This grand banquet, funded by the City Development Foundation, gathered all the major players involved in Gotham's port reconstruction project: union leaders, factory owners, entrepreneurs, and… mob bosses.
Don't be surprised. In Gotham, organized crime has infiltrated nearly every facet of urban life. Through proxies, casinos, shell companies, and professional laundering schemes supported by elite lawyers and Gotham's notoriously corrupt judicial system, mob bosses can easily distance themselves from petty crimes. They waltz into high-end venues, indulge in hedonistic lifestyles, and rub shoulders with so-called "upper-class society."
In fact, many of Gotham's largest corporations, those considered the backbone of the city's GDP, are secretly funded by these crime lords. They've even established banks specifically for large-scale money laundering, which wealthy individuals trust for their unparalleled security measures.
The resplendent Swarovski crystal chandeliers hanging from the exquisitely painted domed ceilings illuminated the opulent hall. Fine white silk tablecloths adorned the tables, which bore an array of plated delicacies. Champagne chilled in elegant golden vessels filled with ice.
Ladies in backless evening gowns swirled their wine glasses, their high heels clicking rhythmically on marble stairs. The air was filled with the intoxicating scent of perfume as they showcased expensive jewelry from their lovers, each vying to outshine the other. Meanwhile, the men in tailored suits gathered in small groups, animatedly discussing Gotham's future.
"Things haven't been going well lately," one man grumbled. "That damned Batman sent five of my guys at the docks to the hospital. If I didn't have connections with a senator, I'd have lost the shipment of guns, too."
"Consider yourself lucky," another retorted. "One of my smuggling ships didn't even make it to port before that caped lunatic punctured its hull. I had to call the Coast Guard for rescue."
The mob bosses, hardened and ruthless, huddled together, venting their frustrations.
Ever since that playboy Bruce Wayne proposed his grandiose Gotham port reconstruction project, capitalists and bureaucrats had descended like sharks smelling blood. Chief among them was Lincoln March, COO of March Ventures and the most promising mayoral candidate in Gotham.
March, a charismatic and wealthy figure, had risen from humble beginnings. He grew up in Blue Cedar Home, an orphanage funded by Wayne Enterprises, where he demonstrated an extraordinary aptitude for numbers. Starting as a junior trader on Wall Street, he built a formidable business empire from the ground up.
With mayoral elections approaching, March Ventures heavily funded Wayne Enterprises' port reconstruction project, while simultaneously rallying Gotham's wealthy elite. His campaign promised that a revitalized port would bring unparalleled prosperity, garnering widespread support—and votes.
This left the incumbent mayor, Hardy, who had covert ties with organized crime, struggling to maintain his footing. With his position on shaky ground, Hardy dared not risk any bold moves to aid the mob, fearing post-election retribution.
Reflecting on their dwindling influence, the mob bosses silently brooded over their champagne glasses, watching the tiny bubbles rise and burst.
Just then, Richard Sappa, the rotund and flamboyant head of Gotham's Italian mafia, strutted into the hall. After gesturing for his two stunning companions to leave, he approached the huddle of mobsters, leaning on his skull-adorned carbon fiber cane.
"I've never seen you like this, Mr. Yamada," Sappa said with a sly smile, addressing Yamada Gen'ichi, the leader of Gotham's Yakuza. "You look as miserable as a blonde teenager dumped by her no-good Beatles-obsessed boyfriend."
Grabbing a glass of wine from a silver tray, Sappa added, "I remember when you wielded a Chicago typewriter with a 50-round drum, gunning down a dozen of my men to secure the Yakuza's foothold in this city."
"That was twenty years ago," Yamada sighed. "Now, our territory is being chipped away, starting with the ports..."
The group fell silent. Only the elegant strains of classical music continued to play in the background, a mournful elegy for Gotham's criminal underworld, orchestrated by none other than Bruce Wayne.
Sappa scanned the room, taking in the dour faces of his peers. With a heavy cough, he broke the silence.
"For God's sake, have you all been chemically castrated? You're acting like cowards, moping around like the world is ending. Damn it! We are the true rulers of this city, the arbiters of life and death here!"
He slammed his cane on the marble floor with a resounding thud. His gaze burned like a searing blade, cutting through their feigned composure to expose their sordid, cowardly hearts.
"If Bruce Wayne wants us out of this city, then he must pay the price!"
"What price?" growled the leader of Gotham's Russian mob, his voice raspy and cold. "He's the last scion of the Wayne family, head of Wayne Enterprises. Kill him, and we'll be wiped out by those aristocratic vultures."
"Who said anything about killing him?"
Sappa loosened his collar, letting cool air into his sweat-drenched chest. Smirking, he continued, "Doesn't he have anyone else he cares about?"
Yamada's lips trembled as he nervously asked, "Who?"
Sappa's reply was calm and deliberate: "Rachel Dawes, assistant district attorney of Gotham City, and a childhood friend of Bruce Wayne."
"The DA's office?! Are you insane? This is Gotham, not Chechnya or Syria!"
"So what?" Sappa's eyes narrowed into slits. With a disdainful sneer, he spat a glob of greenish phlegm into his wine glass and coldly declared, "We'll have a few street thugs kidnap her, take some photos, and discreetly deliver them to Bruce Wayne. The knight in shining armor will back off, and the port reconstruction will be buried."
"And what about Lincoln March?"
"Forget him. Once Wayne Enterprises withdraws, his mayoral dreams will crumble naturally."