Myriam waited for the elevator door to close behind Tim before she nonchalantly walked out of his office.
He can't keep me here, Myriam thought.
"Where are you going, Ms. Farawi?" Theresa said from behind her computer, her fingers still tapping the keyboard.
"Just going to grab a coffee from across the street." Myriam lied.
Theresa, still looking at her computer screen, clicked her tongue and said; "Mr. Wayne has an assortment of coffee machines in his office that you are welcomed to use." Theresa was obviously displeased with Myriam's presence. In her defense, Myriam's first impression was unrecoverable.
"I saw," Myriam lied, again, "But, Starbucks has a new drink that I've been dying to try and,"
"Listen," Theresa interrupted and finally looked up from the computer screen, "cut the bullshit. Mr. Wayne gave me strict orders to not let you leave his office- I don't know why and frankly, I don't care. If you want coffee, he has a Nespresso, Tassimo, Keurig, and a regular coffee machine in his office. If you want food, I can order you sushi, pizza, pasta, surf and turf, and whatever else you want. But,"
"I can't leave his office," Myriam finished Theresa's sentence in defeat.
Theresa nodded in victory and returned to her typing.
...
Tim returned a few hours later finding Myriam asleep on his black leather Parnian couch. He knew that her nap must have been her first since Adam's murder. He quietly maneuvered through his office to his desk. The moment he sat in his oversized desk chair, his phone rang, and Myriam's restful nap ended.
"Whazzaa—" Myriam jerked awake, immediately sitting up.
"Sorry," Tim whispered apologetically before answering the phone. "This is Tim." "Yes, Tam?" Tim listened to his fake-fiancée and Myriam could see the range of emotions flash across his face, "No, don't let anyone else touch those files. I will personally pick them up from your office. In the mean time, keep them locked up." Tam replied to him and Tim nodded, "Yes, okay. Thanks, Tam." And he ended the call.
"What was that about?" Myriam wiped the dried up drool from her cheek.
"The Gotham D.A is very interested in some information Wayne Enterprises is in possession of from the Neon Knights Treaty… But we're under contract with…" Tim stopped and shook his head, "It's actually not that interesting." He ended.
"Cool story, Aesop." Myriam stood up and walked over to Tim's desk and turned on his monitor, "Since I was basically detained by someone who has no legal right to detain me," Myriam explained in annoyance.
"You weren't detained, Myr." Tim sighed matter-of-factly.
"Was I delayed, kept waiting and kept from proceeding?"
Tim thought, "Yes."
"Was I kept under restraint or custody?"
Knowing where this was going, Tim stood up and said, "I know the Webster definition of 'detained.' Okay, fine. You were detained." He finally admitted looking out the panoramic window behind his desk.
"Glad we have that out of the way. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, while I was kept locked up in your office, I decided to make use of my time and do some research. So I helped myself to your computer," Myriam sat in Tim's desk chair. Tim looked over her shoulder as she typed in the password when prompted.
"How'd you know my password?" Tim asked in absolute confusion.
"I guessed," Myriam brushed off his question.
"Myr!" Tim grabbed her shoulder, "How. Did. You. Know. My. Password?"
Myr turned to look at him, "My password is a combination of my mom and dad's name, too. It took me a few tries to guess in which order and where the capitalizations went. Then, I knew there had to be numerical digits since this is to access a company computer, so I put in your birthdate." Myriam explained.
Tim took a step back and looked up at the ceiling, "this must be how Bruce felt." He muttered.
"Feels." Myriam corrected him.
"What?"
"This must be how Bruce feels," she paused, "He's still alive, Tim." She whispered and she could see Tim's lips curve into a subtle smile. "But, while we're on the subject, who's the guy walking around in Bruce's face?"
"That is one hell of a long and shitty story. I can explain later. Not here."
Myriam nodded, "So I was doing research and I was thinking, who is this Gumbol dude? This guy was obviously quiet enough in his emergence to not set off any alarms with GCPD or your team… so, who is he?"
"We already looked into this guy. No record of him, no one with a matching alias, and no one on the streets has seen his face." Tim sat down squeezing the bridge of his nose.
