Lance Prescott had to admit that Bruce's question was subtle.
What made it worse was that he did not know the answer himself.
At first, he had thought this trip was just an ordinary business assignment for a rookie lawyer, with the only difference being that the destination happened to be Gotham City.
But now it seemed the timid little rabbit had turned into a fox, and the original Lance Prescott must have been hiding something significant.
Secrets could be uncovered later. For now, he had to deal with the Bruce Wayne sitting in front of him.
So this was what it meant to be Batman. Even without the suit, even before becoming that shadow in the night, the need for control was already there.
He needed to answer quickly.
Lance told himself that clearly. Otherwise, the man in front of him looked ready to resort to methods he would rather not see.
He cursed inwardly, feeling an increasing urgency to wrap up William Earle's case as soon as possible.
Any ability from Batman would do. Even a weakened version would be enough.
In his current state, even a random thug in Gotham could take him down. For someone like Lance, who lived on the edge in his own way, that lack of security was unacceptable.
His expression remained unchanged. He took a sip of the coffee Bruce had handed him and said, "Gotham is a good place."
"Is it?" Bruce Wayne raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "The 'good place' you're referring to is the city with the highest crime rate in the United States."
"Does that matter?"
"Just answer me!"
That voice. The resonance in his chest, the depth of it. Damn, he's even doing the famous Batman scrawl! It's hard not to fanboy!
Lance quietly rubbed his earlobe, still tingling from the vibration, and continued, "I came from Metropolis. Do you think Metropolis is safer than Gotham?"
"Isn't it?"
"Of course not." Lance shook his head. "At least, not for me right now."
When Lance arrived in Gotham, he had only inherited his own memories and abilities. As for the original Lance Prescott, who knew what kind of trouble he had been involved in.
The original owner's memories were like a puzzle torn apart and crudely pieced back together.
As for that teacher of Lance Prescott, he tried to recall anything related to him, but only managed to grasp a few vague fragments. Everything was blurred.
There was a conspiracy. Lance's instincts as a lawyer were sounding a frantic warning.
So he reached a conclusion.
"What you see is only the surface, Mr. Wayne. Behind the shine of Metropolis lies darkness and filth that even Gotham can't imagine."
"Then why come to Gotham?"
"I don't know, I just opened my eyes on a flight to Gotham," Lance answered without hesitation. "I guess the god wanted me here?"
The moment the words left his mouth, the suite door was pushed open.
Alfred Pennyworth entered with a dining cart. "My apologies, gentlemen. The door was unlocked, and I thought you might need something to eat."
His gaze moved between Lance and Bruce, a hint of disapproval appearing in his eyes. "However, it seems I have arrived at an inconvenient time. Please continue."
He parked the cart beside the coffee table, gave a slight bow, and left.
After watching Alfred leave, Bruce Wayne turned his gaze back to Lance, who looked perfectly composed.
"The 'god' wanted you here? Are you naturally this arrogant, or do you practice in front of the mirror?"
Even with his experience, Bruce was still momentarily thrown off.
Lance raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Well, too bad I'm not going to answer that, but back to the point. I'm sure you've already investigated my résumé, but the real evidence isn't sitting on a stack of useless paperwork…"
Lance leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and lowered his voice.
"I can only say this, Mr. Wayne. I've made a lot of enemies. Metropolis doesn't welcome me, and for me, only Gotham is safe."
"At least the criminals here put a clear price on everything."
It was a lie, but Bruce believed it.
"Why?" Bruce asked.
"The only ones who can deal with criminals are other criminals."
Bruce Wayne fell silent, clearly unsettled by the statement.
"Only criminals can deal with criminals. Is that what you believe?"
In that moment, Bruce no longer felt like a playboy. He felt closer to the Batman he would become.
One of the most complex figures in history. A paranoid man walking in darkness. A genius only a step away from madness.
"Let's change the subject."
Lance realized he had said too much.
He enjoyed showing off his grasp of psychology, but counseling Batman, or teaching someone how to become Batman, was not covered by the fee Bruce Wayne had paid.
If the price was not right, then nothing was on the table.
Playing nanny to Batman was not something he was interested in.
Lance took another sip of coffee. He had to admit, the quality at the Wayne Hotel matched the level of its clientele.
"Let's get back to the matter at hand. As for William Earle's case, I assume that's why you came to see me."
"Forget it." Bruce gave a dismissive smile. "That old man isn't worth discussing."
Since he had not gotten the answers he wanted, Bruce had no intention of wasting more time.
There were too many matters waiting for him at Wayne Enterprises.
"Our conversation isn't over yet." Bruce stood up.
"Of course. When you can offer a price that interests me, that's when we can continue."
"What do you want?" Bruce asked.
Lance raised a finger and waved it slowly from side to side.
"Whatever I want, you can't give it to me right now."
He stood, opened the door for Bruce with practiced politeness, and gestured for him to leave.
"Grow up as soon as possible, Mr. Wayne," he said. "Both you and I."
After Bruce left, Lance stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window on the top floor of Wayne Enterprises for a long time.
He did not know whether their conversation had sparked anything in Bruce.
But when Bruce walked out, the look in his eyes told Lance that Batman might not be far away.
And Lance was looking forward to it.
...
The case against William Earle progressed smoothly.
When the judge brought down the gavel and called for the plaintiff's opening statement,
Lance did not stand.
He did not even glance at William Earle in the defendant's seat. He simply gave a slight nod to the judge.
"Your Honor, the plaintiff waives the opening statement."
A murmur spread through the courtroom, but Lance continued.
"The plaintiff requests to proceed directly to the presentation of evidence."
The next forty-seven minutes became the most efficient conviction process in Gotham's judicial history.
Complete transaction records. Decrypted communications. Every reckless move William Earle made after Bruce Wayne left Gotham. Even surveillance footage from William Earle's own residence.
Lance stepped toward the jury box, empty-handed, facing twelve citizens of Gotham who were watching him intently.
"Ladies and gentlemen, William Earle is guilty."
"Mr. William Earle may claim he is a loyal retainer, a faithful servant protecting the Wayne family. He may say that Bruce Wayne is an ignorant young man who needs someone to steer the ship for him."
"And what is the truth?"
Lance held the evidence in his hands and raised it high.
"Is it protection, or attempted murder? Is it the kindness of an elder, or the mask of ambition?"
"That's not all." Lance turned and pointed to the irrefutable video evidence.
"When Bruce Wayne was away, as the de facto controller of Wayne Enterprises, what did William Earle do? Nothing. Worse than nothing. He sold off Wayne Enterprises' medical technologies at bargain prices, because in the eyes of the honorable Mr. Earle, the citizens of Gotham were nothing more than expendable resources that could not earn him U.S. dollars."
Lance lifted copies of the transfer agreements, displaying them one by one before the jury.
"What Mr. Earle tried to take was not just Wayne Enterprises. He tried to take away life-saving medicine, technologies that could help people stand again. The things he discarded like worn-out shoes might have saved a child shot on the street last night."
In the jury box, a middle-aged woman suddenly covered her mouth, letting out a muffled sob.
Lance took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her, then straightened.
"I rest my case, Your Honor."