Stephanie sighed, leaned back and pulled off her headphones. The document on her laptop labeled, "People Cam Gram Hates" was two and a half pages long with bullet points. After an hour of listening to his digital sermons, she was exhausted. She considered asking Tim to help her hack the WWJD radio website so she could bypass the paywall, but reluctantly gave in to the ten dollar per month giving model that allowed her to listen to all of Gram's recorded ramblings. She would cancel the minute her studying was over and Bruce would probably pay her back if it was really an issue.

Next to the "People Cam Gram Hates" document was another full of information copied and pasted from his online biography and peppered with Stephanie's own notes. Cameron Robert Gram was born in Decatur, Georgia, to Pentecostal parents. He studied radio and television in college, though he did not graduate. He received his license to pastor at twenty-two and married a college sweetheart named Rachel. Though he had made some distance from his Pentecostal upbringing, some of its elements still turned up in his largely non-denominational style of preaching. He and his wife had eight children, four biological, four adopted. On that ground at least, Stephanie figured he deserved some credit. At least he put his money where his mouth was in terms of adoption support. In the midst of the thought, a tiny fear awoke within and she zoomed in on one of his family portraits on the website. None of his girls looked anything like she did at their respective ages between two and twelve. Stephanie sighed in relief. Wherever her long-lost daughter was, she wasn't with him.

Most of the rest of Stephanie's research almost felt predictable. Gram preached in California and Chicago before he made his way to Gotham. It was his style to spread his liturgy around to traditionally liberal or crime-ridden areas to try serving as a holy shot in the arm. He would stick around Gotham for a few more years and would take up work in the Wellspring of Hope church over by Sadie's neighborhood once construction was completed. Gram certainly wasn't swimming in donations and taxpayer purchases like some of his contemporaries, but a Google Maps search of his home indicated he was still well off. A few of his sermons included talk of "planting monetary seeds" for greater rewards later in life. Those probably paid for his house, car and children.

"And my dad used to be a gameshow host." Stephanie wrote the remark as she said it. "He could probably get you similar results."

The third floor of the Gotham University library was always on the edge of emptiness even on the most active days. With its quiet atmosphere, sterile white walls and rows of reference material, it became the closest place to home for Stephanie since the Bunker had to be abandoned. Jordanna gave her crap about how she suddenly turned up in their room again after sporadic ins and outs for the rest of the semester and, Stephanie suspected, spread some talk about her sleeping around.

Whatever. I never bothered you about every guy I know you've had over. Stephanie used her teeth to tear into a bag of Funyuns. If they didn't want us eating in here, they shouldn't have vending machines by the bathrooms.

As she munched from the bag, her mind wandered back to Cassandra. And apparently, even my best friend thinks I'm a slut now. Maybe she and Jordanna should start hanging out.

Stephanie took another deep breath and opened her pictures folder. Between collections of psychedelic backgrounds and blurry, low-res photos from concerts was one entitled "WMGT," short for, "Wayne Manor Get-Togethers." She double-clicked it. Within were dozens of pictures across a few different nights. A few were public gatherings, others were friends and family by invitation only. There was one she'd used as a profile picture online for months of her and Tim as they acted like they were animals roaring at one another. It wasn't flattering, but it was funny.

Cassie's mad at me because of you, virgin-boy. Stephanie rested her head against an open palm. It's not like I fought or argued with you or anything. I asked if you were up for it and you sounded like you'd been waiting forever.

A few pictures later were her and Cassandra, arms across one another's shoulders. Stephanie's grin was big and goofy, Cassandra looked as if she was trying everything to emulate it.

… I can't. I can't stay mad at you.

In the next picture were the three of them, along with Sadie at Cassandra's side, a little smidge of pink lipstick on one of Cassandra's cheeks.

I know you're hurting. I know both of you are, even if neither of you wants to admit it.

Sadie and Stephanie only communicated about once per week, usually a few texts or IMs just to check in. Stephanie did like to talk and did think of Sadie as a friend, but it was awkward for both of them to be in contact without the glue that originally held them together.

Tim didn't think it made sense to attribute much of Cassandra and Sadie's breakup to Cameron Gram's influence. Cassandra only began her deep dive after their separation and chastity was, indeed, a major teaching in the Catholic Church. Still, Gram would celebrate the damage that had occurred if he had any knowledge of it, and had poisoned her friend's mind with his anger and disdain. If there was some skeleton in his closet, Stephanie was determined to find it.