"What if Gumbol is a puppet?"
"Ventriloquist-puppet?" Tim asks sarcastically.
"Metaphorical," Myriam replied not taking his shit.
"What?"
"I'm calling him a puppet metaphorically. Someone took out Dallas and put Gumbol in his place. This same person is pulling the strings." Myriam explained.
Tim sat quietly for a few minutes and Myriam could see him put the pieces together in his mind, "What if Mario Falcone is Gumbol?" Tim finally asked.
"How the fuck do we prove that?"
"Where did you say the pizza place is?" Tim saw Myriam's angry pout turn into a large smile, "Let's go prep." He smiled too and packed his computer bag.
…
"Dick!" Tim called for his older brother when he entered the bunker with Myriam behind him.
"Over here!" Dick answered from the trapeze area of the bunker.
Tim and Myriam ran over to him, "Gumbol's fake." Tim blurted.
Dick stopped swinging and ended up hanging by his legs from the trapeze bar, "What?"
"We think Gumbol is fake. Either a puppet Falcone put in place of Dallas or Falcone is actually Gumbol." Myriam explained.
"What?" Dick asked again.
"Can you just come down?" Tim asked him.
With that, Dick grabbed the trapeze bar with his hands and pulled himself up to sit on the bar as if it were a playground swing, "What's going on?" He asked again.
"Dick, come down." Tim requested, again.
Dick sighed and jumped down to the naked floor.
"What if you fall?" Myriam asked noticing the concerning lack of safety precautions around the flying trapeze, "There's no safety net." She noted.
"There's not safety net in the real world. If I lost my grip swinging from a building in Midtown, there'd be no net to catch me." He rationalized, "Explain this Gumbol thing to me again."
"Well, Tim kept me hostage at Wayne Enterprises and Theresa wouldn't let me leave his office while he was at a meeting so I decided to look into this Gumbol dude."
"We already looked into him. Nothing. Nada. Nil." Dick cut her off.
"I know. I got the same results. So I was thinking, what if Gumbol isn't real. I suggested that maybe Falcone took out Dallas and put Gumbol in his place. Falcone controls Gumbol. Now, we may think that Falcone is Gumbol."
Dick took a step back as he took in the theories, "That would explain why nobody has seen his face before." He paused for a moment and looked at Tim, "You kept her hostage at Wayne Enterprises?"
"She provoked me." Tim answered in annoyance causing Dick to let out a light chuckle.
"So what's the plan?" Dick asked.
"Oracle sent me the blueprints of the pizzeria along with other details in the car ride here," Tim began to explain as he pulled out the blueprints on the computer monitor, "The restaurant is a fine dining restaurant with the main floor for patrons but the second floor," Tim enlarged that part of the blueprints, "is where things get interesting. The stairs lead you to a small hallway that leads to one door. This door takes you to a modest size room and if you don't have the blueprints, you'd think that'd be the end. But, the square footage of the main floor is substantially larger than that of the second floor. Also, photos of the outside of the building don't suggest that the second floor is smaller than the first floor."
"There's a secret room?" Dick asked.
"It may be where they run their operations from. This pizzeria may literally be a front for their opertions. Myriam and I are going to find out for sure tonight." Tim replied.
"You and Myriam are going?" Dick was angry.
"Simple recon mission, Dick." Tim assured him, "We're going to be in disguise with fake names."
"What's the plan?" Dick asked Myriam, still hesitant of Myriam's involvement.
"We—" Tim began but Dick stopped him.
"No. I want to hear it from her." Dick looked at Myriam.
She paused a moment to think of a plan, "Well, we need to get to the second floor. I'm going to assume that the room in the blueprint is an office—an office with a couch. Tim and I are going to be customers. While we're eating, I'll excuse myself and as I'm walking towards the washroom near the staircase," She points to that area of the blueprint, "I'll faint. Tim will rush over along with some of the restaurant staff to help me. I'll whisper that my blood sugar is low. Tim will ask them if there's somewhere I can rest and for the restaurant staff to bring me something sweet. They'll tell him there's a couch upstairs, Tim will carry me up the stairs and from there we'll find a way to get into the back room."
