Adam had no idea Jason was silently sizing him up while stacking receipts. At the moment, he was too busy cross-checking the bar's inventory list and swearing under his breath.
"Mint liquor...Seriously? Who's drinking this stuff?" he muttered, flicking ash from his cigarette as crates of new alcohol lined up outside the storage room.
The delivery driver leaned against the truck, glancing at the final receipt Adam had just signed.
Adam took one look at the numbers—and immediately regretted it.
"They're really milking us now," he said, eyes narrowing. "I should've known Penguin wouldn't give discounts two times in a row."
Outside, the streets were nearly empty. The sun had just dipped behind Gotham's skyline, flooding the roads in orange haze. Leftover garbage littered the sidewalks, waiting for sanitation that'd probably never come. Women who worked the night shift—heels in hand, bare feet on dirty pavement—escaped back to hotels down side alleys.
Jason walked in with another clipboard, frowning.
"Harvey Dent's new 'prohibition' law doesn't actually ban alcohol outright," he said. "It just jacks up prices across the board. Supposed to discourage drinkers while 'stimulating the local wine industry.' But all it's doing is killing small bars like ours."
The sting was real. It felt like every drop of profit was being squeezed into city fines.
"And on top of that," Jason added, "we need more staff. You want me to haul kegs into the storage again?"
"Relax," Adam said, taking another drag. "I'm working on that. But if it were that easy to find people I could trust, the place would already be staffed. Same problem with the new enforcement unit I'm setting up—loyalty first, skill second."
Jason didn't get it. Not yet. He still thought like a kid who saw lazy men on street corners as 'easy help.'
But Adam had something else in mind. Just like the bar staff, he wanted to build a quiet, capable team handpicked from ground level—people completely separate from Gotham's rotting institutions. His enforcement squad, like this bar, would be built from the ground up.
Before the conversation could continue, Adam's phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
It was from Central Command.
There'd been a street-level gang brawl in downtown Gotham. The local precinct was stretched thin. They wanted support.
Adam raised a brow as he ended the call. If Loeb's office was tapping him for reinforcements, that was as close to an endorsement as it got.
"Looks like I just got upgraded to field commander." He turned to Jason and extinguished his cigarette. "Stay here and keep the bar steady. Text Deadshot and tell him to suit up and meet me on-site."
Fifteen minutes later…
Adam and Deadshot pulled up to the scene. The streets were swarming. Dozens of gang members stood tense in the middle of a block—two rival groups, trading glares and shouting. You could feel the tension in the air.
"Violent confrontation in broad daylight?" Deadshot muttered. "That's unusual. And now they're calling in Arkham station? City Central must really be short on men."
"Not that strange nowadays," Adam replied, casually inspecting his sidearm as they walked. "Ever since Batman started sweeping the streets at night, gangs have moved their activity to the daytime. They're less scared when the sun's out."
"And these punks?" Deadshot asked, nodding toward the mob.
"Leftover lieutenants from Black Mask's crew," Adam said. "Now that Roman's dead, they're scrapping over what's left. All the little sharks want a piece of the throne."
Deadshot let out a low whistle. "Give it a few more months and organized crime will turn into nine-to-five office drama. Clock in. Pull a heist. Clock out."
Adam chuckled.
But as soon as they reached the perimeter, he realized something was off.
The command officer on-site… wasn't Gordon.
In fact, it wasn't anyone experienced. It was some green rookie barely out of academy—face pale, legs practically trembling. He was surrounded by shouting civilians, loud street reporters, and a few seasoned officers looking annoyed at having to take orders from a child.
Loeb had clearly benched Gordon… and it showed.
Adam stepped aside, pulled Deadshot with him into a vacant alley.
"This kid doesn't know what he's doing," Adam muttered. "The flip side is that we get full freedom here. Let's make this look good for the cameras."
He handed Deadshot a handheld radio.
"Take the rooftops. Control the vantage points. Set up sharp-eyed pairs—report movement, keep the pressure low."
"On it."
Adam stepped back out and found the wide-eyed officer barking confused orders.
He approached calmly, voice solid. "Media's here. This escalates, your face is splashed all over the news tomorrow. Let's show them we're not just standing around."
The officer blinked. "Right... Right. Set up a perimeter!"
Adam nodded. "And fast. Riot gear. Shields up. Block the streets so the fight doesn't spill over."
Officers moved. Cameras clicked. Civilians backed off.
From the shadows, Adam watched the chaos take shape—and slowly cradle itself back under control.
Now all he needed… was the right spark to turn this show of stability into solid political capital.
A faint smile touched his lips. He had something bigger in mind.