When Adam finished reading No. 1's letter, his stomach turned cold.
This list meant one thing: even in death, Roman Sionis had marked him for revenge. Thanks to the two million–dollar "assassination fund," one day a top-shelf killer might walk through his door looking to finish what Black Mask couldn't.
Adam's first instinct was to call No. 1 back, but the man was still overseas, with little intel on Gotham's current politics. The only useful detail he could share was this: if Adam wanted more, there were still senior Black Mask loyalists in the city who'd know the list by heart. They'd be the ones to ask.
For now, Adam kept the letter to himself and shoved other thoughts aside.
Across the city, at Gotham Police Headquarters, Commissioner Loeb was staring at his desk as if it had betrayed him. It was buried under gift baskets, envelopes, and neatly wrapped boxes—all from hopefuls lobbying for a single job.
"I was going to promote Adam to Director of the Arkham Branch," Loeb said with a humorless chuckle, rubbing his temple, "but apparently half this city's been eyeing that seat. And they've all sent gifts to make sure I know it."
His secretary stepped closer and lowered her voice.
"Adam's sharp—good at solving cases, knows how to work the system—but his rise has been too fast. Most officers spend over a decade on the force before they even sniff the title of chief inspector. He made it in months. Promoting him straight to branch director is… unusual. Gordon's held it for nearly twenty years. It'll make waves."
Loeb nodded slowly. He already had that nagging feeling about Adam—like the man could play three moves ahead of everyone else. The secretary had just put it into words. If Adam could climb to chief inspector in months, what would he be in a few years? Give him too much, too fast, and he might take the whole ladder.
"You're right," Loeb decided. "Young men need more time under pressure. We'll make him acting director for Arkham. He keeps his chief inspector rank—for now. I'll set a one‑year benchmark. If Arkham's crime rates, clearance rates, and public safety metrics hit the top of the city in that time, he becomes official."
The secretary jotted it down, then made the trip to Arkham herself to tell Adam personally. It was custom—gauge the man's reaction before the official papers arrived.
When Adam heard the decision, he didn't speak for a long moment.
Perfect. Just perfect. A killer's bounty on his head, and now this. The permanent director's chair—practically his—had been moved out of reach. It was like having the prize in hand only for someone to yank it away at the last second.
He knew why, though: no political muscle backing him in Arkham's underworld. In this city, every branch director who lasted had the gangs in their area under some kind of control. If the street bosses didn't respect you—or fear you—your district fell apart. And if your district collapsed, you were done permanently.
But refusing an acting post was worse. The other precincts hated him enough already. Kick up a fuss now, and he'd lose the only foothold he had.
Adam forced a polite smile and said, "Tell Director Loeb I have no objection. But if I'm going to be responsible for Arkham's safety—official or acting—I'll need some assets. First, I want Nygma transferred from the Evidence Management Office to work under me. Second, I want immediate approval to form the Prohibition Enforcement Unit."
The secretary frowned and asked, "That's… all?"
Her surprise was genuine. Most men in Adam's position would demand cash, manpower, maybe political leverage. Adam was asking for a mid‑level clerk and a specialty unit—neither for personal gain. In Gotham, that kind of request was rare.
Adam simply nodded. In Arkham, the gangs were small‑time, the money modest. The city's richer districts skimmed far more than this backwater could offer. Traditional graft here was a starvation wage. If he wanted security and income, he'd have to create his own opportunities—and for that, he needed loyal people, not envelopes of cash.
True to form, the secretary relayed Adam's request straight to Loeb. The commissioner's reaction was immediate. Not only did he approve the transfer, he greenlit Adam's Prohibition Enforcement Unit as a pilot program, giving him full discretionary support within departmental rules. Loeb even pushed a funding request through City Hall, using Adam's own earlier report as justification. By the time Adam got the confirmation, the funds were already en route to his account—a tidy "compensation" for being kept in acting status.
When the official documents hit his desk, Adam skimmed them, then walked to the window.
Gotham's skyline glittered in the dark like it was eternal—neon lights burning against the black, a permanent firework display. And every light in that city was built over shadows deep enough to swallow anyone.
Here, survival wasn't about the uniform. It was about having a force you could trust—entirely your own—and the cover to use it.
If Gordon could form the Heavy Crimes Unit to go after Gotham's worst, Adam could build something similar. But this time, the unit's loyalty wouldn't be to a department.
It would be to him.