Chapter 114: Father's Day (Four Thousand Words, Because It's Hard to Split)

Gotham City, in the deep of a stormy night, most people had already fallen asleep, yet the lights still burned in Wayne Manor.

Thomas Wayne rolled up his sleeves, using a scalpel and tweezers to extract bullets from a young man's chest; as an experienced veteran doctor, his hands were precise and steady, and his speed was extremely fast.

And on the high spiral staircase in the hall, a child lay prone, peering through the gaps between the railing balusters down below, watching the doctor perform surgery on that young man, seeing bullets extracted one by one, blood vessels sutured, and bleeding stopped.

My father always has work, he thought; as soon as the phone rings, he must go to the emergency room; he is needed by others; he has no other choice—and I had never before seen my father at work.

He watched silently as a life was saved under Thomas's hands, staring unblinkingly, as if witnessing an elf waving a magic wand in a fairy tale book.

"I know, you know who I am," Thomas said. "I am of the Wayne family, and I am a doctor; I heal the sick and save lives; this is my sacred duty."

"I will not extort a son's life from his father, nor do I wish to associate with the underworld."

Vincent did not mind the doctor's distant attitude; seeing his son's condition improve bit by bit, he grew even more eager to befriend this talented and virtuous Doctor Thomas.

"I know you are a wealthy man," he replied. "But I, Vincent Falcone, am a man of power. And sometimes, a powerful friend can surpass all the wealth in the world."

"I did this truly not for your reward."

"Everyone has something they want, doesn't he, Doctor?"

"Only now do I realize who the person he saved that night was."

Bruce set down the teacup in his hand and said to Gordon and Harvey: "He saved today's Roman, Carmine Falcone—he tried to do some good for Gotham, but it was precisely what he did that night that led to the doubts I face today."

Harvey and Gordon watched Bruce seriously recalling his father; in fact, they had never imagined that the universally acknowledged playboy had such a side.

"." Harvey listened to Bruce's statement, fell silent for a moment, then looked up and asked: "Then, why did the Gotham Bank approve the cooperation agreement with Falcone Import Company?"

"The Gotham Bank is controlled by the board of directors, and the board cares only for profit." Bruce shook his head. "When everyone supported this resolution, I realized my control over Wayne Enterprises was still insufficient—such a thing will not happen a second time."

"So, Thomas Wayne accepted no form of reward from Vincent Falcone, and you have no relationship whatsoever with Carmine Falcone?"

"Exactly."

Hearing this answer, Harvey's expression grew even more serious.

"Then, why did your father not report this crime? If he had done so, Luigi Maroni would have been brought to justice long ago, Vincent Falcone would have been investigated alongside him, and Gotham City would not have fallen into the hands of the Romans."

Bruce looked up at the increasingly angry Harvey, knowing his anger stemmed from righteous indignation, so he did not mind his temper and hostility, but Alfred, standing nearby, spoke up.

"Perhaps Master Wayne did indeed write a report, but Gotham back then was different from today. The Gotham Police Department, and even the District Attorney's office, were equally rife with corruption and bribery."

"Just a few months later, that heartbreaking event occurred; the most upright person I knew was shot by a robber holding a gun in Crime Alley."

Alfred shook his head. "I know Luigi lacked the courage to harm Master Wayne, but precisely because of that, his death is even more heartbreaking. I do not know how much better today's Gotham is compared to then, but I think that if we accuse him of not doing enough, that would be far too rude."

Harvey and Gordon exchanged glances; Harvey thought of Vernon, while Chief Gordon thought of certain police officers in the precinct whose ties to the Falcone family were unclear.

Gotham may have changed, but perhaps that change was not great enough, and the culprit was not Thomas Wayne.

"Mr. Wayne, I apologize to you." Harvey stood up and sighed. "Perhaps my preconceptions have indeed caused many problems—I will not disturb you further today; farewell."

