Chapter 161

Gordon's head was about to split open, and Cobblepot had fallen into a state of existential doubt.

His doubts were no less than Gordon's, for he had been the mastermind behind the entire affair.

From Cobblepot's perspective, his plan had been to break free from the Don and accumulate some capital—plainly speaking, to make money—to pave the way for a future comeback.

So he juggled between Fish and Kevin, finally eliminating all those who sought to control him: first using Fish to kill Kevin, then using Maroni to kill Fish, and finally intending to frame Maroni to clear the Don's son of guilt and escape cleanly.

Everything before had gone smoothly; now it had reached the final step—but Cobblepot never imagined Evans would plead guilty???

How could he execute his final step now?

In truth, by this point, Cobblepot himself knew he didn't need to carry out the final step.

Because he truly suffered from mental illness, not faked it; even if he did nothing more for the Don, his condition meant the Don would hardly harass a minor with schizophrenia.

In fact, if the Don learned Cobblepot was ill, he might even pay for his treatment.

That's why the Don was the Don—he never acted like the villains in films, eliminating allies after use. On the contrary, many retired members of the Falcone family received excellent pensions: the sick received care, the healthy bought homes, took vacations, and retired in peace.

Cobblepot knew that under these circumstances, the Don would no longer trouble him, and he no longer needed to feign illness or constantly fear the Don's spies—because he genuinely suffered from mental illness, with a confirmed diagnosis from Arkham's chief physician.

But Cobblepot could not accept his perfect plan ending in failure; the fact that both his mother and he had fallen ill had already disrupted his plan, leaving him with a constant, suffocating irritation.

To a man who pursued a career in crime, it was like dropping a rat turd into a perfectly cooked soup.

Still, Cobblepot could barely accept it—after all, birth, aging, sickness, and death were beyond control; that both he and his mother fell ill at this moment was simply bad luck.

But Evans pleading guilty was clearly no accident—it was deliberate. Cobblepot could not tolerate another hidden mastermind appearing in his perfect plan.

Cobblepot couldn't help wondering: had he misjudged someone? Was young Falcone truly the real mastermind?

As Cobblepot wrestled with these thoughts, Schiller's voice pulled him back; Schiller stared at Cobblepot and said: "You haven't answered my question—where did this umbrella come from?"

Gordon and Cobblepot both turned to Schiller; Cobblepot voiced Gordon's thoughts: "Is now the time to discuss this? What could possibly matter about it?"

Gordon added: "My dear professor! Stop obsessing over your broken umbrella!"

"This is serious! The heir to the Falcone family just walked into the police station and confessed to murder…"

Gordon pointed to the door: "Just now, our new police chief suffered a hypertensive crisis—he's probably already in an ambulance."

"I've received fifteen calls in a row—the city's only two judges said they'd booked vacation plans two months ago and fled Gotham overnight on private jets…"

"Nine clerks from the Gotham court: five had gastroenteritis, three ran fevers, and one suddenly lost his voice—all rushed to the hospital overnight. Even five janitors: three broke their legs and can't come to work tomorrow…"

"Within the last hour, Gotham's entire judicial system collapsed."

Gordon laughed bitterly: "I don't even know how many times they rehearsed this—how they could collapse in perfect top-down order within an hour, like dominoes falling faster than a courthouse on fire…"

"Even more absurd: we've received twelve notices from law firms temporarily closing. Right now, you can't find a single lawyer in Gotham whose phone you can reach."

Schiller ignored his complaints entirely, picked up the umbrella, and poked Cobblepot's injured arm. Cobblepot yelped and recoiled.

He glared up at Schiller, then looked down at his still-bound arm, and sighed resignedly: "Fine. But first, I need to understand what's going on with Evans—I won't allow…"

At that moment, a noise came from the psychiatric hospital's balcony. Batman entered, cold and reeking of blood. Schiller turned to look; Batman froze—he hadn't expected so many people here.

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Schiller sized him up and said: "Gotham's great detective has arrived. Let's hear what he has to say."

Gordon sniffed and asked Batman: "What did you do? Why do you reek of blood?"

"It doesn't matter," Batman replied, his voice as cold as ever.

"Maroni told me Evans Falcone ordered him to kill Fish."

Before Batman could ask Gordon for details, Schiller tapped the metal guardrail at the foot of the bed with his umbrella, making a loud clatter. He raised his voice: "I hope you understand—this is my office. Let me speak first."

Schiller stood the umbrella upright and said: "Answer my question, then leave. Find another place for your detective meeting."

"Good God! It rains every day in Gotham. My umbrella broke. The only umbrella repairman died. How can you be so cold, with not an ounce of sympathy?"

