Chapter 80

The soft clink of cutlery against dishes, accompanied by the hiss of fizzing wine, was the first sound as Gordon raised his glass: “Congratulations on your new home!”

Bruce, Harvey, Shiler, and Victor all raised their glasses, clinking them together. Shiler took a sip; the sharp wine burned down his throat, warming his chest. The firelight from the hearth glowed on the glass, like a flickering flame.

“You really should buy a house,” Harvey said. “I’ve been saying it for years—no one should live in faculty housing that long. There isn’t even a coffee machine. I stayed two nights, and my back was sore from the bed frame.”

“I think it’s fine,” Victor said. “Gotham University’s facilities are decent, of course, nothing compared to this estate. I hope you’ll leave me a room here.”

“Always welcome,” Shiler said, raising his glass to him. Bruce sliced his steak with his knife as he replied: “You should leave rooms for all of us. After all, I’ve left rooms for you all in Wayne Manor.”

“That’s enough,” Shiler said.

“God grant I can afford an estate in my lifetime—I’d gladly leave you all rooms,” Gordon said, biting into a sausage.

fantuan.

“How have you been lately? Are you close to saving enough?” Harvey asked.

“Income’s dipped a bit, but it’s still fine,” Gordon wiped his mouth with a napkin. “The Don hasn’t moved yet. The other gangs are restless. This might be the calm before the storm.”

“When you’ve saved enough, let me know,” Shiler said, tapping his fork lightly against the knife.

“Why?”

“Nothing much. I just thought I could help you pick an apartment—I looked at plenty of options before buying my place.”

“Perfect—I’ve been stuck deciding which one. What do you think of the Pelican Heights neighborhood? I actually prefer Jasmine Tail Lane, but since we might want a kid someday, it’s too small and has no nursery.”

“Have you considered Ninth Avenue? Come be my neighbor,” Harvey grinned.

“Oh, come on—that’s way too far. And everyone there’s probably just a bachelor like you.”

Shiler, raising his glass to drink, let out a sharp “huh.” Gordon glanced at him, puzzled. Shiler smiled. “You’ve been so busy, you didn’t hear the big news.”

“What?” Gordon looked at Harvey. “What did I miss? Has he stopped being a bachelor?”

Victor asked: “Have you and Christine officially gotten together? You two better keep it discreet at school—you know, nearly as many women are interested in you as men are in her.”

“Yeah, it happened last week,” Harvey shrugged.

Bruce stared at him in surprise. “Seriously? Damn—you landed the sexiest, prettiest girl at Gotham University? I thought you were a total academic.”

Shiler tapped his fork again against the edge of the plate. “I hope you’re not implying something. Do you think I’m sitting here eating with you because you barely scraped a 69 on your final?”

Everyone laughed. The hearth blazed brightly; the metallic gleam of cutlery reflected in overlapping rings of soft light, filling the room with a warm, radiant glow.

After dinner, they sat on the sofa before the hearth. Harvey was slightly drunk. “What’s this? Bachelor night? Gordon’s getting married—before that, we can still pull a stunt like this…”

“I’m leaving,” Victor said, already dressed in his coat and hat. Shiler turned to him. “Take the bag by the door—it has two bottles of wine and a pack of cigars.”

“Oh! Thanks. Why are you giving me these Cuban treasures?” Victor opened the bag and grinned.

“I remember you mentioned—two days ago was your wedding anniversary…”

“Oh! Sorry—we didn’t know!” Bruce said. “Professor Fris, I’ll send your gift to your office tomorrow.”

“No, no need to be so formal,” Victor smiled. “Honestly, just you understanding me already makes me happy.”

Victor meant it. After all, freezing his wife in a cryo-chamber was a terrifying thing to admit. He never expected anyone to understand his madness. Before, those who heard the story only told him to accept death as natural, to let go.

But these new friends of his in Gotham? Most showed deep tolerance. They didn’t avoid mentioning it. Victor hated when people looked at him with pity, avoiding any talk of marriage or family—it made him feel like a curse.

But these friends didn’t. It was as if his wife had just a minor illness, hospitalized temporarily. They never forgot to include her in plans. That comforted him—like she was truly just sick, and would recover soon.