"I can understand both of your sense of justice." Bruce also stood up and replied. "In any case, the Waynes will never associate with the Falcones again."

Gordon had worked in Gotham for many years and held the Wayne family in high regard; seeing the misunderstanding cleared up, he breathed a sigh of relief, but Alfred's words just now still made him feel uneasy; with mixed feelings, he replied as well: "Farewell."

Outside the Roman's apartment, the silhouette of a cat hid in the night.

Beside Selina sat a machine; she used a telescope to observe Falcone inside the room, while the machine automatically played back the words spoken by the people in the room.

A lip-reading machine, capable of reconstructing a person's speech by analyzing their lip movements; it requires only a view of the other person's lips—this is a more covert remote surveillance method than a bug.

Sophia held a beautifully wrapped gift box, while Falcone opposite her stood up and walked toward the door.

"I have some business to attend to, daughter; I may return a bit late."

"I, uh..." The burly Sophia stammered a few words but ultimately failed to say anything, simply extending the gift box in her hand.

"Sophia?"

"For you—Happy Father's Day."

Falcone opened the gift box and pulled out a beautiful tie; judging by the fabric, it must have been very expensive.

However, the moment he saw it, Falcone thought of his deceased youngest son; in fact, upon realizing it was Father's Day, he had been restless all day.

"I thank you for your thoughtfulness."

After merely giving a brief reply, Falcone was unwilling to say more and hurriedly left the room.

Sophia watched her father's departing figure, her expression somewhat dejected.

Catwoman stood silently in the night, hearing Sophia's whisper come through the loudspeaker beside her; in fact, those were words she herself wished to say.

"Dad..."

Carmine Falcone perhaps never realized that in his youth he might have left behind an abandoned illegitimate daughter in the East End.

And Batman might never figure out why he always sees Catwoman's figure by the Roman's side, nor why Catwoman sometimes helps him against Falcone and sometimes stops him from interrogating him.

Only the cat in the darkness would, with mixed feelings, silently gaze upon this father who had put a bounty on her life.

On the other side, Chief Gordon also returned home after dusk today; although he had caught the Holiday Killer, at Batman's suggestion, Gordon did not bring him back to the precinct but instead let Batman take him away for temporary custody, so there was no extra work to do for the time being; if not for his habit of working overtime to organize the Holiday Killer's case files, he might have been able to leave work a few hours earlier.

But in any case, today he no longer had to rack his brains over the Holiday Killer's case files; otherwise, he would probably not have arrived home until late at night.

"Dad!"

"James?"

As soon as Gordon entered the house, the scent of food wafted from the living room; his five-year-old eldest son immediately darted out of the room, his two little short legs moving at incredible speed, and he leaped straight into his arms.

"Oh—James, you are really too heavy; sooner or later I won't be able to carry you; even now, my old back is already a bit unable to take it."

His wife Barbara also walked out of the house, smiling as she said: "Little James has been looking forward to your return for a long time; he prepared a gift for you."

"A gift? What gift?"

"This!"

After Chief Gordon set Little James down on the ground, the boy immediately held out the gift box in his hand; his small face was flushed, his expression seeming somewhat shy, yet also somewhat proud: "Mom and I made it for you! Dad, Happy Father's Day!"

Facing his son's expectant eyes, Chief Gordon smiled and accepted the gift box: "I was wondering why Little James was so excited today; good boy, thank you, Dad."

He took out a tie from the gift box; the fabric was very ordinary, the embroidery very careful; it was not the common grid or solid-color style, but featured little handprint patterns, clearly made by a pair of chubby little children's hands.

"Good, good; I can see you and your mother must have been busy for quite a while."

Gordon laughed, gently ruffling his son's messy golden curls, then immediately took off the tie from his neck and tied this somewhat strange-looking tie around his own neck.

"This is the best gift a father could receive on Father's Day. Thank you, James."

Wearing the tie, he carried James into the living room.

