(Edited with Grammarly to clean things up a bit more, 11/6/25)
Albert took in a breath, letting out a plume of fog as he surveyed his surroundings. The townhouse was around two stories tall, narrow, but possessing a lot more depth. Maybe the planners were trying to use their allotted space sparingly, to make room for the businesses that would surely sprout up as Gotham grew. But obviously, that plan didn't work out too well. Over the years, businesses came and went. Leaving behind abandoned buildings showing obvious signs of disrepair. Crocked brick-working and paint peeling off the face.
'Who am I to judge?' He was literally living in an office building once owned by a guy with very dubious practices. And besides, this sort of building was the norm. A good in-between from those that looked like they were ready to collapse under a simple touch, and the massive, decadent mansions. 'And they have a fence, they're doing way better than I am!'
Before him stood a chain-linked fence, flimsy and thin. Only really presented a more fortified front than it actually was. Low enough for even him to hop over with some difficulty, if it didn't outright collapse under his weight. Besides it, a small mailbox tilted precariously to the side. Knocked over one too many times for the owners to really care anymore. A long name long since faded was written across its side. Weathered under time and poor weather conditions.
He looked down at his phone, at the text messages sent but not read, and the calls that were all left unanswered. For whatever reason, his contact wasn't answering. They did agree to help him just this morning; he would kind of hope that if things had changed, they would've at least warned him before he made his trek down.
While normally, he would've just turned around and tried a different one. Extremely wary of being attacked by some Gothamite protecting their property, which is a primary factor. But he knew this person, they surely wouldn't bust down the door guns blazing if he dared to knock on their door...right?
'Here's to hope.'
Unlatching the gate, he walked further into the property. Yellow grass surrounded him from both sides, dying either from the lack of water or just the chill getting to them. But other than that, there wasn't even a single other sign of occupation. No lawn chair, shoes, bikes, or even toys. Maybe that was a good thing; otherwise, they would be essentially beckoning thieves to take what they will. Breathing in once more, he knocked on the rather heavy-looking wooden door.
Taking a step back, the teen waited as time ticked on. There were people inside, he could tell from a flickering shadow behind one of the many curtain-covered windows. Whether or not they thought him a solicitor was an entirely different matter. The door opened a hair, and a lone brown eye glared down at him.
"Who are you and what do you want?"
A husky voice, like velvet against skin, demanded from a small crack.
"Hello!" He tried to put on a friendly grin, softening his gaze a tad to offset their normal effect. Even went so far as to straighten his back and wave, shifting the backpack over his shoulder. "My name is Albert, I'm a friend of Michael. Is he home at the moment?"
"The cameraman?"
"Temporarily, but yes."
It wasn't a very accurate title, as the only time he'd ever been a cameraman resulted in all the footage being corrupted, but if that got him in the door without much hassle, then it would have to do.
"Oh." The woman replied simply, before the door closed, and the muffled sound of locks being undone could be heard. And after what felt like an eternity, she revealed herself standing staunchly in the door frame. Looking to be around twenty. She had a frame looming over him, a squarish face, darker skin, and an athletic build. Short brown hair was cut off right below her chin, framing a set of thin lips pressed into a fine line. Wearing black cargo pants that flared out at the ankles, with a jean jacket possessing splotches of bleach marks all across its surface, and a band t-shirt. Metal, if the rad art was anything to go by. Maybe she would be considered pretty, but just looking at her made him feel like he was looking at a female version of Michael. Acting just as he did when they first met. Stoic and menacing. Getting one more look at him before stepping out of the way, one arm motioning him in. "Come in, he's stuck in the middle of that show. Poor bastard found out there's an entire prequel series to My Love Has No Breaks. Been stuck on that couch losing his goddamn mind."
'How...how long is that series?'
The last he heard of that soap opera, they were still investigating Marian Gran's death before the prison break. Some old woman had revealed that knowledge to the giant, and he'd been very distraught, acting like it was some sort of curse. Which, if he still wasn't done with it, then maybe it did have mystical properties to it. Maybe it could even be described as a sort of torture.
