The following morning she went in to work, telling her secretary to hold all calls and allow no visitors until further notice. "There's the Executive Committee meeting this afternoon. Will you be attending?" Melinda asked.
Mardi considered skipping it since she was not even scheduled to be in until next Monday, but figured it wouldn't look very good for her if it were discovered she was in the building and blew it off. She didn't need her life any more complicated. "I'll be there," she replied and entered her private office.
She sat in her comfortable leather chair in front of a massive oak desk that had been a present from Bruce upon her promotion, and booted up her computer. Vice-President of Finance sounded like a big deal when engraved on the plaque over the door, but in reality it was a glorified term for chief bean counter. She oversaw all aspects of accounts receivable and payable as well as monitored the annual budget, which for a company the size of Wayne-Powers was a considerable undertaking. But in the grand scheme of things she was of little consequence, having to report directly to the Chief Financial Officer and indirectly to the Chief Executive Officer, one Mr. Derek Powers. She'd met Powers only once, shortly after her promotion, and had disliked him immediately, finding him to be arrogant and cold (and who just happened to single handedly steal her husband's family business out from under him), but she did not let her personal feelings about the man to sway her loyalty to the company itself.
Still, the accusations that he could somehow be masterminding mass genocide via some nerve gas, or that he'd ordered a man's death to cover it up was too outlandish to even consider seriously. Yet Bruce seemed to believe it. He'd asked her once if she trusted him, and she did, implicitly, even now after knowing he'd concealed something so important from her.
Fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard as she logged in and entered the archives of Gotham's library system, connecting her to all published information in the last fifty years, looking for clues to his past as she'd done so long ago, but this time her parameters were different and the search returned considerably less information. Several of the articles speculated about whom or what the Batman truly was while others debated his true motivations while making the streets of Gotham his own personal battleground.
The few she found actually reporting on his deeds were mere sketches of conjecture and rarely was there a photo attached. Those pictures she did find where some intrepid reporter had managed to catch the masked man swinging off on his jump line were grainy and shadowed and she was doubtful of the veracity of many of them. There was one, however, that caught her attention. He'd rescued a small boy from a burning high-rise and as he handed the child to a waiting EMT someone had snapped a photo. His head was bent down and slightly away from the camera's sight line, but a portion of his face and jaw were clearly visible.
Mardi pressed a button and instantly the picture was printed and shot out of a slot on her console. She studied it closely, tracing her finger along the chin she knew so well.
"Morning Mrs. Wayne," a cheerful voice said. Her head shot up searching out the source of the voice. He was there, on her windowsill, perched like a…well, like a bat. He raised a hand and jumped into the room letting his gaze take in the well-appointed furnishings. "Nice," he commented.
"What are you doing?" she gritted through her clenched teeth. "If anyone finds you in here…"
"Don't worry about it, Mrs. Wayne. No one's going to see me."
"Purcell," she said sharply.
"Huh?"
"Within this building my name is Mardi Purcell."
"Why, are you ashamed of the old man?" he asked disapprovingly, leaning against the wall with arms crossed over the blood-red bat symbol.
"Hardly," she retorted. "For your information, I've worked extremely hard to get where I am today, to earn the respect of my colleagues, but if they knew my name was on the letterhead it'd be gone like that." She snapped her fingers in the air.
"So you keep your entire marriage a secret for the sake of a little professional credibility? Sounds like you need a new set of priorities."
"It's not a secret, it's just not common knowledge. I simply do not go around advertising it. There is a difference. Now do you mind telling me why you're here?"
"I wanted to see if I could talk you into reconsidering helping us take down Derek Powers."
"Us? Does Bruce know you're here?"
"No. But I'm sure he will after you get home."
"Listen, Terry…"
"In this suit I'm Batman," he said in a low voice.
"In that suit, you're just a child playing dress up. My husband may not know better than to send children out to get themselves killed, but I hope you'll come to your senses."
"I'm not a child."
"Right." Pointedly she looked at her watch. "Don't you have to be in school now?"
"Look lady, this is serious. Powers is a very dangerous man. He needs to be stopped." He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward.
"Even if I believed you, there's nothing I can do. My area is finance. Unless he starts overspending the budget, I'm useless."
"At least think about it." He saw the picture on the desk beneath her hand. "Takes a little getting used to, huh?" he asked thoughtfully.
She looked down at it. "Almost thirteen years of marriage and I don't have any idea who he really is," she sighed.
"That's funny. I've known him a month and I know exactly who he is." She glanced up at him. "He's a guy who sacrificed everything and devoted his entire life to helping other people and doing the right thing."
"He could have told me," she insisted.
"Probably worried about how you would react." He walked over to the window. "Have a nice day." Then he was gone. Wings shot out from his arms and he floated away, boot rockets thrusting him over the city.