After Victor left, Gordon soon followed. Bruce leaned back on the sofa. “See? These are all busy people. Only us—only these idle fools—can get drunk all night here…”

“Actually, only you, Mr. Billionaire. I’ve got to revise my thesis. Harvey’s got court filings. Only you—the idle, empty-headed rich man…”

Bruce leaned back, eyes closed, waved his hand dismissively—clearly drunk. Harvey pulled on his coat. “I’ll take him home. Don’t let him pass out here.”

“His pocket has a phone. Find it and call his butler. Have him send a helicopter. Don’t drive.”

“In Gotham, drunk driving? I could easily do 120 miles an hour…” Bruce mumbled.

“Sure, sure—our genius racecar driver…”

After Harvey dragged Bruce away, Shiler walked to the other side of the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed.

Soon, the estate’s lights dimmed one by one. Gotham’s night sank into deep darkness.

The next day, Gotham University’s chancellor, Xie Dun, stood in his office, arms crossed, puzzled. “You’re saying Professor Rodriguez was injured and hospitalized? …Alright, send a colleague to check on him.”

In the afternoon, Shiler took the flowers from Anna’s hands as he lay in bed. “Oh, thank you—I’m truly grateful…”

He was about to speak further when Gordon burst in. Seeing a stranger, he hesitated. After Anna left, Gordon scanned the room—the high-end private ward at Gotham Central Hospital, luxurious furnishings, Shiler lying under the covers, his face showing no obvious signs of injury.

Gordon stepped forward, hands on hips. “I heard you were attacked last night. Damn it—I should’ve stayed longer…”

Shiler smiled, as if it meant nothing. “You’re still laughing? You knew those people from Metropolis were after you. You didn’t even stay alert—and now they got you. Where are you hurt? Organs? Bones?”

He added, annoyed: “And where the hell is Batman? If he’d stayed with you, this never would’ve happened!”

“You have a lot of faith in him. But I don’t want him sleeping over. His butler showing up would be worse than anything.”

“Seriously…” Gordon studied Shiler. “Are you really hurt? I can’t see a thing.”

He checked his watch. “We left at midnight. It’s barely 7 a.m. Your wounds healed this fast? Even a single cut should’ve taken hours to treat. Has Gotham Central’s medical tech improved this much?”

Shiler waved him off, then threw back the covers, sat up, stood, and walked to the window, stretching lazily. Gordon stared, wide-eyed, at the fluid, effortless motion.

“Damn it! You’re not hurt at all!” Gordon shouted. “I rushed here on a tip!”

“I’m touched,” Shiler said. “Your old pickup got you here from the precinct in twenty minutes? Did you install a propeller?”

“I told you—I got top marks in driving school!”

Gordon shook his head. “Is that the point? The point is—why fake being injured? Finally fed up with Gotham University’s students?”

“Of course not… well, maybe a little—but that’s not why.”

“How did I even hear about this? This morning, the precinct was in chaos—word spread that Arkham Psychiatric Hospital was shutting down for lack of a chief physician. I’ve never seen them so devastated…”

“Yes. Arkham shutting down? The police aren’t the only ones grieving.”

Gordon frowned. He wasn’t stupid. After a moment’s thought, he said: “The gangs won’t let this go. They’ve tasted profit from this industry.”

“Exactly. They’re probably more desperate than you are. You’re almost saved enough to buy an apartment. Their goals are bigger.”

“Why do this? What’s the point of stringing them along?”

“I got injured. The psychiatric hospital closed. They lose their prize. So—why was I injured?”

“You were injured… you’re framing those Metropolis people?” Gordon finally understood. “You want the gangs to eliminate them. Once they hear you were attacked by those Metropolis types—that’s why the hospital shut down—they’ll hunt them down and kill them.”

Gordon paced the room. “They’ve invested years, effort, money into this hospital operation. They won’t walk away. It’s like the final bake of a pizza—they won’t stop now.”

“Your ‘injury’ will make them dig. They’ll find out everything. The police already know who did it. The gang bosses won’t be blind.”

“But how do you know they’ll go after the Metropolis people instead of just replacing you, like before?”

“I got injured—but that doesn’t mean the hospital has to shut down. They don’t know this was your plan. They might just think: if the chief doctor’s out, hire another.”

“They don’t know. But Falcone does. That’s enough.”