It's half-past ten when the limousine rolls to a stop in front of Wayne Enterprises.
In the backseat, thirty-five year-old billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne reads the day's attention of The Gotham Gazette. As he got himself ready, Bruce watched the morning news, where the evening's bloodbath dominated the headlines. The dual massacre also took over the black and white pages of print, the newspaper not offering much more details than Gotham's best reporters.
Shutting the pages, Bruce looks out the tinted window, at the revolving glass doors, at people coming in and out, all of them sullen, somber, and dressed in mourning colors. He leaves the paper on the seat beside him and gets out of the car, adjusting his navy silk tie and smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of his dark gray suit before ascending the front steps.
Even for a crime-riddled city like Gotham, last night's crimes stood out.
The sadness in the air around him feels all too familiar and cloying. Bruce absently tugs the collar of his white dress shirt, as if it's going to give him a little more air. He moves through the revolving door, into the posh building, his expensive black leather dress shoes clacking on the marble linoleum. He strides towards the elevator with confidence, his shoulders pulled back and his head held high. As he passes people, he hears snippets of their conversations, all of them revolving around harrowing discovery at dawn.
"Oh, God, it's just awful..."
"I heard everyone inside was ripped apart. They don't know who's who..."
"No survivors. All those lives cut down. So tragic..."
"I heard Sandra's kid is missing. You don't think...?"
"...Some kind of cult thing, I heard. This fucking city..."
Bruce reaches the elevator and he pushes the button quickly. He watched the numbers count down and he takes a deep breath. He jitters. All he wants to do is get up to his office and away from all the grief and melancholy. He has a sudden need for air.
"Bruce! There you are! Fashionably late, as always."
Turning, Bruce watches as his Chairwoman, Regina Zellerbach, approaches. She's dressed conservatively, in a long brown skirt and blazer with an olive green turtleneck, a gold statement necklace jutting underneath the folded neck of her sweater. The Zellerbach family, headed by Regina and her husband Bob, were one of the oldest, most influential families in Gotham, their services to Wayne Enterprises dating all the way back to Bruce's parents. Her small, thick heels clip-clop on the floor as she makes her way towards him quickly, her maroon painted lips pursed into a thin line.
"Good morning, Regina," Bruce greets.
She takes him in, takes in the bags underneath his eyes and the hollowness in his dark blue eyes. "Another late night? You're not looking so good."
"Not super late. But busy. I signed off on your expense reports. They should be in your inbox."
The elevator doors finally slide open with a small, high-pitched ding, and Regina and Bruce separate to let people off before they step inside. Bruce hits the button for his office, and for the boardroom at Regina's instruction.
"You saw the news this morning, I gather?"
Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. "I have," he confirms. "I'd have to be under a rock to miss it. It's everywhere."
"Sandra McKee in accounting...we're all worried about her. Her daughter Alissa is missing. I hope to God the poor thing wasn't at the warehouse."
Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but the elevator rocks slightly and stops, effectively cutting him off. The doors open, revealing Bruce's secretary, Dana Blessing. She wears a sleeveless dress of vibrant blue and purple, with a matching turban. She holds a stack of folders to her chest.
"Good morning, Dana," Bruce and Regina greet in unison.
"Good morning, Mr. Wayne. Mrs. Zellerbach." Reaching into her pile of folders, she hands one to Regina. "For this morning's shareholder meeting." She hands the rest to Bruce. "For you to look over when you have a minute."
"I guess I see what my morning looks like," Bruce quipped. "When you have a minute this morning, Dana, would I be able to get you to do something for me?"
"What do you need, Mr. Wayne?"
"I need a memo to go out as soon as possible. Anyone here affected by what happened last night...I want them to know that Wayne Enterprises will help them with anything they need, no questions asked."
Dana nods. "Of course. I'll get started as soon as I get to my desk."
"Bruce." Regina places a hand over her heart. "That's...beautiful."
"The only way we Gothamites get through something like this is together," Bruce tells the women in the elevator with a shrug.
The elevator doors slide open and Regina takes her leave. She doesn't look back as the elevator doors close. It's a long, quiet ride to the top floor. Dana takes her place at her desk and gets settled as Bruce walks into his office to find Tiffany Fox waiting for him.
"I thought you were never going to get here," Tiffany tells him, not looking up from the tech magazine she was reading.
Bruce smiles. "Tiffany. To what do I owe this honor?"
