To Adam's surprise, Bruce Wayne didn't seem the least bit offended. Instead, he grinned, as if the entire situation was a game he'd already won.
"Media reports?" Bruce scoffed. "Come on. How many of those are worth believing? According to some of those papers, I'm dating a Russian ballerina. Just one? Please—I'm rich. If I were celebrating Easter, I'd take the whole troupe out on my yacht."
He gave an exaggerated shrug. "So when I've got the star player of the case standing right in front of me, why would I go digging through secondhand news? Might even uncover a juicy backstory. Wouldn't that be more fun?"
Adam's stomach dropped.
'Damn it. I walked right into it.'
He had completely underestimated Bruce Wayne's dual identity. As Gotham's most public playboy, Bruce had long since mastered the art of manipulating media, and reporters, in particular, knew they depended on his gossip to survive. Even if he mocked them, they'd laugh along. He could insult their intelligence and still walk away with glowing headlines.
Worse still, Bruce had deliberately invoked the idea of an "exclusive scoop." He was turning the media against him. Now every reporter present had perked up, pens ready, hungry for something deeper than what they'd already published. With Bruce's help, they were practically circling Adam like sharks.
A strategic misstep. And now Adam was stuck in the middle of it.
Before he could pivot, Bruce threw out another curveball, "So tell me—why start with Gotham University? Eight victims, all with different professions, yet you honed in on the university first. What was your reasoning?"
Adam answered instinctively, the question deceptively simple.
"The timeline of the victims told the story. The first person attacked is always the most important—likely closest to the source. The others were clearly a smokescreen to obscure the origin. Once we identified the type of toxin involved, we narrowed the suspect pool to those with advanced scientific knowledge. Gotham University became the natural focal point."
The answer was clean, logical, and earned nods from the reporters around him. From their perspective, it made perfect sense, and it was refreshingly detailed for someone in Adam's position. Most press conferences fed them rehearsed sound bites. This felt authentic.
But to Adam, it still felt like a trap.
Too easy. That question was basic—so basic, any decent detective would've reached the same conclusion. Which meant Bruce didn't ask it for clarity. He asked it to lower Adam's guard.
And Adam knew better than anyone: Bruce Wayne was no ordinary billionaire. Beneath the charming, womanizing façade stood Gotham's greatest detective. Batman.
That question was a test.
And Bruce wasn't done.
"So, Detective Adam," Bruce said, casually brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. "How did you discover the rift between the suspect and Gotham University's administration? That was the real turning point in the case, wasn't it?"
Adam's eyes narrowed.
There it was.
The first question had been a warm-up. This one cut to the bone.
Unlike the basic forensic timeline, uncovering the feud between the murderer and the university required far more than reading a report. It meant digging through personnel files, interviewing staff, establishing motive. And Adam had done none of that—at least, not officially.
Because the truth was, he already knew the answer. Not through investigation. Through foresight.
He wasn't solving these cases so much as re-enacting them—familiar with the twists, the motives, the villains. In this instance, he'd known from the outset that the neurotoxin pointed to the Scarecrow. And with that knowledge, it had been easy to pick out the truth: that the professor at Gotham University, once denied tenure, had turned into the architect of this nightmare.
But from Bruce Wayne's perspective, there was no way Adam could have known that without help—legal or otherwise. Unless Adam had conducted illegal surveillance or had prior knowledge he shouldn't have. Either way, Bruce was circling closer to the truth.
Adam felt the pressure spike.
"Mr. Wayne," he said coolly, "You seem to have a lot of free time this morning. Has Wayne Enterprises run out of corporate takeovers?"
A low chuckle rippled through the reporters, but Bruce didn't flinch.
"As a well-run company, we delegate," Bruce replied, smiling. "I'm here today not as a CEO, but as a concerned citizen. There's a neurotoxin running loose in Gotham. I think I'm entitled to a little curiosity."
"Then go express that curiosity at the hospital," Adam snapped. "Maybe help the people still gasping for breath instead of loitering around universities pretending to care. Or is this just another excuse to flirt with college students under the guise of philanthropy?"
The crowd froze.
Did he just—?
Reporters exchanged wide-eyed looks. No one dared interrupt. Adam's voice, previously calm and diplomatic, had turned into anger.
"I was supposed to be filing indictments this morning," Adam continued. "Instead, I'm standing here entertaining a bored billionaire with too much time and too few limits. All so he can satisfy whatever whim brought him here."
Bruce's smile vanished.
The jab had landed. Hard.
Adam pressed on.
"Maybe it's easy for you. The title of chairman was handed down like a family heirloom. Your father, Thomas Wayne, built everything. You just had to show up, smile for cameras, and collect the applause."
Adam's voice dropped, ice-cold.
"But if Thomas Wayne were watching from wherever he is now, I wonder—would he be proud of this? Of you? Or would he wonder where he went wrong, watching his legacy used as a party prop by a spoiled heir playing philanthropist?"
The silence was suffocating.
Bruce stood perfectly still, the charm gone from his face. The crowd around them dared not breathe. What mattered was not the insult but... the name. Thomas Wayne.
For all of Bruce's composure, his father was his deepest wound. A legacy he both cherished and felt crushed beneath and Adam had struck that wound.
He said nothing. Not a word.
He didn't ask another question.
He didn't need to.
—
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