Everyone stared at him in silence. Schiller paused, then sighed: "Alright. If you must solve your problem before answering mine, then you don't even need to ask Evans…"

He set the umbrella down and tapped the floor tiles with its tip. "I advised him to do it."

Gordon and Cobblepot both widened their eyes. Schiller put the umbrella aside, sat behind his desk, and said: "Looks like you'll have to hear my version of the story all over again."

Batman stood in a corner, arms crossed, his expression saying: "I expected this."

Schiller took a sip of water and began his account.

"About a month ago, Evans came to the psychological clinic at Gotham University and confided in his professor."

"He had a conflict with his father. The first half sounded like typical teenage troubles—but the second half was far less pleasant, because his father was Gotham's Don."

"We all know the old Don had planned to retire, handing over a large portion of his West Side operations to his son and letting him run them. Though Evans didn't perform well, the old Don wasn't in a hurry—he was still young."

We all know that the old Godfather had already planned to retire; he handed over a large portion of his business in the West District to his son and let him run it as he wished. Though Evans performed poorly, the old Godfather wasn't in a hurry, since his son was still young.

"Clearly, the old Don hadn't planned to retire because he was old—he'd reached the peak. No matter how hard he pushed, nothing would change."

"But Gotham's reforms gave him new hope—showed him the possibility of rising even higher. So, do you think he'd still want to retire now?"

Gordon shook his head: "I met the old Don recently. Though he still looked energetic, I sensed something different about him."

"Indeed. Falcone ruled Gotham for forty years. He wanted to end his reign and pass power to the next generation not because he was weak—but because he was lonely at the top. With nothing left to do but groom a successor, retirement made sense."

"But now, with reforms underway, everything changed. The Falcone family had too many new possibilities: logistics needed oversight, urban development required supervision, negotiations with Chicago were full of hidden maneuvering, ties with Imperial City were equally complex, not to mention the East Coast coordination plan still on the agenda…"

Schiller tapped his desk: "If the old Don once treated Gotham as a training ground for his son, he won't be so careless now."

Batman's voice came from the corner: "An emperor not yet old, reigniting ambition—what happens to the prince's position…"

"Exactly. Evans found himself in a precarious position. His father had already handed him significant assets—he had the means to challenge the old Don's rule."

"But now, his father suddenly had no intention of stepping down. He seemed ready to rule Gotham for another forty years."

"The heir who had already received partial power was no longer merely awkwardly placed—he was in danger."

"Evans told me all this and asked for my advice."

Schiller glanced at Gordon and Cobblepot: "You know the old Don better than I do."

Cobblepot fell silent, then said: "He loves his son—but that doesn't mean he'll let his heir develop dangerous ambitions. He won't tolerate anyone gaining power that could threaten his rule."

Cobblepot suddenly understood. He looked at Schiller: "What did you advise young Falcone?"

"I naturally advised him to withdraw while the going was good."

Schiller rose and paced slowly around the desk: "You know better than I do—Falcone is generous in some ways, but he ruled Gotham for forty years not just through kindness and tolerance."

"If Evans showed even a hint of ambition to undermine his father, Falcone wouldn't kill him—but he'd certainly confine him until he was willing to retire."

If Evans were to show any ambition to undermine his father's rule at this moment, though Falcone wouldn't kill him, placing Evans under house arrest until he was willing to retire would be perfectly normal.

"The Don once made Evans kill Maroni. Evans captured him—and could have killed him. But I advised him to use him as a tool."

"Of course, what happened after was Evans's own genius—none of it had anything to do with me."

"Evans first acted impulsively, clashing with every gang boss in the Undercity. Then he ordered Maroni to enter the Undercity and kill those bosses, damaging his own reputation…"

He turned to Cobblepot, who said: "So I teamed up with Maroni…"

"Just as you said before," Schiller said to Gordon. "A successor who starts reckless, falters in execution, then panics and resorts to assassination—he looks incredibly stupid, no threat at all."

"Not to mention he went to the police," Gordon added helplessly.

"More importantly…" Schiller pulled a medical file from under the desk. "As expected, the moment young Falcone insisted on a formal trial, Gotham's judicial system collapsed. That lets him skip bail, trial, sentencing, and incarceration—jump straight to medical parole…"

Gordon looked like he'd swallowed something foul: "... nd then you'd just reunite with him here, right? You even prepped the medical file…"

Schiller pointed to the bed beside Cobblepot: "That's his bed."

"With psychiatric parole, he can stay out of his father's sight for a long time," Batman concluded. "It's best for both of them."

"Alright, the story's over," Schiller said, turning back to Cobblepot. "Now, answer my question."

All eyes followed Schiller's gesture—to the umbrella he held up.

All eyes followed Xiler's movement and settled on the umbrella he raised.