JUNE 5, 1959 — 8:53 AM

Jack could hardly remember the space between his departure from Fort Frolic and arrival at Central Control. He was hardly aware of anything at all until the door to his father's office brought him crashing back to reality by refusing to open when he attempted to walk through it.

Given a moment to consider it, he might have concluded that it was hardly unusual for this door in particular to be locked at any time of the day. But he was in no mood to spare any moment, not even a second's worth, for consideration.

He pounded on the door. "Let me in— I know you're there, damn it, let me in!"

He drew back after that, needing a moment not to consider the situation but rather to catch his breath. In the few seconds it took for him to decide to try again, the door finally slid open.

Jack stormed inside, through the winding corridor to where his father waited for him. Andrew Ryan sat at his desk and did not lift his gaze for his son, only stared down at something on his desk. Jack didn't care to see what it was.

Anger was coursing through him as surely as the blood that pumped through his veins, but even so, Jack could not will himself to ignore what decorum had long ago been drilled into him. Not at the moment, anyway.

"Hello, batya."

At that, Ryan finally lifted his head.

"Might I ask what brings you to me in such a fury?"

Ryan's voice was level and calm. It only served to spike Jack's anger even further.

"You should know exactly what's gotten me in such a fury, father."

Ryan looked unimpressed. "Enlighten me."

Jack had to take a deep breath to keep from shouting his next words.

"Jasmine Jolene was murdered last night."

At once, the unimpressed look melted from Ryan's face. The expression that replaced it was inscrutable in Jack's eyes, and it wasn't one he cared to decipher now.

"Murdered?"

"Murdered," repeated Jack, his hand tightening into a fist. "Beaten to death...in the very same room where I was conceived, wasn't she?"

Ryan's brow knit, which had the immediate effect of darkening his expression. "I wouldn't know."

"Wouldn't you?" Jack's fist trembled as he took a step forward. "But she took you there, didn't she? Every single night you went to see her, she took you into that back room. And you went there yourself last night—didn't you?"

Ryan scowled. "If you mean to accuse me of anything, Jack, I would strongly advise you to reconsider."

"Why should I?" Jack snapped. His heart was pounding; his voice was rising beyond his control. "Why should I think anything else? You had every reason to want her dead, didn't you? You had every reason to kill her because you couldn't handle that I knew the truth—"

"Jack."

Ryan stood now, his voice easily carrying above his son's. The tight lines of his face showed that he wasn't having any of this.

"You don't know what you're talking about, sin moj."

"Don't I?" Jack took another step forward. It was too late for him to even consider backing down now. "Or is it just that I know too much? Just tell me why—was it to keep me from finding out anything else about her? Or was it just to punish me?"

"Don't be a fool, Jack." Ryan stepped out from his desk, coming a step closer to his son. "Do you truly understand just what it is that you're accusing me of doing, or are you so blinded by your willingness to defy me that you'll believe any preposterous idea someone puts in your head?"

Keeping with what seemed to be a common theme for the past few days, Jack's stomach turned. The gravity of the fact that he was shouting down his own father finally began to dawn on him, as did the thought he had briefly entertained just the other day: that the act of confronting Andrew Ryan might just be the last, most idiotic thing he ever did.

But he couldn't stand down now. Above all else, he would not let himself stand down.

"No one put this in my head," he said, barely managing to keep the shake out of his voice. "No one but myself."

"Oh, is that right?" Ryan only mocked him with feigned surprise. "You came to that conclusion all on your own? Or did your friend Atlas help you along?"

In that moment, it felt as though someone had pulled the floor out from beneath Jack's feet.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" Ryan narrowed his eyes. "Doesn't feel good, does it? But I know you're lying to me, sin moj. All your talk of some arbitrary standard of living, of charity—you didn't come up with any of that on your own. Those words came straight from the parasite's mouth."

The sting of his nails digging into his palms reminded Jack to keep calm, but it was a struggle. "I don't— You can't know that. I went to Pauper's Drop, I was there, I saw for myself—I made that decision myself, damn it!"

