another part was raging, naming all sorts of tortures he wanted to place the board members into. Another wanted to sink into the floor, and hide from the humiliation. That was but a few of them, and there were many more all warring for control.

A shadow fell over the devastated man, evidence that he wasn't entirely along. "I want you to know, despite how everything happened, this was not personal. It's only business, and everyone in this room only has the best interests of Wayne Enterprises."

Bruce recognized the voice immediately—Lincoln March. The man who had not only led the attack upon him, but was also named the interim CEO until the Board could decide on a new one, Bruce's successor. The gall of this man, standing over him, saying such words.

"Save it, March," he spat out. Those were three more words than Bruce was willing to give the bastard, the thief. He wanted nothing to do with March, and the sooner he got away from the other man, the better it would be for all involved.

Even though Bruce wanted nothing more than to break both of March's legs and do a number on his ribs. Throw in a cracked skull for the "it wasn't personal" line.

"Bruce, listen to me before you leave," March pressed, moving slightly closer but enough that it made it slightly difficult for the billionaire and former CEO to get up from his seat. A hand planted itself Bruce's broad shoulder, trying to pin him down into his chair. "Much of this was avoidable. Too many times have you left and without a word, barely anything to serve as a 'reasonable' excuse. Even here, it was like you were distracted, your mind some place else. Wayne Enterprises needs someone who can commit fully to its well-being, and you've been slipping too much in too little time—"

"I don't give a shit what you think," Bruce snapped, using his strength to shove his chair back and getting enough room to stand straight up. He even knocked March's hand off his shoulder, being none too gentle doing so.

Now he was face to face with March, making direct eye contact. There was no smugness in March's eyes, nor sympathy. They stared back, trading look for look, both pairs of blue eyes unwilling to give in first.

Unexpectedly, March spoke up first, "Look over at that window, Bruce. Do you know what's out there?" March jerked his head in the direction of the panes of glass that lined the wall, giving quite the view of the Gotham skyline and the world beyond.

"I know," Bruce growled, his eyes flashing with suppressed rage.

"Do you?" March challenged. "You know what I see out there? A city that is dependent on this company. Without Wayne Enterprises, it would finally cave in on itself, all the other major corporations and moneyed interest fleeing back to New York, or Metropolis, or even Los Angeles if they're desperate. That's how many millions of people who would suffer. Many of them are employed by this very business." The interim CEO broke off eye contact, strolling over to the windows and coming to a stop in front of them. He looked every bit the lording businessman, gazing down at his kingdom below.

Bruce watched March's every action, not taking his eyes off him. Why he had yet to storm off, his back to the bastard, he could not yet say.

"Come," March gestured towards him with a hand, not taking his eyes away from the view. "Look at what needs us so much. Look at what you fight so hard to protect."

The former CEO couldn't explain what happened next, but his legs were moving by themselves, getting closer to March. Averting his gaze, Bruce looked out into the city—

Pain exploded in his head, the intensity so great he was nearly blinded. His anger, his rage, everything seemed to drain out of him. The sensation of the leather chair pressing into his back went unnoticed, nor did he register sitting down once more.

He...he felt so...so...exhausted, no reason why. Everything just seemed so...so great. So big. And he was so small. Powerless. Practically insignificant.

He couldn't stop himself from losing control of Wayne Enterprises. He couldn't stop Bane from breaking his back and taking over his city. He couldn't stop everyone from leaving...Cassandra's absence was too great. Bruce couldn't recall the last time he had seen the girl, or what she was doing anymore

Maybe...maybe he should just...just do it. Give in. Take off the cowl once and for all and stop being Batman. Stop being Bruce Wayne. Take the damn severance package and disappear one last time. This time, he should go someplace no one will find him. So long as it was far away from here, far away from this pain.

A hand anchored him back, reality returning. Only now did Bruce detect the chair he was sitting in, his posture slumped, hands dangling between his knees. How did he get here, and why did he still feel so tired? Looking up, which seemed to take more effort, he found March looked down on him from above, much as he had the city earlier.

"You really seem out of it," March remarked. "I guess that's to be expected. Everything is happening all at once, there's nothing in your control anymore. Anything and everything that is important to you is slipping out of your grasp. Then again, I shouldn't be too surprised. You always were six steps behind."

Just like that, the world clicked back into place. The exhaustion, the dark thoughts, all of it was gone, like it had never been there. Bruce's eyes were solely trained on Lincoln March, the standing man's face beginning to morph into a sharp, almost bloodthirsty look.

All the while, the words six steps behind, six steps behind echoed on repeat through his mind.

With a toothy grin, March said one more word. "Batman."

At lightning speed, everything in the last thirty, forty minutes, made the last few months or years come into place, and Bruce said only one word that summed it all up. "Hush."

"About time," March quipped as he stepped away, removing his hands from the billionaire. Pulling a small white and green, plastic container from his suit, March placed it on the conference table several feet away, flipping the small lid open. With one of his hands, he fiddled with his eye and removed one, then a second contact lens, putting each one into the container. When March looked back at Bruce, it was not with a pair of blue eyes, but green ones.

Thomas Elliot's green eyes.

"Impossible," Bruce gasped out, his hands gripping onto the armrests of the leather chair he sat in.

March—no, Elliot—burst out with a laugh. "Really, Bruce. After everything you've experienced? You found a way to come back from the dead. Did you really think I wouldn't?"

Such a thing had never occurred to Bruce before. Not before Ra's al Ghul and the Lazarus Pits. Not before time traveling escapades. Even then, none of that could explain why a dead man was standing in front of him, his face bearing a striking resemblance to his own. Elliot had been dead for too long that the Lazarus Pit would have had no effect on his body. The few magic users he knew never bragged about anything involving resurrection.

