Victor and the Gotham University president were plotting how to deal with Bruce, but Batman was also planning how to deal with them.
After these past few days of trials, Batman had come to terms with many things—like the questions Schiller had asked him. Now, he had his answers.
He no longer denied it: he was not the police, nor was he the embodiment of absolute justice. In fact, he was no different from the criminals, because neither of them obeyed the law. Batman had resolved to uphold only his justice, not the justice of the courts.
And so his investigation into Christine's disappearance was no longer clumsy or hesitant.
Once Batman's mind was set, no one could match his cunning and execution.
He started with Gotham University's president. Compared to Victor, a seasoned cop with years of training in counter-surveillance, the president was far easier prey. He had never attended a police academy, had no real training, and physically, he was just another ordinary man.
One night, Batman slipped into the president's house. He didn't find where Christine was being kept, but he did uncover a few suspicious landline call records.
Batman guessed the president hadn't carried out the kidnapping himself; he must have had accomplices or hired thugs. Using a landline to contact them was the safest way, since very few people had the means to track such calls.
Bruce then reverted to his student identity. He paid a visit to the president's office under a perfect pretext: despite submitting his homework, Schiller had still deducted points. Bruce claimed he was there to file a complaint.
During their conversation, Batman covertly collected a voice sample with professional equipment. Later, he used a voice modulator to call that suspicious number.
His phrasing was clever—he asked nothing directly, just an ambiguous line:
"How's the girl?"
The man on the other end didn't even think twice. "Sir, we've done just as you asked—she's unharmed. But with such a pretty chick, my boys are… having a hard time restraining themselves…"
"If anything happens to her, you're all dead," Batman replied coldly.
"Of course, of course. I'll keep them in line."
The moment the man spoke, Batman knew what he was dealing with: just another bunch of Gotham thugs. Their tone, their recklessness—he knew it by heart.
Once the call ended, Batman quickly traced their location. The Wayne satellites could easily track a phone signal—such things were child's play.
When he got there, Christine was indeed unharmed. The president hadn't meant to use her as leverage against Wayne directly, but rather to coerce her into becoming an informant. If she were to get close to Bruce, she had to remain intact.
Batman rescued her. Though physically unscathed, she was badly shaken. After he brought her to the hospital, Christine agreed to testify in court and point to the president as her kidnapper.
Meanwhile, Victor was also running into trouble. Against a stubborn idealist like Gordon, he couldn't play his usual tricks. Victor couldn't exactly stand in the precinct shouting that Gordon's sense of justice was wrong; he still had to pretend to be righteous himself.
Gordon knew Victor was rotten, but he played along, stalling him, wasting his time, and keeping him from tampering with evidence in Jonathan's case. Gordon kept too close an eye on everything. After all, he was the one who had cracked the case in the first place. Victor couldn't guarantee that even if he destroyed the files, Gordon hadn't squirreled away a backup. The rookie was reckless, yes—but also competent.
As for Maroni, he was even more unlucky. Schiller constantly sabotaged his chemical plant—not with big disasters, but with constant, nagging "accidents." One day, a machine was missing parts. Next, the drainage was clogged. Always small enough to seem coincidental, but disruptive enough to stall progress.
Some parts could only be bought from the original manufacturer; others weren't even sold at all and had to be sourced at outrageous prices on the black market. In no time, Maroni had sunk another million dollars without results.
He blamed it all on Jonathan not being released quickly enough. He pressured Victor, insisting only Jonathan himself could make the formula work.
Victor, panicked, turned again to the president. But the president had already lost Christine—his linchpin. Their plan had collapsed before it even began.
Under mounting pressure, the two decided to take a desperate gamble: kidnap Bruce Wayne directly.
On the day Schiller accepted Bruce's invitation to dine at Wayne Manor, Bruce picked him up after class. The two drove together.
The university wasn't too far from Wayne Manor, but still at least a half-hour drive.
If Gotham had one advantage over New York, it was traffic. The streets here were straight, wide, and surprisingly clear—perfect for speeding.
Wanting to show sincerity, Bruce hadn't sent his chauffeur. Instead, he drove himself in a bright blue Lamborghini, flashy and unsubtle.
As the speedometer climbed toward 140 mph, masked gunmen suddenly burst from a corner, weapons aimed at the car. Bruce's first instinct was to swerve the wheel.
He didn't fear for himself, but the professor in the passenger seat wasn't trained. "Professor, get down!!" he shouted.
Schiller calmly replied, "I'm quite sure your butler ordered this car with bulletproof glass and tires."
Then he added, "If you want to know who's behind this, you could pretend to lose control and knock yourself out. That way, you might get some answers later."
Bruce realized the gunmen meant to capture him alive; their shots were all aimed low at the chassis.
He hesitated. If it were just him, he'd do it. But with Schiller here? If Bruce were taken, he'd survive. Schiller, though, might not.
"I wouldn't risk my life lightly," Schiller said.
Bruce made his choice. He spun the wheel hard, sending the car skidding into a lamp post, feigning a crash. Then he slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious. Schiller followed his lead, pretending to faint.
The kidnappers were cautious. Seeing two captives instead of one, they didn't kill Schiller outright. Both men were hooded, handcuffed, and thrown into a van.
After a short ride, they arrived at a slum. Bruce and Schiller were dragged into a room.
When their hoods came off, both feigned shock. But Schiller's surprise soon became genuine—because the president himself walked out to meet them.
He hadn't expected the mastermind to show his face so boldly, without even a mask—still wearing his office suit. Schiller was speechless.
You cover your tracks for ninety-nine steps, only to ruin it at the last? If Bruce wasn't carrying at least a couple of pounds of hidden micro-cameras, it'd be a miracle.
And, just like a movie villain, the portly president launched into his grand monologue.
He bragged about his prepared Bruce double. He admitted Christine's kidnapping had been meant as leverage. He even gloated about how easy it had been to nab Bruce.
In short, he confessed to everything in true villain fashion.
Finally, Schiller lost patience. "Bruce," he said flatly, "do it."
Bruce leapt up. The handcuffs had never truly restrained him. The president stood too close—within seconds, Bruce had him pinned, the cuffs snapped shut on his wrists instead.
The gunmen rushed in, only to be taken down one by one.
By the time Gordon arrived, the president tried to bluster, claiming Victor would protect him.
But Gordon sneered. "Sorry, but the commissioner was arrested just last night. I caught him red-handed trying to destroy evidence in the archives. Sure, he sabotaged the cameras—but Harvey put in a backup under the pretense of cleaning. Evidence is ironclad, buddy."
Bruce sighed. "Looks like they're out of tricks. That leaves us one last target."
Schiller pulled a file from his briefcase. "As planned, I've secured detailed maps and personnel rosters for that chemical plant. I believe it's time for a certain tight-suit vigilante to make his move."