Ryan took a deep breath through his nose. Then he turned back to his desk.

"Perhaps you did," he said quietly. "But can the same be said for Diane?"

For the first time that day, Jack felt himself truly shaken with confusion.

"Diane?" What could he mean by that? "What does she have to do with this?"

Ryan picked up something from his desk—a pair of large photos, it seemed—and tossed them at Jack's feet. Jack had to kneel to take a closer look.

The images were grainy and in black and white, evidently print-outs from a security camera, and depicted a gaggle of people afoot in some windowless corridor. Clearly among them was Diane, a revolver held haphazardly in her hand.

"Sullivan installed cameras in the emergency access tunnels to catch Atlas's bandits at their work." Ryan's tone was flat, matter-of-fact, as he stepped towards Jack. "This is what he found upon reviewing the footage."

Jack looked up from where he knelt, only to see his father towering over him. "I... I didn't know."

"Did you drive her to Atlas's side, Jack? Or did you lead her there?"

"I don't—"

"Answer me, sin moj."

Jack's hands shook.

"I didn't know, okay? I didn't know she was involved, I didn't—" The pounding of his heart and the shadow of his father made it difficult, but he managed to rise to his feet again. "She told me she was done with me—that she never wanted to see me again—how was I supposed to know—"

In the same moment that Jack was steady on his feet, Ryan struck him across the face.

Jack staggered. The pain of it was purely secondary compared to the shock, to the blood that pounded in his ears and the adrenaline singing in his veins, pumping straight to his brain and telling him wrong, wrong, you're doing wrong, what a waste of money you are, now do it all over again—

He staggered, everything in his state of mind suddenly shaken out of sorts and comprehension, and he might have fallen if not for his father grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

"You did this, Jack."

Ryan's words struck him like needles pinning him apart. His mind felt torn open, shaken out and laid bare. He was trapped. There was no escape for him now.

"You did this—you took her from me, defied my wishes and dallied with her heart, and now look where she is. Look at what she's become, sin moj."

It was a struggle to turn his head to where the photos still lay on the floor. He strained, but could not see.

"I can't—"

"She's a parasite, Jack—no better than Atlas, no better than the rest of his men. You did this to her, Jack... You took the woman I loved, and you did this to her!"

Ryan released him then, sending Jack stumbling back into the wall. Never, never had he seen his father in such a rage. Jack felt dizzy, lightheaded, nerves alight with shock and fear and every instinct in his body telling him to run—but he was rooted to the spot.

Ryan turned his back to him, turned to lean against his desk, gripping its edge with white-knuckled fists.

"You understand nothing, Jack... Do you have any idea how easily I could have had you destroyed? And yet you live."

Jack's tongue felt too heavy, his throat too tight for any words of reply. He barely felt like he could continue to stand.

"I granted you more than life—I granted you a life in my city. I gave you the same right to live here that all others had to earn. I gave you everything that every other soul in this city would have had to earn by the sweat of their brow. I gave you an opportunity that no one else could possibly have—the opportunity to bear my legacy, to take my name as your own. And this... Is this how you've repaid me, Jack?"

He wanted to speak, but he could not. His fear stirred his thoughts, yet stilled his tongue.

"After all I've done for you—after all I've given you, you dare... You would truly dare to throw it back in my face? To act as though I've done nothing for you? To take what is mine and throw it away? To accuse me of murdering your mother?"

His heart squeezed in his chest. He wondered if this was how it would feel when he was about to die. He wondered how long it would be before he found out for himself.

"Perhaps, as you say, I might have had some reason for wanting her silence... But if you truly think I would have her killed to keep you from seeing her, then you truly know so much less than you claim."

He still didn't believe that. He couldn't believe it. But he felt no power to argue any further.

Ryan finally turned back to face him. His face was livid with rage.

"Leave me, sin moj." He pointed towards the door. "Get out of my sight."

Jack's knees nearly buckled under his weight as he finally staggered away. Fear lightened his steps, and that fear did not begin to abate until after he was long gone from Central Control.