DCU: Split

Chapter 246 246: Prove it

The Arrowcave was quiet save for the occasional scrape of metal against metal. Oliver Queen sat at one of the workshop benches, carefully assembling a new batch of arrows while a massive monitor illuminated the cavern behind him. The repetitive work helped him think. It always had. Some people went for walks when they needed to clear their heads. Others meditated. Oliver built arrows.

Above him, a dossier remained open on the screen.

KIERAN EVERLEIGH.

The photograph displayed was the same one that had appeared in countless articles over the last few months. Expensive suit. Confident smile. The sort of expression that made investors comfortable and reporters eager to ask questions. Looking at it now, Oliver found himself slightly annoyed. The man somehow managed to become more confusing every time he learned something new about him.

The information gathered so far only deepened the mystery. Hotel acquisitions, property purchases, charitable donations, community outreach programs, and suspected ties to one of Gotham's fastest growing criminal organizations all sat side by side in the report. Individually none of it was particularly alarming. Together it painted a picture that refused to make sense.

Oliver rotated an arrow shaft between his fingers while his thoughts drifted back to the restaurant.

More specifically, they drifted back to one particular moment.

"Bruce Wayne."

The way Kieran had said it bothered him.

Not because the two men knew each other. That wasn't surprising. Wealthy businessmen crossed paths all the time. No, what bothered Oliver was how casually Kieran had said it. The man hadn't spoken about Bruce Wayne like an acquaintance or business contact.

He had spoken about him like a friend.

A genuine friend. That was significantly stranger.

Oliver finally set the arrow down and reached for his phone. After a moment's consideration he selected a familiar contact and waited while the call connected.

The line rang twice before a voice answered.

"Batman." The greeting somehow managed to sound annoyed despite consisting of a single word.

Oliver smiled.

"So, Bats. Had a run-in with Kieran Everleigh earlier today. I'm beginning to wonder if you left some things out during that little presentation of yours."

The response was immediate.

A sigh.

Not an irritated sigh. Not even an exhausted sigh. It was the sigh of a man who already regretted answering the phone.

"I didn't leave anything out."

Oliver laughed, "Really? Because from where I'm sitting, there are some pretty important details that never came up."

The silence on the other end practically invited him to continue.

"Like the fact that you and Kieran Everleigh are apparently best friends."

For a moment there was no response at all.

Oliver grinned and pressed forward.

"He was very enthusiastic about it too. Honestly, I think half the restaurant heard him talking about you. By now the entire city probably thinks Bruce Wayne and Kieran Everleigh spend weekends golfing together."

The silence somehow deepened.

Oliver could almost picture Batman pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, and here's my favorite new piece of information. Apparently you helped fund the first Continental."

Oliver leaned back in his chair.

"You know. The hotel. The one we're supposedly concerned about. The one you spent an hour warning us about."

Again silence answered him.

This time it stretched long enough that Oliver briefly wondered whether Batman had disconnected entirely. Eventually the gruff voice returned.

"Bruce Wayne and Kieran Everleigh interact frequently. They are friendly. It is a consequence of our lives, Oliver."

The answer was frustratingly reasonable.

Unfortunately it was also true.

Bruce Wayne couldn't exactly refuse to interact with every person Batman considered suspicious. Public appearances, business meetings, charity events, fundraisers, and galas practically guaranteed their paths would cross eventually. Maintaining separate identities required compromises.

Oliver sighed, "Yeah, I know."

"The matter with the Continental is also more complicated than you imagine."

That immediately caught Oliver's attention.

A smile spread across his face, "Now that's usually the beginning of a very interesting story."

Batman's response carried a surprising amount of irritation, "The original Continental project was presented as a historic reconstruction effort."

Oliver blinked, "What?"

"It was marketed as preservation. Restoration. Community investment."

The smile vanished as realization slowly dawned, "No."

"Yes."

Oliver stared at the dossier on the screen, "No. How is that possible investors would have pulled when they realized it wasn't historical right? No how did he get them to say it was in the first place, I can say what I want about Gotham but it is strict about its history."

