The Odessa crime family's headquarters at the docks was quiet, save for the soft hum of a refrigeration unit and the low murmur of voices in the back office. The air smelled faintly of salt and oil, thick with the stench of the river. Around a polished oak table sat three men and one woman, the Odessa captains, their faces lit by the pale glow of a desk lamp.
"They took one of the Whisper nodes," said Viktor, his accent rough as gravel. He set a thin dossier on the table with a snap. "Not the whole rail, but a large section clean. Fast. Barely a trail left behind and barely any noise, I'm sure we are the first to find out."
Irina, long fingers laced together, tilted her head. "The Whispers are not soft. They know their rails. To lose a node that size without raising hell? That means planning. Timing. Discipline. More than I expected from gutter rats. Maybe there is some truth behind what happened with black mask."
There was a murmur of agreement.
"Brains," grunted Olek, his scarred knuckles tapping the wood. "That's what it means. Whoever runs the underpass is not just throwing bodies. They moved like a syndicate. Like us."
"And ruthless," Viktor added, his eyes hard. "To hit the Whispers that deep, that quiet? No hesitation. No fear of bloodying their hands. That is not desperation it is strategy and utterly calm ruthlessness that is extremely hard to foster I would imagine it to be harder for rats."
A silence settled, heavy and uncomfortable. Finally, Irina spoke again, her voice low and careful.
"The trouble with them is… information. Who are they? We know they have bosses spread over the city - Narrows, East End, the South Tracks, the tunnels. But which face belongs to which name? Which vagrant is soldier and which is a starving fool? It could be every homeless in Gotham. Every shopping cart pusher. Every drunk with a paper bag. Could be a store clerk you buy cigarettes from." She leaned closer, eyes sharp. "Every corner could be theirs."
The words carried a shiver through the room.
Olek spat on the floor. "And the boss? What do we know of him?"
Viktor opened the dossier, revealing little more than a grainy photograph clipped to a thin sheet. "Name: Kieran Everleigh. Hotel owner. Recently acquitted. Gotham PD and the DA had nothing they could pin. In Arkham, he was—" Viktor's mouth twisted. "Docile. Well-behaved. Quiet as a lamb. Nothing of the wolf we see in these underpass strikes. Very odd, perhaps it isn't even him maybe he is the funding. I mean look at the guy he doesn't exactly scream ruthlessness."
Irina narrowed her eyes. "So which is it? Lamb or wolf?"
Viktor closed the folder with a snap. "We put a question mark under Everleigh. Either he is playing everyone for a fool… or someone else hides behind his name. Either way—" His gaze swept across the captains. "We treat the underpass as real players now. No more underestimating beggars."
The room fell quiet again, the only sound the steady ticking of the wall clock. Outside, the river lapped softly against the pilings, indifferent to blood that was about to stain its waters.
***
The brass doorknob was cool beneath Nolan's palm. He turned it without hesitation, the faintest flicker passing across his eyes as his step shifted, his shoulders straightened, and his expression softened into something warmer. Seamless. By the time the door swung open, Kieran Everleigh walked into the room.
Councilman Harold Kinsey rose from behind his polished oak desk, hand outstretched. His office smelled faintly of tobacco and old paper, the walls lined with framed maps of Gotham's earliest boroughs.
"Mr. Everleigh," Kinsey greeted, his grip firm. "It's good to see you. I'm glad you reached out to set up this meeting. How have you been?"
Kieran smiled easily, a natural flourish to his tone. "I've been well. The hotel's still standing strong, but… shame about what's happening across the city right now. It's a damn shame."
Kinsey exhaled heavily, running a hand down his tie. "Tell me about it. We're trying to take actions to stop this horrible gang war, but there's only so much we can do. Half the time, I feel like we're just plugging leaks in a sinking ship."
Kieran nodded solemnly, eyes softening as if the weight of Gotham's grief rested on him personally. "I couldn't agree more. I wish there were something I could do to stop this cycle of violence. Makes me sick just thinking about it." He paused, tilting his head slightly, voice lowering into something tender. "But what I can't get out of my head are the kids. The ones being left behind in all this chaos. Orphans who'll have to fend for themselves on streets that chew people up and spit them out. How are they supposed to stand a chance in life when their starting point is so low?"
Sympathy stirred in Kinsey's tired eyes. "You're right. You're absolutely right. My Helping Hands fund has been pouring resources into Old Gotham for years—restoring, uplifting—but to hear about it being torn apart again? It's sickening. All those lives that could have been turned around…" His voice tightened. "Snuffed out far too early."
Kieran leaned forward slightly, letting just enough grief show in his eyes while keeping the gleam of intent hidden beneath. "That's why I wanted to meet, Councilman. I meant what I said at the gala—I'm ready to help however I can. We can't fix all of Gotham, but we can start with the kids. They're our future, and right now Gotham is stealing it from them."
Kinsey's brows furrowed, then lifted with interest. He leaned forward, hands clasped on his desk. "Go on, Mr. Everleigh. Where exactly are you going with this?"
Kieran leaned in, his eyes locking onto Kinsey's with practiced sincerity. His voice softened, but there was steel underneath, every word measured to strike at the councilman's sense of duty.
"I think our thoughts are aligning on this, Councilman," he said, folding his hands together as if in earnest prayer. "With your help—your endorsement—we could build something lasting. An orphanage. A sanctuary that tells the people of Gotham their leaders still care, that politicians can still do good even in the middle of a citywide gang war."
He let the weight of silence settle between them for a heartbeat, gaze never wavering.
"It would send a message," Kieran continued smoothly. "That we will not be cowed by gangs or violence. That hope still has a place here. Imagine what it would mean not just for the children, but for Gotham's faith in its leaders. In you."
Kinsey sat back in his chair, the faint lines of worry on his face deepening as he considered it. For just a second, his lips tugged into the ghost of a smile. Kieran could see it the hook was set.
Kieran saw earlier the man was barely listening the councilman was genuinely a decent man as far as Gotham politicians go but, he is still a Gotham politician and he would never do anything without a way to make money or a way to secure public endorsement that could lead to future success.
Now the councilman was listening.