"Oh, thank you." He nodded, stepping past and almost immediately felt like he'd stepped into another world. This house... no, it was better to call it a home, was so full of life. Shoes lay haphazardly, a multitude of jackets barely clung onto a poor hook, and the smell...it was of freshly baked cookies. A few old-fashioned but nice-looking rugs were set in a line to a multitude of differing rooms, or just straight up a set of stairs with a series of family photos set along the wall. In one particular scene, there seems to be a toddler-aged version of Michael, wearing a bright yellow onesie, surrounded by three other girls. One wore a pair of overalls and possessed twin braids of brown hair, another a simple pink dress and a tiara atop her head of blonde hair, and the last wore a full-on superhero costume with her brown hair tied up in a ponytail. All smiling a bucktooth grin as they forced their rosy-cheeked younger brother to stay still long enough for a women to just barely get into view. Being only halfway in the photo, her locks of black hair remained frozen in time. Covering a majority of her warmly smiling face. And by following the line of progressively aging photos, it seemed like a very happy family. "What is it called, by the way? I never got around to asking, you know, just to know what to avoid?"
"Love Shrivels in Autumn, Hate Blooms in Summer." She snorted, closing the door behind them and locking it back up. "Save yourself the brain-cells, don't watch it. Not even as a joke. Ma gave up after episode three. Kat and Alli tried to force themselves to watch ten but tapped out at around seven….Names Chloe by the name."
"Nice to meet you, Chloe."
He held out his hand to shake, her brow raising as she took his gloved hand.
"Quirky. Take off your shoes before you come in. Ma will have a cow if you track mud on her rugs." Turning, she began to walk down the hall, poking her head in one of the rooms before speaking. "Hey, shorty! Get off your ass, you got a guest!"
Albert's mind short-circuited for a moment there. Michael was a giant in comparison to everyone else in Gotham. Only really being matched in height by massive thugs. And for someone who is probably barely even an inch taller than the tall teen, to call him short? Honestly, it was something only a sibling could say and get away with.
"….." At first, there was nothing. Only the muffled sound of a television going on in the background, and even that was cut off shortly after the tall girl entered the room, before some rustling was heard. Until even that muffled voice was silenced suddenly. It was clear to anybody what happened. And he expected to hear some cry of outrage or more rustling as the remote was fought over. Maybe even a jab at the 'shorty' comment. Instead, it was something strange and out of place. At least from the stories he'd been told by people with siblings. "Thank you...I really, really needed that."
A genuine sign of gratitude. Verbal for all to hear. And from how shaky the giant's voice was, it really did come from the heart.
"Whatever, shorty." Chloe huffed. "You can make it to me by telling Ma I'll be out late tonight. Don't keep your friend waiting."
With that, she came swiftly out of the room. Eating up the space between them with long strides before snatching up a small black purse and bulldozing herself past him. Nodding, she quickly left the house without a single peep. If anything, it looked like she was sneaking out.
"Hey, Albert." From the door frame, someone who should've been Michael came stumbling out. Skin pasty, eyes red-rimmed, and hair looking like a bird had made it into a nest. Greasy and sticking to his forehead. "Sorry...I got distracted. How are you doing?"
"It's no problem...and I'm probably doing better than you right now." It wasn't an insult, just a statement of truth. The guy looked awful. Like he hadn't slept in days. "How long has it been since you took care of yourself?"
"I took a shower this morning," He shrugged his massive shoulders. "That show...just takes a lot out of you. I think I was sweating all throughout it. You would think the constant twists and turns would make you immune to them...but no, somehow they used all their writing skills just to keep me on the edge of my seat the entire time."
"Are you at least having a good time watching it?"
The answer was clear, but he looked like he really needed to vent.
"God no!" Michael's jaw clenched, a visible vein pulsating on his temple. "It's awful! One of the worst shows I've ever seen in my life! The plot makes no sense, and they're doing this thing where they introduce characters in this grand and imperious way as though I'm supposed to know who they are! It's almost like…."
"…."
Albert didn't dare answer, not even daring to breathe as he saw the realization flicker across the teen's face. Madness fueled despair, crashing into him all at once.
"It's almost like there's another prequel.." Now, it sounded like he was barely holding back choking sobs. Even going so far as to lean heavily on the door frame. Truly defeated by the behemoth known as midday soap operas. "I hope whatever you got can make me forget all about this..."
"Hopefully, where do you want to do this? The living room?"
"No!" The response was sudden and sharp, a visible shiver running up his spine as he turned to glare at the doorway with slightly red eyes. Like, somehow, it was responsible for his suffering. "I would say my room, but I haven't had the time to clean it. Ma would kill me if I brought a guest into a dirty room. The dining room should be fine."