"He worked fast, by the time most of the investors realized they aren't rebuilding a historical hotel he pitched them paradise."

The realization fully settled.

A laugh escaped him, "Oh my God."

"He used my name."

Now Oliver was genuinely amused. Batman sounded personally offended by the memory.

"He leveraged Wayne Enterprises' interest to attract investors. Once people saw my involvement, they became interested. By the time I realized how aggressively he was using my name, he had already secured what he wanted."

Oliver laughed harder.

From Batman's perspective it was manipulation.

From Oliver's perspective it was honestly impressive.

The fact that someone had managed to use Bruce Wayne's reputation against Bruce Wayne himself was objectively funny.

Unfortunately it was also concerning.

Because it had worked.

Not only had it worked, but it had worked on one of the most careful and suspicious men on the planet.

"That's actually kind of impressive."

"It is." The admission sounded painful.

Very painful.

"But don't mistake competence for innocence."

The humor faded slightly.

That was a fair warning.

Oliver had dealt with enough criminals over the years to know that intelligence and morality weren't remotely connected. Some of the smartest people he had ever met belonged behind bars.

The Arrowcave grew quiet for several moments before Batman spoke again, "I suggest you don't become too friendly with him."

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

There was another pause.

When Batman finally continued, his tone had changed.

It wasn't annoyance nor was it suspicion, "Because suddenly you'll find yourself helping him with his new hotel too." Oliver realized Bruce was tired

Oliver frowned, "I doubt he will try to use my name so soon but thanks for the heads up I'll let you know if I find anything more."

The silence that followed stretched.

Eventually the Dark Knight spoke one final time, "Good luck, Oliver."

The line disconnected.

Oliver slowly lowered the phone from his ear and stared at it for several seconds. Then he looked toward the dossier displayed on the monitor.

The smiling image of Kieran Everleigh stared back at him.

For a while he simply sat there turning Batman's words over in his mind. What bothered him wasn't the warning itself. Batman warned people constantly. That wasn't unusual.

What bothered him was how resigned the warning had sounded.

Batman hadn't spoken like someone worried Oliver might be manipulated.

He had spoken like someone who had already lived through the experience.

As if Bruce Wayne had once told himself he was merely keeping an eye on Kieran Everleigh. As if he had once believed he was maintaining professional distance.

And then somehow found himself investing in a hotel. Found himself working with him against the court of owls as he told the league.

Oliver glanced back up at the photograph.

The man in the picture continued smiling.

For reasons he couldn't fully explain, that smile suddenly seemed a lot more dangerous than it had a few hours ago.

Which only made Oliver more determined to figure out exactly what game Kieran Everleigh was playing.

****

Marcy sat behind her desk, staring at a growing pile of reports that seemed determined to ruin her afternoon. The office itself was quiet, the only sounds coming from the occasional rustle of paper and the distant hum of activity elsewhere in the building. Normally she enjoyed the silence. Today it only gave her more time to think.

That was unfortunate because the more she thought about the situation, the less she liked it.

Another report detailed a disrupted shipment. Another outlined a warehouse that had been compromised. A third listed arrests made after one of their smaller operations had been exposed. Individually none of them were disastrous. Collectively they painted a picture that was becoming impossible to ignore.

Batman had picked up the pace.

For months the Dark Knight had applied pressure to the Underpass. That wasn't unusual. It was Batman. Pressure was what he did. Yet recently the tempo had changed. He was moving faster, appearing more often, and taking advantage of opportunities that previously would have slipped through his fingers. It wasn't difficult to understand why.

Nolan was gone.

Not gone gone, of course. He was still available by phone. Still receiving reports. Still making decisions when necessary. But there was a difference between leading from Gotham and leading from the opposite side of the continent. Batman understood that difference better than most.

Marcy leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples.

The frustrating part was that she couldn't even blame him. If their positions were reversed, she would be doing the exact same thing. If the person responsible for holding an organization together suddenly found themselves managing a major expansion hundreds of miles away, any competent opponent would test the cracks.

The real danger wasn't Batman.

The real danger was everyone else.