With a shake of her head she returned to her research. An hour later, eyes sore from reading, she had an epiphany of sorts. While Batman was an independent agent, he often worked closely with a certain member of the police force, trading information when feasible. The working relationship had evolved to such a level that a signal light was often used in the night sky to summon the Dark Knight for a rendezvous with his accomplice.
The name jumped out at her – Commissioner James Gordon, father of the current head of police, Barbara Gordon. Bruce had told her he was good friends with her father as an explanation for their relationship.
She grabbed the phone so quickly it jumped out of her grasp. Finally under control she dialed a number and held it to her ear.
"Commissioner's office."
"I'd like to speak with her please."
"Who's calling?"
"Mardi Wayne."
"One moment." She was placed on hold for less than thirty seconds. "I'm sorry, the commissioner is busy at the moment. Can she return your call?"
"I need to speak with her. Today if possible. It's important. Can I schedule a meeting?"
"Let me check her calendar. She has a half hour open during lunch?"
"Perfect. I'll be there."
"Wayne is still blocking the purchase of that munitions plant in Eastern Europe. He has the support of most of the stockholders. I have a considerable amount of money riding on this deal and I need a way to change his mind, quickly." Derek Powers paused and steepled his fingers under his chin. His assistant stood before him pale and worried. That was precisely how he liked his people. "So, tell me what sort of dirt you've managed to find about him. And it had better be good."
"Well, ah, sir, we really couldn't find anything damaging about Mr. Wayne other than what's already been published in all the major newspapers. Professionally his reputation is spotless; personally, well, he never made an attempt to cover his, ah, indiscretions. I'm sorry, Mr. Powers," the little toady whimpered pathetically.
"Nothing?" Powers bellowed. "Not one blessed thing I can use to blackmail him with? This is unbelievable. No one is without secrets."
"If I may, sir, why don't you just ask his wife to reason with him? Maybe she could convince him, you know how women are," he said with a simpering smile.
Derek felt the blood rush to his head. "What are you talking about you imbecile? Wayne's not married!"
"Y-yes he is sir. Um, we found out during the records search. Married by a judge some thirteen years ago in Metropolis. I just assumed you knew because, um…"
"Because why?"
"Because she works for you. She uses the name Purcell though. Mardi Purcell." Derek frowned. The name did sound familiar. "She's the new VP of finance," he supplied.
"Ah, yes," Derek said leaning back in his chair already forming a plan. He remembered meeting her soon after her promotion to the executive level. Attractive woman in a mousy sort of way. What she was doing with a fossil like Wayne he could not guess, but that was not his concern. She might just prove to be a true asset to the company. "There's an executive meeting today, isn't there? See to it Mrs. Wayne comes to see me afterwards."
"Yes sir!" his assistant said and practically sprinted out the door. Yes, Derek thought. That's exactly how I like my people. Afraid.
Barbara set down the bowl of tepid soup she was trying to eat. Her secretary let Mardi in and then departed, closing the door behind her. The two women looked at each other for a moment, and then Mardi stepped forward and placed a piece of paper on the desk blotter.
Looking down at the old photo, Barbara considered all the possible reasons why Mardi would show a sudden interest in Batman. Only one seemed plausible. "He told you," she said simply and watched the other woman's face fall in despair as she sank into the guest chair.
"You do know then."
"Yes. Why tell you now after all these years?" Barbara wondered aloud.
Mardi frowned and shook her head. "I found out by accident. I don't think he was ever going to tell me." She looked down at her hands in her lap, nervously twisting her wedding ring. "I came over because, I guess I needed someone to talk with about this. I can't seem to make myself believe that it's real."
"I'm sorry, Mardi, but I can't be your confidante on this. Batman is a vigilante, and that is illegal in this town. You might want to pass that on to the new guy, if he happens to cross your path."
Mardi stood up and walked to the window. Thoughts and memories ran through her head in a jumble. Dick and Barbara. Bruce and Barbara. A line of uniforms preserved in glass cases. One distinctly female. "You were one of them," she said distantly.
Barbara pursed her lips together. "Mardi I can't…"
"Did you sleep with my husband?" The question seemed to come out of nowhere and was spoken so softy, she almost believed she'd heard it incorrectly. But she trusted her ears, and nearly laughed. She liked Mardi, she really did. The woman had given Bruce something to focus on these last years besides the loss of his personal mission. And the few times she'd seen him with his daughter made her almost believe in fairy tales where there were true happy endings. The mistakes he'd made with Dick, and to a lesser extent Tim, were made by a man who'd closed his heart off to everything except an obsession with vengeance, which did not seem to be the case anymore.
And after all these years she was worried about a long forgotten liaison. Barbara wanted to ease her mind, but the question was still far too amusing. With a wicked grin, she replied, "Not recently."