"Lead the way." When the teen's sock-covered foot touched the rug, a soothing warmth went down his spine. Maybe Michael's mom was onto something. His home was usually frigidly cold and required constant footwear to avoid hypothermia. If he could set up a line of rugs from his bed to the bathroom, maybe, just maybe, he would be able to retain just a smaller fraction of his initial drowsiness to fall back asleep. Thus, taking out those twenty minutes of tossing and turning as he tried to get back into that warm, sweet spot. "Where did your mom get these rugs?"
"Uh, I would have to say thrift stores are kind of your best if you want rugs like these." Pointing down at the ground, his guide continued forward. "But if you go down that road, make sure to dab a little bit of water on them first. If it smells like pee, just move on. There's no saving that thing; it's going to cost you more than what you spent on it to clean. Unless you find something really, really rare, like a Persian rug. Especially if it's an antique, but then I would expect you to need to be careful about what cleaner you hire, else they'll destroy it."
"I'll keep that in mind, thanks."
There was no way he was going to put a Persian rug in his home; it would be like beckoning anyone to come break in just to take it. Costing around a couple of hundred bucks at the lower end for newer variants, antiques could easily go for thousands of dollars. Something way, way too hot for him to be seen carrying around town. And besides, any cleaner he hired to get rid of the animal or human urine would either take it outright or use some harmful chemical that causes the piece to begin unraveling.
Getting into the room in question, it looked quite quaint. A massive dining table covered in colorful cloth of green and yellow sat right in the middle with six chairs all around its edges. At the corners of the room, there were multiple cabinets filled with pure white porcelain dinnerware. A simple blue design around each of their rims.
"Nice place."
He said while setting his book bag on the table, feeling a little bad at actually sitting at such a pristine and neatly done setting.
"Ma will be happy to hear that." Taking one of the seats across, the large teen steepled his hands together like some sort of crime lord or mastermind finally being dragged out from behind the curtain. "Now, what can I do for you?"
Albert rummaged through his bag, pulling out a variety of objects in order. A pair of medical and disposable. A sort of disinfectant cleaner, a sandwich bag full of a few neatly folded paper towels, and even a face mask. With each object, that confident expression slowly morphed into abject confusion as the giant looked at everything.
"What the-is all this really needed?"
"You will thank me later." Finally, he pulled out a tightly cloaked object bound in multiple layers of plastic wrap. That same black folder, sleek and ominous looking. There was a reason he'd come here after all; Michael was a bit of a math whiz. An accountant in the making. When first looking at it, none of it made any sort of sense. A series of money amounts, accounts, and dates, but that was it. None of it was actually usable for him. But if someone who knew that particular world took a look, then sure, they would be able to crack the code.
Sliding it over after the skeptic put on the protections, Albert sat back and watched. Watched as he opened the folder carelessly, watched as he began flipping through the multiple laminated documents inside before pulling them out one by one to get a better look. Watched as that confident expression faded and cold sweat began to bead his brow. For the next ten minutes, the teen's entire countenance changed. From that carelessness to treating everything with extreme caution, like he was dealing with a live bomb.
"What the hell did you get me involved in?!" Michael snapped, but his heart wasn't in it, gaze still hovering over the documents as though it would rear up to bite him. "How did you even get your hands on this?!"
"I came to you because you're the only one whom I can both trust to keep this quiet and make sense of this. And, you really don't want to know how I got it." There were some things that would only be kept to himself; the poor guy didn't need to know he'd gone on Mission Impossible just to get this folder. "What can you tell me?"
"A lot, actually, but a lot is my own opinion. First, whoever you got this from knew what they were doing. Let's call them party A. Clearly documenting all early transactions and transfers, and with how much money is being moved, made extra sure they had leverage over this other party. Who, I might add, is a complete idiot! They'll be party F as in failure. Foolish….Any other word that starts with f that means stupid. Why would you use a personal account for something like this? Do they know how much money they're losing by not using a business account?! If they got a good enough deal, they could've used credit or loans, and the bank would've been all too eager! They clearly had the money to make routine payments, so why not spend the extra to earn a little bit more? Two percent might not seem like a lot, but with how many zeros are here, it doesn't really matter! Just from these transactions, I can easily see party F lose out on a potential half a million over these two years! If they were being smart, they would only ever need to fork over a massive payment, but no! I see over fifteen deposits. Fifteen deposits, none below the minimum of eight thousand dollars! Either this guy or chick doesn't give a damn about this money, or their accountant is screwing them over. Hard!"