Batman was respected. Batman was feared. If he started finding success, others would notice. The Falcones would notice. The Penguin's people would notice. Every ambitious criminal with more confidence than sense would notice. Once they started thinking the Underpass was vulnerable, they would begin pushing boundaries to see how much ground they could reclaim.

That possibility bothered her enough that she finally activated a conference call.

A few moments later Terrell appeared on one side of the screen while Naima appeared on the other. Both looked tired. Not exhausted exactly, but tired in the way people looked when they had spent several days dealing with problems that refused to stay solved.

"Tell me something good," Marcy said as soon as the connection stabilized.

Terrell laughed and immediately shook his head.

"I'd love to, but that would require something good happening."

Naima groaned. "That bad?"

"Not bad. Annoying."

Marcy snorted. "That's becoming Gotham's official slogan."

The brief humor faded as all three looked at the reports displayed across their screens.

Terrell was the first to become serious again. He leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands together. "Batman hit another shipment. Nothing critical, but he's definitely escalating. The route is burned now, and that's more frustrating than the actual loss."

Marcy nodded. That matched what she had already seen.

"He knows Nolan isn't here."

Neither Terrell nor Naima argued.

The statement didn't really need confirmation. It was obvious. Batman wasn't stupid. He understood that Nolan's attention was divided for the first time in years. Even if Nolan remained involved, there were only so many hours in a day and only so much attention one person could give.

Naima crossed her arms and frowned at the reports. "We should call him."

Marcy's response was immediate.

"No."

At almost the exact same moment Terrell said, "Absolutely not."

Naima blinked and looked between them. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Marcy replied.

The younger woman frowned. "Batman is increasing pressure. Other groups are starting to test boundaries. We're dealing with problems every day. This is exactly the sort of thing Nolan should be informed about."

"He is informed about it," Marcy replied. "He gets reports every day."

"You know what I mean."

Marcy did know what she meant.

Naima wasn't talking about information. She was talking about asking Nolan what to do.

That was an entirely different conversation.

Terrell seemed to arrive at the same conclusion because he leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

"Nolan left us in charge for a reason."

The room fell quiet.

"He didn't hand us responsibilities because he wanted more work," Terrell continued. "He handed them over because eventually we were supposed to handle things ourselves. If we call him every time Batman becomes a headache, then what exactly are we proving?"

Naima opened her mouth to respond but hesitated.

Marcy picked up where Terrell left off.

"The man is trying to establish operations in an entirely new city. He's overseeing the Continental's opening, dealing with local politics, handling expansion plans, and somehow finding time to sleep. The last thing I'm going to do is call him because Batman stopped another shipment."

Naima sighed heavily and rubbed her face.

"I still don't like it."

"Neither do I."

Marcy looked down at the reports again before continuing.

"But let's be honest about what we're dealing with. Batman hasn't crippled us. He hasn't taken territory. He hasn't destroyed infrastructure. He's applying pressure and testing responses. That's annoying, but it isn't a crisis."

Terrell nodded in agreement.

"If things actually start falling apart, then we call him. If we start losing territory, we call him. If people start dying because we can't keep up, then we call him immediately. Until then, this is our responsibility."

The certainty in his voice seemed to settle the discussion more than any argument could have.

Naima sat quietly for several moments before finally letting out a long breath.

"Fine."

The word sounded reluctant.

Very reluctant.

"But if this gets worse, I'm saying I told you so."

That earned a chuckle from both Marcy and Terrell.

"That's fair," Marcy admitted.

The tension eased slightly after that. Not because the problems had disappeared, but because the conversation had reminded them of something important.

Nolan had trusted them with Gotham.

Not because there was nobody else available.

Not because he lacked options.

He had trusted them because he believed they were capable of handling it.

Marcy glanced once more at the mountain of reports covering her desk. The situation was irritating. It was frustrating. It would probably get worse before it got better.

But it was still manageable.

And if Batman thought the Underpass would start cracking simply because Nolan spent a week in Star City, then she intended to prove him wrong.

—

A/N: within the nature of this arc we will have chapters with little involvement with Nolan as I want to show his organizations progression and the people under him. But I promise to show as much of Nolan as possible!