Lawyers were an interesting breed. Some spent their days in court trying to convince twelve strangers that someone deserved to spend the next twenty years behind bars, while others made a living convincing those same twelve people that their client deserved to walk out the front door. Some practiced international law and spent their careers crossing borders and navigating treaties, while others rarely left their offices, content to spend twelve-hour days buried beneath contracts, amendments, and enough paperwork to make an ordinary man question his sanity.
One might assume the criminal defense attorneys and prosecutors were the most dangerous of the bunch. Nolan disagreed.
Give him a lawyer who spent his entire career buried in paperwork, and then suddenly gave that man a reason to leave his office and negotiate face-to-face, and Nolan had seen the transformation firsthand. The quiet little poodle behind the desk became a lion the moment someone touched one of his clauses.
Kieran had barely finished introducing the idea of the charitable initiative before the lawyers descended upon it.
What had started as a pleasant conversation between four businessmen quickly became a legal battlefield. Contracts were drafted, returned, rewritten, amended, challenged, and rewritten again. Lawyers argued over property rights, construction responsibilities, liability, charitable contributions, governance structures, tax obligations, branding, and a dozen other matters Nolan had never considered particularly interesting until someone told him they might cost him millions of dollars.
Several days passed.
There were nights when the lights in the Continental's offices remained on until dawn. Coffee became a permanent fixture on conference tables, and more than one lawyer had been seen wandering through the hotel at some ungodly hour looking like they had forgotten what sunlight looked like. They fought over paragraphs as though the fate of Gotham depended on a comma, and every concession came with three demands attached to it.
Nolan found the entire process strangely entertaining.
"These people are terrifying," Brock had remarked after witnessing one particularly vicious negotiation.
"They're lawyers," Nolan had replied. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know. More yelling."
"Oh, they don't need to yell. That's what makes them scary."
Eventually, however, the fighting ended.
There was nothing left to negotiate.
Nolan sat behind his desk with the final contract spread before him, the thick stack of paper almost comical in its size. He flipped through it slowly, checking each section for himself even though three different lawyers had already assured him that everything was exactly where it needed to be.
"So this is the final agreement?"
"Yes, sir," his attorney replied. The man looked exhausted but satisfied, the expression of someone who had just survived a war he would happily fight again. "I negotiated for precisely what you wanted while making it appear as though we were giving significant concessions."
Nolan smiled.
"That sounds like my kind of negotiation."
"You have control over the land and priority rights associated with the charity properties. The construction contracts are also structured so that the development work remains under your direction. Your partners retain ownership and control of their individual charitable foundations, but they have effectively granted Horizon the rights necessary to coordinate the broader initiative."
"Good."
Nolan turned another page.
"And my name?"
"Not directly attached to any of the individual charities."
Nolan looked up.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing that would identify you as the owner or founder. As discussed, you're simply a major donor and investor in the initiative. The four foundations remain separate entities, but they operate beneath the Horizon umbrella corporation. Your financial contributions are documented, but your involvement in their individual governance is deliberately limited."
"Perfect."
Nolan continued reading.
That was one thing he had learned from Quentin. Never sign something simply because someone told you it was safe. Read it yourself. Understand what you were giving away and, more importantly, understand what the other side thought they were getting.
He read the entire contract once.
Then he read it again.
Only after he was satisfied did he pick up the pen.
"Once I sign this, we're ready?"
"Yes, sir."
Nolan signed his name across the final page.
He leaned back and looked at the contract for a moment before handing the pen back.
"Very well."
He turned toward Brock.
"Start construction immediately. We already have the designs. Send them to our partners and get their people moving. I don't want these properties sitting empty any longer than necessary."
"Yes, boss."
"And inform Marcy that she can proceed with the gala."
Brock nodded and reached for his phone.
Nolan smiled.
****
The Hope Orphanage had changed.
Nolan noticed it before he even stepped through the front doors.
The place no longer carried the same desperate atmosphere he remembered from his first visit. The paint was fresh, the windows were clean, and the old exterior had been repaired rather than merely patched. Inside, the halls were bright and warm, with new furniture lining the walls and children's artwork covering almost every available surface.
A small boy sprinted around the corner at full speed before nearly colliding with Nolan.
"Whoa!"
The boy stopped so suddenly his shoes squeaked against the floor.
Nolan looked down at him.
The boy looked up.
There was a brief moment of silence.
Then the child's eyes widened, "You're the hotel guy!"
Nolan blinked, "The hotel guy?"
"The Continental!"
"Oh."
Nolan crouched slightly, "That's me."
The boy immediately grabbed Nolan's sleeve, "Come look at the game room!"
"Wait, I—"
Too late.
The child dragged him down the hallway with enough enthusiasm that Nolan had no choice but to follow.
Brock watched from behind, struggling not to laugh.
"Don't just stand there," Nolan called over his shoulder. "Help me."
"I think you've been selected, boss."
"Traitor."