He had to lean back under that tirade. It seemed the teen's passion had somewhat overshadowed his previous uncertainty. Good, that was a much easier person to deal with than someone terrified of their own shadow.
"I meant what can you tell me of...party F's identity?"
Above all else, that's what he needed. Just a name, and he could close out this case without further ado.
"I don't know." Michael shook his head, visibly annoyed, "These just possess account numbers. I can tell you which bank they're using and the branch, but not the account holder's name. Banks are very tightfisted with that sort of information. Their customers pay a lot of money for that kind of anonymity; it's why a banker can get outright fired for snooping around accounts without good and authorized reason."
"…." A pit began to form in his stomach, those 'easy' answers slipping away with each passing second. And if his perp is actually an elite, then that means there was only a single bank in Gotham that they would use. "I'm guessing it's Gotham National Bank?"
"Got it one!" The giant sent out finger guns, affixing a pair of imaginary glasses on his face as he glared back down at the documents in his hand. "That in itself is the problem, they got this new security system provided to them by Wayne Corp. So there's no way you, by yourself, will be able to get in to find out who this is. And if you try to use this information…."
"I'll get disappeared."
The weight of helplessness was like that of a world being placed on his shoulders. Did he really come this far just to fail at the finish line? Sure, his client had 'sworn' to their family to stay away from the Circuit, but if this snake's head wasn't cut off soon, it wouldn't be long before their ex-manager tries something to get that cash cow back. Everyone involved, managers, organizers, and patrons, needed to be caught all in one fell swoop. Before they had the chance to slip through the cracks. The Circuit would fall, and the police would make sure it was a loud event. But the money and the demand would still be there. All it would take is for these patrons to move shop elsewhere. Find a new pencil pusher and continue on.
It was frustrating, especially knowing that he did have options to continue forward. None of them is all too appealing.
Barbara could most certainly get that information and also get this document passed up the chain without him ever having to be involved. But for obvious reasons, that bridge had been burnt.
So that only really left one person.
"Thank you, Michael," He sighed, carefully collecting all the loose documents and putting them away securely. "And I'm sorry for involving you in this….but do you know if Angeline is in business today?"
There was a debt to be paid after all.
***
"My, my." The older woman, looking to be in her mid-forties, had a faux pleasant mask in place. Long blonde hair pulled into a neat and tight bun. Not even allowing a single strand out of place. A sharp jaw line and lips pressed into a thin smile, she might've appeared to be a pleasant and harmless suburban housewife. One that would be passed every day as they gardened or did something innocuous. But it was those eyes, blue and harsh as a northern blizzard, that exposed the serpent underneath. Thin fingers flipped through the multitude of laminated documents, not even caring if she left a fingerprint. "What a gracious gift you have brought me. I wonder, how did you get your hands on this?"
"My skin has not touched those documents."
Albert sat stiffly in a rather uncomfortable chair, sitting before a medium-sized desk that was raised slightly off the ground to make him feel smaller. Less significant. The office wasn't large by any means, the size of a medium-sized room. Just large enough for maybe three people to sit in comfortably. Another tactic to try to induce a sense of claustrophobia, with those bare walls and white tiled floors. Everything in that room was designed to force as much perceived power down on whoever the unlucky schmuck was to sit in before this viper.
"Cute." Mrs. Gramercy's eyes slid down to his gloved hands for a second before seeming to lose all interest and turning back to the documents. "Then I won't ask how, as you've obviously never touched them with your bare hands. Nonetheless, good job. Consider your debt to me paid in full."
Instantly, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was this woman who had guided him to that shelter during the lockdown, and if it wasn't because of her, he had no idea where his life would be now. Probably alone.
'At least that's one less worry.'
Despite her help, owing any politician a favor, especially in Gotham of all places, was a bad idea in general. And due to that reason alone, he'd been dreading the day he actually officially met Angeline's mother. It didn't matter how many times Marceline or her group tried to assure him, he knew the predicament he was in. He wasn't in her daughter's inner circle of friends. A new face that could be forgotten after a year, they were teenagers after all.
