Harvey Dent's name carried weight in Gotham, but their meeting didn't go as smoothly as Adam had hoped.
It wasn't because Dent was difficult. On the contrary — the man was all charm: tall, handsome, with a disarming smile that radiated trust. The kind of face you wanted to believe.
"Officers, I'm sorry for the mess. I wasn't expecting company," Harvey said warmly, clearing two battered chairs from the sea of case files that swallowed his office. Stacks of folders teetered on every surface, as though paper alone was holding the ceiling up.
Adam scanned the cramped room, mildly stunned. "You should really hire an assistant," he remarked. "Just to keep the floor visible, if nothing else."
Harvey chuckled and bustled toward a tiny coffee pot balanced on a filing cabinet. "That'd be nice. But on a prosecutor's salary? After rent, I'm lucky if I can afford instant coffee, let alone a secretary. Besides, half the time I'm out doing free work for the people who live here."
He poured two paper cups of watery brew and handed them over like they were the finest lattes in Gotham.
Adam raised a brow. "Helping the poor is noble, but you're walking a tightrope. Keep this up, and you won't even be able to afford a wife."
Gordon laughed. He and Harvey went way back, so the teasing came easy. "I told him the same thing. He's killing himself for this city."
Harvey smiled again, but this time it carried weight — the kind that came from living with ghosts.
"I grew up poor," he said quietly. "My father was an alcoholic. My mother was an addict. Gotham gave me a shot — scholarships, public programs. That's why I do what I do now. I owe this city everything. If I can pay it back by helping one kid like me… it's worth it."
Adam sipped the coffee — weak, bitter, and unmistakably cheap — then gave a noncommittal nod. His expression didn't change when Gordon started in on the real reason they were here.
"This is Detective Adam. He's from Arkham. Today we need—"
But Harvey held up a hand.
"No need to explain. Adam — the ten-minute detective," Harvey said, smiling playfully. "You're all over the news. They say you cracked the case faster than a pizza delivery. Even the mayor called to make sure I helped you out. I have to admit, I've been curious to meet the legend myself."
Gordon relaxed slightly. If Harvey was already on board, getting that emergency search warrant should be easy.
But Adam wasn't buying it.
"Mr. Harvey," he said evenly, "you can skip the flattery. I'm more interested in the 'but' I see coming."
Harvey blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. Then he sighed and reached for a folder, pulling out a printed form.
"Smart guy. Okay, here's the deal," he said, suddenly all business. "The evidence is too thin. I can't legally issue an emergency warrant. Not unless the situation qualifies under federal conditions — more than three confirmed deaths, over fifty thousand dollars in damages, or credible threats to national security. As of now, we don't meet any of those. So, by law, my hands are tied."
Gordon's jaw tightened.
"Harvey, you're better than this," he said, the warmth in his voice replaced by urgency. "You're the one guy I trusted to put Gotham's people first. And now you sound just like the bureaucrats we swore to fight. Hiding behind red tape while killers walk free?"
But Harvey didn't flinch. He just raised his palms calmly.
"Jim, I follow the law. That's not corruption — it's integrity. If we don't uphold the system, then what separates us from them?"
And that's when Adam spoke — calm, cool, but sharp enough to cut glass.
"This is unfair."
Harvey's brow twitched. "Excuse me?"
Adam leaned forward, voice low but deliberate. "Why can criminals hurt others with impunity, while those trying to stop them are bound by a hundred rules and restrictions? We have to follow procedure, record everything, tiptoe around every civil rights clause — just to bring monsters to justice. Is that fair, Mr. Dent?"
There was silence.
To most prosecutors, Adam's speech would've been dismissed as dramatics. But Harvey Dent was different. Fairness was his gospel. The word rang in his mind like a gavel strike — a subtle itch that turned into a pulse-pounding throb.
Adam pressed further. "I thought you were a man of balance. Of justice. But you sound like just another cog in a broken system."
Harvey looked away. The words had hit deep.
"…Maybe I do have a way," he murmured, almost to himself. "A fair way."
He stood slowly, reached into a drawer, and pulled out something small and silver.
A coin.
Adam's eyes narrowed.
Harvey flicked it into the air — it spun like a blade under a spotlight before slapping back into his palm.
"If you win, I'll sign the warrant — no strings attached. If you lose, you walk out empty-handed. Simple. Fair. Just like I promised."
The room went still.
Gordon stiffened. "Harvey, come on. This again? This isn't—"
But Harvey ignored him. His voice was dead serious.
"Fifty-fifty. That's as fair as it gets."
Adam met his gaze, unflinching.
"Let's play, then."
—
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