Everything Bruce knew said that this should be impossible.

"How?" he growled out, his voice deep, much like that of his alter ego.

"That's for me to know, you to never find out." Elliot tapped the side of his head mockingly. "So Bruce, are you sorry now? You took my company away from me. It's only fair game that I do the same to you."

Knowing how intricate and tactical Elliot could be, Bruce realized that the dead man had been planning this for years. Most likely even back as far as the day they had met in the pharmaceutical branch of Wayne Enterprises, no definitely even before that. He could see it now, how his once best friend had worked himself through the ranks until bagging a seat on the Board of Directors. From there, he'd have free reign to influence the minds of the other board directors, using his own absence against him until it culminated into today.

And he himself was too busy fighting for Gotham to pay the close amount of attention that was needed to circumvent it all. Damn it, why hadn't he listened to Lucius when he had the damn chance?

"So what is this? Petty revenge? You're the one who turned Matt Hagan into a monster. That was your doing, not mine," Bruce argued.

"This is more than petty," Elliot retorted. "I'm not finished. Not by a long shot. Not until I've taken everything that matters to you."

"Including my face? It's very shoddy. I wonder how you pulled that off." It seemed like a superficial taunt, but it was a dig that targeted Elliot in the areas he was sensitive about: his skills and competency.

"Bruce, it's almost adorable that you think you can come at me that way. Personally, I think I did a remarkable job." To further his rebuff, Bruce's old nemesis rubbed a hand against the side of his face, almost stroking it. "Though, I have to wonder about your observation skills. I was right next to you for how long? How did you not notice the surgical scars? I see them every time I look in the mirror. What's your excuse?"

"Are you trying to become me now? Is that it? You've copied my face and stolen Wayne Enterprises for what? A temper tantrum that started years ago? Grow up already." Bruce wasn't about to let this man of all people get under his skin. He couldn't show anymore weakness than he already had.

"Become you? Not the intention though I see why you would think that. No, this face was a subconscious cue for all the sheeple you employ here. But if I were, I'm so far ahead, much more than six steps," Elliot remarked. "I've taken Alfie. Now your business. Everything else will follow in time and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Bruce's body seized up. It sounded like a throwaway comment, but he had picked up on that one important piece of information.

I've taken Alfie…

Hush had stolen Alfred? Hush was the one he was looking for? The rage he had felt as he stood in front of the empty grave returned with a vengeance, and the billionaire had the most powerful urge to attack his former friend, punching and punching him in that facsimile of a face until he destroyed everything recognizable about it.

But no. No, he needed to get a handle on it. This was not the place to indulge in it, and for all he knew, Elliot wanted him to attack him in such a public place. To indulge would be to fall for the trap and Bruce could not, would not, fall for it.

"But, I get the feeling you're not in the mood to play games right now," Elliot said, a thoughtful look on his face. Those green eyes refocused and zeroed in on the former CEO. "So how's about this? I'll give you a chance to settle things once and for all. Meet me on the rooftop of the Amos Fortune Casino. We'll put an end to our little feud then and there, and if you win, hell, I'll give you back Alfred."

The rooftop of a casino? It took Bruce a moment to recall the efforts from the city to legalize gambling, various interests from the respectable and politically connected to the criminal had been lobbying for years. It was an effort that Bruce had largely ignored. However, once Hady had come into office, everything had been fast tracked and now the efforts to make Gotham into the next Atlantic City were in full swing.

But far be it from Bruce to turn this down. It was an obvious trap; Elliot had something planned, but he couldn't ignore the opportunity to get his opponent out into the open. Years ago, as Hush, Elliot had kept to the shadows, hiding throughout much of their conflict.

This proverbial bone might be too much to pass up.

"Ten o'clock, and come alone," Elliot said offhandedly as he reached for the contact lens case, and placed the lens back into his eyes. "I have your company to run in the meantime."

His knuckles were white from gripping the armchair rests, and that last comment really increased the tension in his arms. However, Bruce couldn't let the bastard get under his skin, not this early at least. Whether Hush knew it or not, he had given him a lot of important information.

Too bad that the questions like how he was alive weren't answered. Even now, he could still picture Elliot's body flying through the air and disappearing from sight, the result of being hit off a building by Clayface. Then there was the body laying in a pool of its own blood, the splatter indicative of a strong impact with the ground.

He was going to get some answers, as well as Alfred's body back, when he was at that casino.

Pushing himself up from his seat, and grimacing at how weak his body seemed to feel, Bruce forced himself to leave the meeting room. He should have expected to be stopped one last time as soon as he set foot out of it, but then again, today was full of surprises and it was Lucius ambushing him.

"Care for a cup of coffee, Bruce?" the dark skinned man invited. Then, in a very soft tone of voice, Lucius added, "We need to talk."

Staring back at the man who pretty much single-handedly ran Wayne Enterprises, Bruce remained silent before nodding his head once. While he needed to make preparations for tonight, there were matters that needed to be settled with Lucius first. First and foremost, he owed his associate an apology for this mess.

Lastly, he owed him a promise to get back everything he had lost.

Author's Note: That's right, that's freaking right. Lincoln March, like communism, was a red herring all along. You guys have no idea how long ShadowMajin and I have been planning this. This was a reveal long in coming, and now that it has arrived, there are probably going to be a lot of questions. And…you're all going to have to read on to find those answers. What, thought it would be that easy? As reviewer Protocol115 keeps saying, this story might be a bigger game changer than you think. Now, if you want clues, there are a lot of them; in fact, they start all the way back in Death of the League. Oh yeah, we've been building up to this fic all the way back then. Practically every story since that one has had something that will be relevant in this story, so if you want, go on a binge fest and see if you can't find them all.