Her words were an obvious dismissal, especially when she looked back down at the documents and ignored him entirely. Probably waiting for the silence to act as a physical force to push him out of the room. But he stayed put.
"Mrs. Gramercy." He knew he was getting in bed with a viper, but things weren't entirely done on his side. If he let this go now, everything would be solved. The Circuit will face the full might of Gotham's Commissioner, and the head will actually be cut. Sure, he wouldn't be privy to the actual mastermind behind all this, but it would end. And it would serve as an example for the rest of the city. That should've been good enough for him...but it wasn't. "If I may speak candidly, I do have a favor to ask."
"Oh?" Her brown eyes quirked, and a flash of something hard and cruel fluttered behind those azure orbs. And she even gave him her full attention, placing down the valuable documents and steeping her manicured fingers together.
"I wish to know who is behind that bank account."
A big thing indeed, with how tight the defenses were assuredly to be around Gotham National Bank, a heist would only earn him a beat-down by the Caped Crusader himself. This was the only way he could see. Unless he could somehow get in a one-on-one conversation with the pencil pusher for the Circuit. But he suspected them to be behind bars here soon.
So if it meant diving into debt once more with a politician, then so be it. There was silence for a moment as the two locked gazes. He's not cowering under those piercing stares that made him feel small and helpless. Her mask was impossible to peel back, her thoughts hidden from his sight.
Psychology, silent for once.
Instead of replying with a yes or no, she picked up her dial-up phone and began to input a number. That gaze turned frosty as his mouth opened once more, causing him to click his jaw closed audibly. Before she turned her back on him and held up the receiver, waiting for a few seconds before that clinical tone was replaced by a chipper and friendly voice.
"Mr. Clarnette!" The name didn't ring any bells, but it did sound pretty fancy. So a thinly mustached man appeared in his mind. Reedy and wearing a crisp suit, freshly ironed. "Yes, yes! It is very nice to hear from you, too! How are the kids doing?"
What followed was a good ten minutes of pleasantries being exchanged, mind-numbingly boring topics, and really sounding like friends catching up. But he knew better. She was maneuvering the conversation to where she wanted, letting them fall right into a series of traps.
"-ould get together for a family trip! My husband recently acquired a nice cabin up north, and it's really beautiful at night. And romantic. You and Susan are trying for another kid, right? You guys can use our cabin this winter, there's a nice ski lodge nearby, and it even comes with a sauna." Perfect bait, and now the hook wasn't too far behind. "But that's enough niceties, I'm coming to you for something important. Some information has come to me pertaining to one of your clients….I know, I know, I wouldn't come to you if it wasn't important. I love you and Susan! I would never dare risk your livelihood for something so minor! In fact, this will only be good for you! Here's the account I want you to look into."
And she spouted off the long digit easily, as though she had memorized it. To keep things light, she continued to speak about nothing in particular. Just filling in the silence and seemingly keeping the man calm as he risked his job.
"See? I was right, wasn't I? Such filth shouldn't be involved in your prestigious bank! And...just from what I heard, keep this between us, but one of the chairmen is stepping down here soon. Retiring...isn't this the perfect achievement you need? Who knows, maybe I can work some magic from my side and get you there. What was their name? I didn't quite catch it?" It was scary to see her so easily manipulate the man. Like a demon whispering sweet nothings in their ear. Oh, she would get him in that chairman seat, if only to have a foothold in one of the most powerful banks in Gotham. One step closer to becoming a 'royal'. "Quincy Shellford? You don't mean from the Shellford family...right? Thank goodness it's them, they're makeup remover caused my skin to break out for weeks! Who would've guessed that they not only sold terrible products, but they're also terrible parents! You get everything from your end, and I will set up a meeting with Commissioner Gordon. And, Gideon? Thank you, this is going to be very good for your family."
With that, the manipulator put down her phone, turning in that chair and looking at him coolly.
"That is sufficient, yes?"
It wasn't really a question, but still required an answer nonetheless.
"Yes, ma'am, it is."
"Good, then run along and go be a kid." Mrs. Gramercy waved him away. Something he was all too eager to acquiesce to. Standing to his feet, he quickly turned to the door. Ready to flee out of the room away from that viper before she got any ideas on how he could repay this most recent favor. But it seemed she wasn't willing to let him go without one final warning. "And do be sure not to let that name spread. The culprit they'll show on the news stations and papers IS responsible for all this. Do not forget that."