Harvey Dent returned home a little later; he had nothing urgent to attend to today, having only visited the prison.

"Harvey, welcome home."

"I'm back, Gilda."

Upon entering, Harvey casually took off his coat, hung it on the rack, then reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a coin, and began to fiddle with it in his hand as he walked further into the house.

Gilda noticed that peculiar coin and couldn't help but look at it curiously: "Harvey, what is this?"

"Oh, I went to the prison today to visit my father."

"Ah? How is he?"

"Just the same as before, still that bastard. However, he did give me something." Harvey showed the coin in his hand to Gilda: "Look, one side is normal, the other is scorched."

Gilda looked at the coin, and an uncomfortable feeling inexplicably rose from the depths of her heart.

"He told me that this ghost town, Gotham, is such that even the courts are like coins; evidence, truth, and justice are all insignificant, so the verdict of a trial is like flipping a coin—heads you win, tails you lose. People only flip coins when deciding matters of no consequence."

"The part that truly determines the verdict is settled before the trial even begins."

"Harvey, you..."

"Don't worry, Gilda." Harvey gently patted his wife's hand: "I told my old man that he's right, but if the trial is truly a coin, he should be a coin with order, an important coin, a coin no one dares to underestimate."

"So, today I did a few things, met a few people, and heard some advice, only to realize that what I've done is not enough, far from enough."

Harvey flicked his thumb, a crisp sound rang out, and the gleaming coin flew high into the air before falling back into his palm.

"I told him that sooner or later, all the villains in Gotham City will have to watch helplessly as the law flips this coin, and their lives and deaths will hang upon it—no bribed judges, no manipulated juries; only the law, only karma."

Harvey Dent walked to the window, flipping the coin in his hand faster and faster; suddenly, he turned sideways and gave Gilda a gentle smile.

"If karma does not come, he must be careful—"

"Because I will be watching him."

Boom!

A clap of thunder suddenly exploded in the sky above Gotham; in that instant, the city's lights began to flicker.

The light in the room suddenly vanished, plunging everything into brief darkness, with the only source of light remaining being the lightning outside the window.

In that second, half of Harvey's body was illuminated snow-white by the dazzling lightning, while the other half sank into deep darkness.

Gilda looked at her husband before her, momentarily speechless, but the next moment, the room's lights flickered on, and light once again enveloped the two of them; the Harvey from just now seemed to have vanished again.

In Wayne Manor, Bruce gazed at the portraits of his parents, constantly recalling that rainy night in his mind.

"If my father had not saved the Roman... the lives lost in Gotham City, the cypress trees beside the graves—"

"Allow me to speak, Young Master. No matter who knocks on the door, your father would never let the other party die—that is his way of being."

"I can't help but imagine this possibility: if he had made a different choice, what would things have become?"

Alfred fell silent before the portrait. Wasn't Batman the same? Time and again he struck down criminals, yet he never dealt the killing blow; no matter the identity of the person before him, he would unhesitatingly save their life.

If Batman killed, then ninety-nine percent of Gotham City's criminals would never have the chance to do evil again—but he would never choose that path.

He walked out of the room and saw Bruce sitting on the high spiral staircase in the hall, looking down through the gaps between the railing and the handrail.

"I... I just missed him, Alfred—isn't that terrible of me?"

Bruce did not turn around, but Alfred could faintly make out the tear tracks on his face by the moonlight.

"No, Young Master." Alfred gently placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder; under the tranquil moonlight, Bruce's back gradually merged with the back of Doctor Thomas in Alfred's memory.

"You are very much your father's son."

In the shelter for homeless children, Ma Ma Zhaodi, Grundy, and Jason sat among a group of kids, sharing small biscuits and watching an animated cartoon on an old television.

"Old Ma, these biscuits are really delicious."

"Heh-heh—this is a secret recipe taught to me by the old butler; ordinary people can't get it."

"Solomon Grundy, born on Monday..."

(End of this chapter)