Chapter 75: Undercurrents Surging

The snow in Gotham seemed endless; since entering December, heavy and light snowfalls had not stopped, continuing for a full month without any sign of abating.

On December 31, the sun had already set below the horizon, yet lights still burned in the District Attorney's office; the light spilling through the window illuminated the snowflakes outside and cast the silhouette of a person bent over their work.

"Harvey, Harvey, if you still had half a brain, you'd know to go home and keep Gilda company."

Though muttering this to himself, District Attorney Harvey's bottom remained firmly glued to the stool; he carefully flipped through the Juan Sect and related case reports in his hands, showing not the slightest sign of wanting to head home immediately.

At that moment, the office door was suddenly pushed open, and a blond youth in a white shirt and black suspenders poked his head in; his face looked tender and young, appearing to be in his twenties, wearing round, nerd-like glasses, and seeming somewhat timid. (This is just Eagle's perspective; in reality, I wear glasses too.)

"Mr. Dent, I hope—I haven't disturbed you?"

"Working this late again? Vernon, none of this extra work will help you get promoted."

"But you work just as late, Mr. Since I arrived at the District Attorney's office a week ago, you have worked until this late every single day."

Yet Harvey's condition was actually far better than before; in the past, he only returned home late at night—but ever since Gilda expressed her desire to have a child with him, he had started going home early. Perhaps the newly renovated house could change their mindset and give them a fresh start?

The main reason he still worked one or two hours past closing time every day was simply that Gotham had too many crimes, and today's workload was especially heavy because it was New Year's Eve—likewise, the time for year-end summaries; of course, this was also related to Harvey wanting to save more money for the future.

Have you not heard that even the two rival gangs openly and secretly fighting within Gotham City, namely the Falcone Family and the Maroni Family, would temporarily set aside their grudges on this New Year's Eve, share wine and laughter, and jointly celebrate the coming of next year—even gangsters look forward to the future; who in Gotham City does not feel the same? As long as one lives, one must have something to hold onto.

Hearing his young assistant's words, Harvey immediately rose from his chair, casually turned off the desk lamp, and put on his trench coat: "See, Vernon, do you understand what I mean? One should approach any matter from two different angles."

What a perfect example of refuting by personal demonstration.

Harvey, now switched to off-duty mode, strode toward the office door, casually patted Vernon's shoulder, and said to him with a smile: "Today is New Year's Eve, kid. Now it's time to go home, keep your wife company, and hope that next year will be better than this one."

This Knight of Light genuinely felt this young man was good; as a newly arrived assistant district attorney at the District Attorney's office, he had not yet been contaminated by this great dye vat, nor had he participated in the petty scheming between colleagues and gangsters; he worked conscientiously, staying up until this hour every day alongside Harvey. All these performances made him involuntarily recall himself when he first arrived in Gotham.

Although Vernon might not be able to persist forever, he might also be able to; wasn't the former Harvey Dent just an ordinary assistant district attorney? This was also why Harvey placed high hopes on every young person; they all had the potential to become Gotham City's second, third, or even more Knights of Light in the future.

"Uh, yes, Mr., but there are some things here—regarding the Roman's case—I have been reading those old police reports, and then..."

"I'm sure those reports can wait until I read them next year, Vernon." Harvey waved his hand dismissively and continued pressing the elevator button in the hallway.

However, this time, Vernon did not obediently follow Harvey's words as usual.

"Mr., this is important."

He said seriously: "I discovered a connection, a link—between 'The Roman' Falcone and the billionaire, Bruce Wayne."

Harvey's foot, just about to step into the elevator, stopped.

"Sorry, Mr." Vernon handed the report over: "It's already late, but I think you should be the first to know about this..."

As Vernon spoke, he noticed Harvey staring at the report, seemingly not hearing his words, so he softly repeated: "Mr.?"

"Actually, it should be the second."

Harvey Dent gazed thoughtfully at the report, then sighed: "Unfortunately, it seems Bruce Wayne has already known about this for some time."

Snowy night, Gotham Harbor.

"Happy New Year, Salvatore."

A sturdy, large hand wearing an expensive gold watch gave a slight turn, casually popping the cork; the motion was incredibly practiced.

Carmine Falcone held a bottle of expensive, high-grade champagne in his hand, pouring wine for Salvatore Maroni beside him—according to the unlucky Maroni's account, he had injured his right arm sparring with someone during Christmas, leaving only one arm functional at present. Thus, he could only hold the champagne with his left hand, letting the Roman pour wine for him.

However, Falcone still did not quite understand why Maroni had gone looking for someone to spar with at that time.

Watching the golden liquid gradually fill the wine glass, Maroni's face showed little sign of happiness: "Carmine, we have been fighting each other for a long time; every time you manage to beat me."

"But if we cannot think of a way to stop that 'Holiday Killer' affair, this New Year will be our last New Year."

"Maroni, I know, I appreciate your concern; it truly moves me, truly, moved from the bottom of my heart."

The Godfather's hand was very steady; while speaking, he poured himself a glass of champagne as well: "And I have also been thinking, thinking about the 'Holiday Killer' matter—that is the nickname those newspapers gave him."

"Or possibly 'she'." Maroni interjected.

"Whatever." The Roman's expression was profound; he took a sip of champagne, stared at Maroni before him, and his eyes revealed a sharp and fierce light: "All I know so far is that this bastard likes messing with my family members and ruining my business—you over there seem not to have shed much blood on the surface."

Holding the champagne, Maroni's face suddenly changed: "Falcone, what do you mean?"

However, the Godfather did not answer his question; he simply turned and walked into the crowd, leaving him with a back view and a New Year's greeting.

"Happy New Year, Sal, you are right."

"This really could be your last year."

(End of this chapter)