Seeing Avery's steady gaze, she added, "If you want to cooperate, you'll have to show your cards. It's better for us to strike at our enemy, wouldn't you agree?"
So, this was a trial of sorts?
Avery raised an eyebrow. "I can act as an insider for you, but on the condition that your people aren't complete incompetents."
There was no need to be overly polite in such a situation; otherwise, he could easily be taken advantage of.
Amanda considered him for a moment before asking, "What's your name? I think that's a basic courtesy. I need to know how to address you."
The man, maintaining his poised demeanor, chuckled softly at her inquiry but didn't dispute it. Instead, he slowly revealed a name.
"Adrian."
He opened his mouth and looked at Amanda, who sat firmly across from him. "You can call me that, though this name isn't particularly well-known in the underworld, so you needn't bother digging into it."
Amanda Waller narrowed her eyes, a cold glint flickering within them, and then she extended her hand toward the man who called himself Adrian...
Thus, a conspiracy began to unfold quietly.
However, not long after Avery had completed his scheming and returned to Gotham, a piece of news came crashing down upon him.
"What? Bruce Wayne has been kidnapped again?"
"What? Harvey Dent was kidnapped too?"
"What? Batman is going to be on TV again?"
Avery's first reaction upon hearing this news was: couldn't these kidnappers find any other millionaire to target?
Alfred, hearing this, tried to explain, "No, actually, here's how it went…"
The story began with Bruce going to meet Harvey Dent alone earlier that day. To the newly assigned Gotham prosecutor, it looked like Wayne was just making friendly conversation. After all, they hadn't met before, nor had they crossed paths.
The setting was simple. Through the clean, bright glass windows, the bustling streets outside offered a stark contrast to the grittier parts of Gotham.
Harvey Dent, sitting alone at a window seat in the café, kept glancing at his watch, seemingly waiting for someone but without showing any anxiety.
And then, Bruce Wayne, looking sharp in a tailored suit, entered.
His intention was clear enough that Harvey immediately knew this man had come looking for him. He hesitated, lowering his left hand, and watched as Bruce approached his table and extended a hand.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bruce Wayne," Harvey said.
Bruce shook his hand with a smile. "Likewise. Lately, the name of Gotham's new district attorney, Harvey Dent, has come up more than once. I couldn't resist coming over to say hello when I spotted you today."
"And would you mind if I called you Harvey?" he added with a grin.
"Not at all, in fact, I'd be honored," Harvey replied confidently. "I imagine no one would turn down a chance to befriend Bruce Wayne."
Bruce laughed. "Then they clearly don't know I don't often reach out first."
Harvey quipped back, "Should I say it's my honor then?"
The two, though practically strangers, sat down and exchanged a few light remarks. Then, Bruce brought up the reason for his approach: "I heard you recently received a threatening letter?"
Harvey looked a bit surprised but didn't outright deny it. "Has word about that spread already?" How had such information leaked from his team?
The situation was straightforward. As the newly appointed chief prosecutor of Gotham, Harvey had recently filed a case against a business known for its illegal dealings. But before it even went to court, he'd received a bloodstained threat letter. It had been sent directly to his home, and although the exact contents of the letter remained private, it was clear they weren't pleasant.
It was almost certain that this was the handiwork of that company with its mafia ties.
Though labeled a business, everyone knew it was just a cover for organized crime, a way to launder money and present a legitimate front. Now that Harvey was interfering with their operations, it was easy to imagine how deeply they resented Gotham's incorruptible new district attorney.
Bruce shook his head lightly. "No, it hasn't spread much. I just happen to be a little more… observant."
"Oh?" Harvey raised an eyebrow, a bit puzzled.
At that moment, a waitress walked over to their table, placing a coffee in front of each man.
"Enjoy, gentlemen," she said, smiling.
The two men nodded their heads in acknowledgment and resumed their conversation, oblivious to the fact that, as she turned to leave, the elegantly dressed waitress with her scented perfume had paused ever so briefly. Her gaze lingered on Bruce's face for a few seconds before she finally walked away.
In response to Harvey's confusion, Bruce explained calmly, "Because you're the first prosecutor that was brave enough to speak up for the people. Honestly, I respect that, Harvey. Even though I'm not sure how long you can hold out against all the obstacles in your way."
"I'm only doing what I'm supposed to do," Harvey replied matter-of-factly, as if it were nothing more than a routine responsibility.
Then he looked at Bruce, curiosity flashing in his eyes. "And how long would you like me to hold out?"
The question left Bruce silent for a moment. Just as Harvey shot him a questioning glance, he spoke, his tone laced with a rare, almost elusive sincerity.
Looking at Harvey, Bruce said, "If possible, I hope you'll stay true to justice for as long as you live."
While they continued their conversation, something else was brewing.
In the café's back room, a burly white man entered quietly through the back door. His clothes were filthy and tattered, his nearly shaved head adding to his rough, menacing look. His beard, matted and unkempt, seemed like it hadn't been cared for in days.
His eyes scanned the room, and finding it empty, he waited. Soon, the waitress who had just served Harvey and Bruce walked in from the front. Instantly, he grabbed her in a bear hug, laughing gruffly.
"Ha! I finally found you, Bertha!"