"A small bar on the edge of Gotham's wealthy southern district. Shiller squeezed a dash of lemon into his gin, raised his glass, and said to Gordon,
"Congratulations, Detective. At least now you can finally do things your own way."
Across the round table, Bruce lifted his glass as well. Harvey followed suit and added,
"This is worth celebrating. You're the most principled cop I've ever met."
The four glasses clinked. Gordon took a sip, his face slightly flushed — from excitement, or the alcohol, it was hard to tell.
"The more I achieve," he said, "the more I realize how far I still have to go."
"Progress is still progress," Bruce replied.
Shiller smirked behind the rim of his glass. "Oh? So our pure-hearted young man has made some big strides?"
Bruce set his glass down. "I recall you once said you had no advice for my personal life, professor."
"But I also warned you to protect your kidneys," Shiller said. "And I don't just mean keeping blades away. Trick Street's nightlife is famous across the East Coast…"
Gordon's eyes flicked between them, one brow raised. "What's this little code you two are speaking in?"
"Nothing," Shiller said lightly. "Just that some people are a little too confident in their kidneys."
Understanding dawned on Gordon's face. "Ah. So Bruce has been… active, lately."
"Quite the opposite," Shiller said with a smile.
Harvey, who knew more of the background, nudged Bruce with his elbow. "Sounds like things with that girl you mentioned are moving along. So? Have you two made it official?"
Gordon perked up immediately. Bruce rubbed his temples, seeing all three of them waiting for gossip. "Come on. Don't make this a spectacle. It's private. Tonight is about celebrating Gordon's promotion."
"I'd argue the police captaincy isn't half as interesting as the world's richest man finally getting a real girlfriend," Gordon teased.
"That's overstating it. The world's richest man has had plenty of girlfriends," Shiller countered.
"Captain or street cop, we're still mostly useless," Gordon said wryly.
Bruce sighed in defeat. "Fine. Yes. I admit it. I like a girl. And not for her looks — though yes, she's beautiful, she has a great figure — but that's not why—"
Gordon and Harvey both gave him the "you don't have to explain" look. Harvey chuckled. "At your age I swore it wasn't about looks either. Now I know that was nonsense — every man who says that is lying to himself."
Gordon loosened his tie and said, "So there really is a woman who's got you hooked? I'd like to see who she is."
"She's nothing extraordinary," Bruce said. "Just a girl from the slums. Like many others — she loves shiny jewelry, and her dream is a castle filled with gems."
"German castles or French castles?" Shiller asked. "I hear Neuschwanstein is nice. Why not buy it?"
Bruce flicked his glass in annoyance. "I'm not trying to woo her! I'm serious. Stop looking at me like that. I'll admit I used to… well, okay, not just 'a little'… but this time I truly mean it. I'm planning to marry—"
"You're not talking to her right now," Shiller cut in quickly. "Don't tempt fate by saying things like that."
Still, it hardly mattered. Bruce was the protagonist — and protagonists could get away with lines like that.
Bruce drank again, his mood uncharacteristically buoyant. "We've made it official. We've been out for several nights in a row. She even gave me a beautiful gem."
"And what did you give her?" Harvey asked.
"I'm still thinking," Bruce admitted.
"That's rude," Harvey said. "Do you look down on her because of her background? Forgive me, but not everyone is as lucky as you. Class shouldn't stop love."
"I don't think that way."
"Then act on it," Shiller said. "If you don't give her something to show your sincerity, she may start to think otherwise. Any girl from the slums dating the world's richest man would feel insecure without a sign."
Bruce nodded. "Alright. So what do you suggest? I've been wracking my brain."
Harvey didn't know Selina's real identity, nor that Bruce was Batman, or their history together. But Shiller knew all of it.
"How about a pearl necklace?" Shiller suggested.
Bruce's hand tightened around his glass. He forced a swallow and said, "I admit I don't like pearls. But if she does, I'll give her the finest strand."
⸻
After the gathering, Shiller returned to his apartment to wash up, still smelling faintly of alcohol.
There was a reason he moved between Marvel and DC: part of it was to let Marvel's storylines progress on their own, and part of it was to tie up loose ends here.
Shiller was cautious; he liked things finished properly. Though the old headmaster's avoiding prison had been a surprise, Shiller's true goal was to clean up what remained from the Jonathan case.
The old headmaster was Batman's problem now, but one person remained: the missing Commissioner Victor.
Shiller was convinced Sal Maroni had taken him. Even so, Maroni wouldn't kill him right away. A former commissioner could provide plenty of useful intel. With the losses Maroni had suffered, Victor was worth more alive — unless killing him paid dividends.
But Shiller needed Victor gone.
At the start of Jonathan's case, Shiller hadn't been strong enough. Stealing the fear toxin had required the simplest method — breaking in. He'd erased 99% of the evidence, but the remaining 1% risk still lingered.
Victor had entered the evidence room multiple times while trying to reopen Jonathan's case. He was the only one who might connect Shiller to the theft.
And with Jonathan locked away, the concentrated toxin was gone for good. But Maroni's losses had made the underworld hungry for such weapons. If anyone exposed who stole it, the gangs would descend like sharks in blood.
Shiller had been planning to visit Maroni. But someone else reached him first.
A man in black led him into a limousine. The suited man in front said, "Professor Rodríguez, no need to fear. The Godfather simply requests your help."
The limo soon arrived at an old estate on the city's southern edge. Shiller was guided upstairs to the third floor. A knock, and a deep voice called, "Enter."
Inside sat a tall, silver-haired man in a finely tailored suit and bow tie, a red poppy pinned to his chest. His presence radiated quiet authority.
Turning a ring on his finger, he said, "Professor Rodríguez, forgive the summons. I need your services."
"It is an honor, Lord Falcone," Shiller said.
Falcone nodded, then got straight to the point. "I have a son. He has grown. My family and my business need an heir. I want you as his tutor."
Before Shiller could reply, Falcone continued, "His last tutor was shot three times in the chest. I hear you're the only man who can make Bruce Wayne hand in his homework. That speaks well of you."
"Understand, this is no threat. I know you had trouble in Metropolis, and certain people followed the trail here. But by now, those people should all be in the sewers."
"This is my offer. What do you say?"
Shiller studied him. This Falcone resembled the early comic portrayal, modeled after Don Corleone more than the eccentric versions in film. A true patriarch of Gotham's underworld.
"I accept," Shiller said. "But I have one condition."
"The former commissioner — he's missing…"
"You want me to find him?" Falcone asked.
"No," Shiller said. "I want him dead."
Falcone leaned back, took the cigar offered by a bodyguard, and lit it. After a long draw, he exhaled smoke.
"Victor… yes, I know him. A clever old fraud. Tell me — what grudge do you have with him?"
"In Gotham," Shiller said, "you don't always need a grudge to kill."
Falcone smiled through the smoke. "Then you will indeed make a fine teacher."