As she shut the pictures folder, Stephanie pulled up the web page again. The dates on Gram's sermons were only visible after opening a particular MP3. They were instead arranged by topics, which she had slowly slogged through in search of anything incriminating or at least two-faced. She had already listened to various preachings on "Marriage," "God and Sexuality" and "The Bible and Prosperity." "The Deception of False Idols" seemed like a logical next step, however painful it was sure to be. Stephanie groaned audibly at the first MP3 entitled, "Not So Different? Islam's False Promise." She slipped her headphones back on, shut her eyes tight and braced for the worst.

"The most cunning of Islam's deceivers would have you believe they are not so different from us. That they worship a different interpretation of the same God. But our deliverer and their 'Allahs' and their 'Mohammeds' could not be less alike. Even if they aren't all foolish enough to attack us, there is no such thing as a 'moderate Muslim.' The same way our deliverance is our faith, theirs is attacking anyone who does not see their extremism. No peaceful person has any place practicing that faith, none."

Gram went on for several minutes about violence in the Middle East, terrorism and a call for more extreme boarder protections. Stephanie was by no means an expert in her own faith, let alone any other one, but the way Gram droned on and on about what sounded like fractured quotes taken out of context and grandiose conspiracy talk made her confident he wasn't discussing factual information. If there was any single person in the United States actually trying to impose Sharia Law, they were unaware of what an arduous process large-scale law change required in the US. Maybe Gram had dropped out of college before he'd ever taken a Civics class. As he continued to ramble, Stephanie buried her face in her arms and looked down at the desk.

"And it's truly unfortunate that, in their so-called crusade for tolerance, the faithless have made it easier for new extremists to be born. They demand we show respect for a 'faith' that radicalizes its young and attacks its women. If prayer and worship were still permitted in school, perhaps we could take the first step in saving these poor children who will only grow up to be new, violent enemies of our way of life tomorrow."

Stephanie paused the video and let out a muffled scream into the desk. The sheer obliviousness on display was giving her a headache. She couldn't take anymore. It was time to be done with research for the night. It was only as she unplugged her headphones that she gave the webpage a last, passing glance and froze.

Gram's rant was dated September 8th, four days before. Stephanie straightened in her seat, opened a search bar and entered, "Gotham Mosque Kidnapping."

Just as Bruce had described in the encrypted files he sent her and Tim every day, he and Cassandra had interfered with a kidnapping of ten men, women and children from a mosque on Avery Street. The stories were dated September 10th, which meant the abductions themselves must have been the night before, the 9th.

Cameron Gram posted a seriously angry rant about Muslims less than forty-eight hours before a gang of criminals Batman confirmed were the Reapers kidnapped a bunch of them. Thoughts flooded Stephanie's mind as she stared at the date.

The first, and to her knowledge, only interaction between Cassandra and Gram personally had been the same night Lipov and the Odmience had first attacked. According to what she'd read of Cassandra and Shiva's conversation, Lipov was so obsessed with tormenting his targets that some escaped him before he could kill them. And Gram was the total antithesis of Cassandra's own beliefs, as if he personally reveled in making her faith look selfish.

Was Gram part of something much bigger? Had Lipov brought an aid to Gotham with him besides the Odmience?

Hang on, stop. Stephanie leaned forward and clutched her head again. Did that theory really hold any weight? Was she suggesting Lipov was waiting for Gram and Cassie to bump into one another by happenstance so Gram could say a few mean things before she and the Odmience fought for the first time? Wasn't Lipov trying to kill her and David when he led them to the Final Offer, a night Gram had no part in? It wasn't like Gram looked to be doing anything but business as usual over the tenure Cassandra spent in the cast. And what sense did it make to drop a clue about a kidnapping where anyone could hear it?

… Dad left clues for the police and Bruce to find. Gotham draws stupid, showy criminals like moths to flames.

Stephanie set her hand on top of her laptop, intent on closing it for the evening, but paused to open enter a last note in her document. If she made the case to Tim and Bruce that Gram was in league with Lipov, they'd say it sounded like a bad conspiracy theory. Still, a little more investigation couldn't hurt.

People Cam Gram Hates

- David and Cassie Cain…?