Chapter 130: Iron Gates, Iron Windows, Iron Chains; Hands Clinging to the Iron Bars, Gazing Out

Jenkins sat in his office reading the newspaper, his mood far from pleasant—or rather, utterly dreadful.

"Maroni," he muttered, his expression shifting between gloom and fury: "How did this suddenly happen? I finally managed to latch onto such a powerful backer—"

"Ring-ring—"

Just then, his mobile phone suddenly rang; he set down the newspaper and answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Director Jenkins, an electrician just entered the underground holding cells, claiming Prosecutor Harvey sent him to inspect the wiring?"

Jenkins immediately grew tense: "What's his name?"

"Marcus."

Hearing that name, the tense Jenkins let out a long sigh of relief.

"Let him be," he shrugged: "I know this man."

In fact, it was far more than mere acquaintance.

Earlier, Harvey had told Jenkins that the room had only one surveillance camera, which worried him, so he had hired a man named Marcus to install two additional wiretaps within the room's electrical circuit—because without tapping into the circuit, the wiretaps would require charging or battery replacement, otherwise they wouldn't last even half a month.

Naturally, Jenkins had wisely bribed this electrician hired by Harvey, and thus learned that Harvey had installed a total of three wiretaps; this initially earned him the trust of this money-grubbing Mr. Marcus.

He had commissioned Marcus to disable all three of Harvey's wiretaps and also to sabotage the camera—and all of this was done right in front of Maroni. This display of loyalty earned Maroni's praise and reward, completely dispelling Jenkins' inner unease.

After all, now that he had latched onto such a powerful backer, even if Harvey discovered his arrangements had failed, what could Harvey possibly do to him? He could simply claim it was an electrical malfunction, and Marcus would corroborate his story.

He casually hung up the phone, flipped a few more pages of the newspaper, then suddenly froze mid-motion.

"Wait, why do I feel something isn't quite right?"

Just at that moment, his phone rang again.

"Didn't I already say to let him be?"

However, this time it was not a call from the security personnel.

"Mr. Jenkins," a voice tinged with sinister ruthlessness spoke coldly: "Mr. Maroni sends his regards."

"He asked me to convey his exact words: 'Among my friends, there has never been anyone who dared betray me, nor any useless trash.'"

"Beep—"

The sound of the call ending rang out; Jenkins slumped into his chair, his face ashen, his entire body trembling.

"It's over, everything is over."

"Ring-ring—"

Suddenly, a third call came through.

Jenkins hurriedly lifted the phone with trembling hands; at this moment, he desperately hoped to hear Maroni's voice, giving him one more chance to explain and beg for mercy.

Unfortunately, the voice on the line was not Maroni's, but that of Prosecutor Harvey.

"Jenkins, I tried calling you earlier but found the line busy; I suppose you've already received Maroni's 'regards.'"

"Whether you have or haven't, remember my words: if you don't want to die on the streets of Gotham City or in your own bed, don't hesitate—take the evidence of your crimes and go to Commissioner Gordon."

"Surrender yourself or become a witness for the prosecution; this is your only path to survival—good luck on your journey, Jenkins."

Ever since the incident during Harvey's trial, Gotham City had suddenly become outwardly calm, a tranquility lasting even over a month.

Maroni, the Romans, that District Attorney, and the Gotham Police Department—all parties had fallen silent: no annexations, no assassinations, no gunfights. Only those immersed within knew what turbulent undercurrents surged beneath Gotham's murky surface.

Maroni, having basically regained his ability to act, hadn't had time to retaliate against Vernon and Jenkins before learning that Commissioner Gordon had locked both of them up in the Gotham Police Department; Maroni knew these two turncoats must have completely betrayed him, intending to become witnesses for the prosecution, thereby gaining police protection while exempting themselves from charges of corruption and bribery.

"They wish."

Maroni spat viciously; if not for Harvey Dent's impending lawsuit against him, he would certainly have prioritized dealing with those two bastards.

But it didn't matter; even with these two involved, he could still bribe the court. At worst, he'd serve a short prison sentence, not too long; his father Luigi would regain control and bail him out.

That was what he thought.

Due to the severe impact and conclusive evidence, the legal proceedings moved quickly, yet Maroni's actions were equally swift; by the day of the court's verdict, he had already completed bribing the court personnel—a routine matter for him, as the trial staff possessed no professional ethics, making it hardly troublesome.

"Mr. Maroni, for attempted murder of the District Attorney in open court, you are sentenced to long-term imprisonment, duration: thirty years."

"Say that again!?"

Standing in the defendant's dock, veins bulging on his forehead, Maroni suppressed his rage and demanded: "Say that again, damn it! How many years!"

I damn well paid three million! And you damn well sentence me to thirty years!

Clenching his fists, he glared at the stiff-faced judge, then turned to look at Harvey Dent on the other side of the courtroom, whose face wore an expression of shock; once again, that name surfaced in his mind.

"Carmine Falcone?"

Yes, who else could possibly influence the outcome of a court trial?

"Mr. Maroni!" the judge stated sternly: "Show respect to this court; this incident has already brought you a thirty-year sentence and substantial fines and compensation. If you commit similar acts again, your sentence will be increased further."

The unwilling Sal Maroni was led out of the courtroom, while Luigi Maroni soon returned to head the Maroni family once more.

Several more days passed; Maroni still hadn't managed to get out of prison, whereas Luigi spent some money to visit his son inside.

Maroni looked utterly dejected, head hanging low, whispering apologies to his father, truly resembling a child who had made a mistake.

"Dad, I'm sorry; I didn't listen to you."

"Sal, you have brought shame upon the Maroni name."

Outside the bars, Luigi, his head full of white hair, sighed as he looked at his son: "I've already investigated; Falcone indeed interfered in this trial. That fool Harvey Dent was used as a pawn—he was supposed to be our pawn, do you understand?"

"They captured Alberto; they helped us once; they originally planned to cooperate with us against Falcone—what a perfect situation that was! Why did you go mad and do such a thing?"

"With Falcone obstructing, I cannot get you out right now; you... just stay in there and reflect for now."

Father and son, separated by iron bars, both sighed.

(End of Chapter)