The game room was packed with children. A pair of them were arguing over a controller while three others shouted at a television screen. Someone had apparently decided that one of the couches was an acceptable place to build a blanket fort, and Nolan found himself wondering how long it would take before the staff surrendered and simply let the children have the entire building.
"This is new," he said.
A middle-aged woman named Sarah, smiled beside him.
"Everything is new." She gestured around the room.
"We've been able to hire additional staff, expand the educational programs, improve the kitchen, and finally repair the playground. The donations have been extraordinary."
Nolan looked around.
The children were laughing.
One girl sat at a table drawing something with intense concentration while another child tried to sneak a piece of candy from a bowl without being noticed. A teenager sat near the window reading a book, occasionally glancing up to watch the younger children play.
It was noisy.
Messy.
Alive.
Nolan smiled, "Good."
Sarah looked at him, "You're happy?"
"Very."
The boy from earlier tugged on his sleeve again.
"Come on!"
Nolan sighed, I suppose I have been summoned."
"You have."
"Apparently I'm very important."
"You are."
Nolan allowed himself to be dragged toward the game console.
Brock laughed behind him, "You're enjoying this."
"Not a word now watch me beat this kid." He picked up the controller
Ten minutes later a voice could be heard, so loud even the room over could hear, "Hey you're cheating, how are you so good at this kid!"
"Wow you suck mister hotel guy!"
"Brock get over here and help me win!"
****
Batman stared at the computer screen.
A dozen files were open across the display, each one containing information gathered from financial databases, corporate registrations, property records, and public filings.
Bruce leaned forward.
"Sir, you need to leave soon if you're going to make the Watchtower briefing."
"I know."
His eyes remained on the screen.
Four charitable foundations had been registered within days of one another. Each operated independently, yet all four were connected through the same umbrella corporation.
Horizon.
Bruce opened the corporate records.
His expression tightened.
"Four new charity foundations registered two days ago," he said. "All four are operating in Gotham, all four are tied to Horizon, and Horizon has the controlling financial interest."
Alfred stood behind him, "And who is the major contributor?"
Bruce opened another file, "Kieran Everleigh."
Alfred sighed.
"I assume you're not surprised."
"No."
Bruce changed the screen again.
"And it doesn't stop there. He's also controlling the construction."
"I fail to see the crime in building charitable facilities."
"That isn't the part that bothers me."
Bruce pulled up the property records.
"I didn't notice the purchases because Kieran didn't make them directly. Crane, Whitmore, Bellamy, and Halden did. They made the bids, purchased the properties, and then transferred the relevant rights into the Horizon structure."
Alfred considered the information.
"I still don't understand your concern. Wealthy businessmen establish charities all the time. It provides tax benefits, improves their public image, and allows them to direct money toward causes they find important."
"Exactly."
Bruce turned toward him, "So why does Kieran care?"
Alfred raised an eyebrow.
"Because he's wealthy?"
"No."
Bruce shook his head.
"Kieran doesn't need the tax break. Not like these men do. He could donate directly if all he wanted was a tax deduction. Instead, he convinced four businessmen to establish separate charities, placed them beneath an umbrella corporation, secured the property rights, and somehow ended up controlling the construction."
He stared at the screen.
"I know Crane. I know Whitmore. Bellamy and Halden aren't pushovers either. They wouldn't agree to an arrangement where they gave someone else this much control unless they believed they were getting something significant in return."
"Perhaps they believe they are."
"Perhaps."
Bruce leaned back, "Or Kieran used his powers."
Alfred's expression became more serious.
"You still believe his abilities extend beyond what we've observed?"
"I know they do."
Bruce remembered the strange sensation of being around Kieran, the subtle pressure that seemed to exist beneath every conversation. Kieran could manipulate emotions, and if Bruce's theory was correct, he could push those emotions far beyond their natural limits.
He's seen it multiple times.
"He can control emotions," Bruce said. "Not just influence them. He can push them to extremes. Fear, trust, anger, affection. If he's become better at controlling it, we could be looking at something much more dangerous than we originally thought."
Alfred folded his hands behind his back.
"Then I suppose the Watchtower meeting may have to wait."
Bruce looked toward him, "What?"
Alfred reached into his jacket and produced an envelope.
"This arrived a few minutes ago."
Bruce took it and opened it. His eyes moved across the invitation.
A smile slowly disappeared from his face, "He's hosting a gala."
"A charitable gala?"
Bruce looked at Alfred.
"Of course it is."
He held up the invitation.
"Not only did Kieran get the better end of the deal, he's throwing a party at his hotel so everyone else can help fund it."
Alfred smiled faintly, "Perhaps he simply enjoys entertaining."
Bruce stared at the invitation.
"With Kieran Everleigh, I doubt anything is ever simply anything."
—-
A/N: I hope this wasn't confusing? Business stuff is hard especially when I don't want to outright say what he's building. tried something out in the last two chapters, to clarify he did use his abilities to get a favorable offer. The buisness parters are still getting what they want though. I don't think it worked though because then it's a guessing game for you all to figure out if he did use his powers so I'll make it more obvious going forward.