Dick listened and thought through the plan, "Okay, what if you get to the backroom and there's actually a bunch of Falcone's men there. Then, what?"
"I'm going to use some of my equipment to sense whether there is anyone behind the hidden door." Tim interjected, "If there is, Myr and I will hide a microphone under a lamp for surveillance from the cave. Her blood sugar will level and we'll continue our dinner."
Dick nodded reluctantly, "Let's make sure Myriam has a medical bracelet showing she's a diabetic."
Myr raised her wrist, "Already have one." Dick was definitely confused, "I don't like wearing it that much but I always keep it within reach, just in case."
"I'll see if Alfred can come down and help you guys with your disguise. Myr, you won't be able to wear those jeans to this place. I'll get Batgirl to bring you a dress."
"No!" his voice came out as a high-pitched yell causing Dick to laugh and Myriam to look at Tim with concern, "No need to involved Batgirl." Tim managed to wheeze out, "I'll go get something for her to wear while Alfred preps her."
The realization dawns on Myriam's face, "You and Batgirl were a thing, eh?" She smiled mischievously, "How did you mess it up, huh, Tim?" She asked jokingly.
"She faked her death," Tim's monotone reply was almost flinch-worthy.
Myriam stayed quiet for a moment and finally asked, "Stephanie faked her death?"
Dick's eyes widened and turned to Tim, "Batgirl is going to kill you." He mouthed.
Tim shook his head; "Let me get Alfred down here to prep you. Meanwhile, I'll find you a dress."
…
"What's your name?" Tim asked her in the car ride to the restaurant.
"Gabriela Rojas. I'm a senior at Allynwood Academy in New York State and I'm here visiting my boyfriend for a few weeks."
"Who's your—"
"Alvin Draper, you, is my boyfriend. He's doing his business degree at Gotham University."
"Are you wearing your medical bracelet?" Tim asked as they pulled up to the valet at the restaurant.
"Yes, Alvin." She rolls her eyes and shows him her wrist as the valet opens her door.
Tim exits the car and gives the valet the keys. He helps Myriam out of the car. Tim, it pains Myriam to admit, has really good taste. He went with a navy blue Brooks Brothers suit to match his trying-too-hard-B-School-Student character, and Myr's dress is a black lace, midi dress from BCBG. It was tasteful and aligned with her character's wealth.
"You look beautiful," he smiled at her when they were seated.
"Thanks, Alvin. You're looking spiffy, too." She winked at him.
The waiter came by to take their drink orders and gave them his opinion of the best pizza on the menu. They ordered his recommendation immediately. They were there on business and had no time to waste.
When the waiter brought their drinks, Myriam asked him for directions to the restrooms. He pointed to the area past the stairs and she began walking towards them. Showtime, she thought. When she was close enough to the stairs, she stumbled and fell forward.
"Gabby!" She heard Tim yell and the floor vibrated with footsteps. She felt Tim's hands lift her head and slowly, she opened her eyes, "Are you okay?" He asked in-character.
Myriam made a mental note to tell Tim that if superheroing ever went out of style, he should become an actor.
"Blood sugar… low." Myriam managed to breath out.
Tim looked to the waiter, "Do you have anywhere she could lay down?" He asked hoping their assumptions of a couch in the room upstairs were correct. The waiter froze.
"There's a couch in the office upstairs." A young man, who looked like he was Tim and Myr's age, said as he maneuvered through the crowd surrounding Tim and Myriam. "Follow me."
Tim lifted Myriam in his arms and followed the young man up the stairs. The man took out keys from his suit and opened the door and led Tim to the couch, "I'll go bring her something to bring up her blood sugar." He said.
"Thank you, Mr. ?"
"Please, call me Vinny." The man smiled and closed the door behind him.
Tim gently lowered Myriam onto the couch and turned to the door, "Shit." He muttered.
"What is it?" Myriam whispered back while trying to adjust herself on the couch.
"I think that's Vinceno Gigante—Mario Falcone's nephew." He whispered back.