Shutting her magazine, Tiffany rises from the couch. The daughter of his dearly departed, deeply missed CEO Lucius Fox, Tiffany has proven herself in her short time with the company to be a brilliant mind in her own right. "Were you there last night?" she asks. Bruce shakes his head.
"Got tied up with Harley Quinn and her misfits. I was there this morning." Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he hangs it on the coat rack at the corner of the room.
"I have a few friends who were supposed to go down there. I've been trying to get ahold of them all morning, but I'm not getting through. Did you...?"
"Tiffany." His tone becomes stern and somber, and it silences her. "I don't know how to say this politely, so I'm going to be blunt. Everyone down there is in pieces. I can't even begin the task the coroner has on his hands trying to sort it out."
"Oh my God." Bruce loosens his tie as he crosses his office for a bottle of water. "What the hell happened down there?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he confesses. He offers her a bottle, and she takes it. "It looks like a bomb went off, but there's nothing to indicate any kind of explosives were used. It's almost like they were ripped apart, but that many? It makes no sense." Bruce unscrews the cap and takes a sip. "Which location were you supposed to be at last night, Tiffany?"
"The warehouse."
"What was happening there?"
"College party."
"At the warehouse?"
"My guess is someone throwing the party probably had some connections." Tiffany sits down in the chair across from him. "I was supposed to go last night, but I got caught up working on some stuff here." Bruce can see in her eyes that she can feel the weight of the possibilities. "Did you find anything?"
"Not a whole lot right now."
"Maybe I can help. I can look..."
"Thank you, but I've got this, Tiffany."
"Do you?"
Bruce's eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're spread thin, Bruce, and you know it." She sighs. "I know it's been an adjustment, just being you and me, with Dad..." Tiffany trails off, shaking her head. "I can help, Bruce. Let me help."
"You are being more than helpful, Tiffany. But I've got this. Everything's in the computer. Separating all the genetic markers...it's going to take time. There were a lot of bodies in that warehouse."
"When's the last time you slept?"
"I sleep, Tiffany. You don't need to worry about me."
"Have you heard from him at all, Bruce?"
He tenses. "Yeah."
"Ask him to come back. I'm sure he'll do it if you ask..."
"He's doing what he needs to, Tiffany. Life away from Gotham is agreeing with him right now, and I can't ask him to give that up." Tiffany opens her mouth to say something, but Bruce's eyes narrow. "Tiffany. Drop it."
"Fine."
"Did you need anything?"
"Just wanted to see if you need any help."
"If I do, you'll be the first person I come and see," he promises.
She rises, and he's looking at the first of Dana's files as she lets herself out of the office. When the door closes, he sighs.
Tiffany's right of course, but he's never going to admit that. Bruce Wayne is exhausted. At this point in his life, pain and exhaustion are all he knows. It's been almost two years since his personal life was turned upside down, and it's taken time, but he finally feels like he's starting to right the ship. But things had gotten turbulent. In the midst of all the turmoil, Bruce suffered heavy losses, losses he hasn't felt so deeply since the death of his parents so long ago.
But he's managing. He's doing fine. He has no idea what Tiffany is talking about. She only sees him here, after all. He has a thought that maybe he should invite her to Wayne Manor for dinner one night so she can see just how well he's been doing.
Bruce leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes. He's missing something between the two crime scenes. The working theory for the other crime scene was gang war, thanks to the weapons found, but Bruce wasn't so sure. Yeah, the Marconi and Falcone families were violent, but never anything like this. Given the horrific nature of both scenes, Bruce was inclined to believe both were connected, but besides the sheer magnitude of the carnage, he had nothing to connect the dots so far.
As he was thinking about the sheer amount of footwork it was going to take to get any kind of good information, he's pulled from his thoughts by a knock on his office door. Dana walks inside without waiting for him to answer, holding a piece of paper in her hand. "Dana."
"I have the memo typed, Mr. Wayne. Just need you to give it a look over and a signature before I send it out."
"That was fast."
Dana hands him the paper, sitting down where Tiffany had just sat while Bruce scanned the page. "Perfect." He reaches for his pen and signs it, handing it back to her. "Anyone who needs to see me today, just let them through. I've got a meeting this afternoon at two, but aside from that, I've got time to talk to anyone who needs it."
"Sure thing, Mr. Wayne. I'll get this dispersed through the building right away."
"Thank you." She rises. He clears his throat. "Your son..."
"He's fine. I spoke with him this morning. He stayed on campus."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"Thank you. This morning, I'm a lucky woman."
Bruce nods. She leaves. Bruce stews on her words as the door closes behind her.
He needs to get to the bottom of this.