Bruce sat patiently at the defendant table, watching the judge not-so-inconspicuously eye the attorney sitting beside him. Marion Grange stood in front of the prosecution table, currently cross-examining the police commissioner up on the witness stand.
Poison Ivy was in the chair next to him, but wearing the magic ring that enabled her to have the appearance of Pamela Winters again. She had no legal experience beyond being the person on trial at least twice. Bruce's real attorney, however, would never be as effective as a bunch of pheromones when trying to convince the jury of innocence. That was what Ivy had said.
There weren't that many people in the room. The Park Row courthouse held a large gathering room meant to seat around a hundred people, not including the court officials, the trial bearers or the jury. However, this case had not attracted much attention from the outside world.
Sure, at a glance, a trial like this would attract media coverage from across the country and would have dozens of people clamoring for admittance into the room so they could catch every detail. Journalists from hundreds of news stations would await outside in a constant frenzy over what the result would be and whether or not a billionaire would be walking out in handcuffs.
A week prior, he had come to this same courthouse for a hearing from Gordon regarding his arraignment. He had escaped without having to pay bail because Gordon and Grange had tried to change the terms of the hearing, citing that because of the lack of available police officers currently available- the swath of officers handing papers coupled with the injuries sustained in the precinct attack- Gordon couldn't afford to have an officer stationed outside Wayne Manor. When Grange had tried to remand him, the judge had allowed him to leave freely to avoid accusations of discrimination in cooperating with what was clearly a ridiculous request. However, the charges had not been dropped, as the allegations were still serious.
Bruce would have thought that even amidst a city-wide confusion about what was going on with Batman, people would still have flooded into the area after a story such as that. Despite his predictions, he saw that there were few inhabitants of the courtroom. Of those seated behind him, he saw a few cops that hadn't been paid to retire early (most of them had casts, splints, bandages, or bruises, and a few of them had more than one) and a few relatives of said cops, including Barbara. She didn't look happy.
James Gordon had a few bruises on his face himself, but he had sustained no injuries that impeded his speech. He had been able to swear himself in without problems, and he made no qualms about hiding his obvious lack of respect for Bruce. Just like in his letter that had described his conditions for Bruce to follow, he spoke plainly, never mincing words to over explain or go on tangents.
Grange was posing several questions to Gordon to help sway the jury based on the commissioner's practiced answers. It was a normal court proceeding, for the most part, except for one thing.
All of the jury members and the judge were not focused on the trial. Twenty-six eyes were glued to Bruce's attorney.
Gordon and Grange themselves sometimes stole glances at her when they could, but they were definitely not focused on her like the others were. That labeled them the two strongest-willed people that side of the barrier.
In fact, the only other person in the entire courthouse that wasn't looking at her was Barbara. Maybe her displeasure had to do with her not knowing Bruce's new attorney, or perhaps not knowing anything beyond her being Tim's girlfriend.
She always liked to do her research on people who had personal and professional interactions with her family and his. The only thing that she knew was that Tim was her boyfriend, and she had learned that a while ago, making it quite a while for no knowledge gained. Ivy had set up a second persona for herself well before ever introducing herself to him, and when Bruce had put the far more experienced Alfred to the job of helping her establish credibility (he had gotten her occupation changed to a lawyer with a degree from Harvard Law, going as far as to write her several imaginary accomplishments for her with real links to cases run by other attorneys but with Pamela's name over theirs), she now had aspects of her whole life- including social media sources- to her name with permanent records and prior biological information on her own Law Services site.
Long story short, Pamela Winters was as close to a real person as possible.
Marion moved away from Gordon, announcing that he had no further questions to ask. Ivy quietly tapped her table and stood as Grange went to sit down at his. Bruce watched her move over in front of the witness stand.
"Commissioner Gordon," she said. "Would you mind explaining to the court how it is that most of the police force retired all within a few days?"
Gordon was too busy staring at her to respond. Bruce smiled. This wouldn't take long.
"Commissioner," Ivy said louder.
"Oh, sorry," Gordon stammered. "Sorry. What was the question?"
"Why did most of the police force retire at the same time?"
"They were paid off by Wayne," Gordon replied angrily. "He contacted them and offered them money to quit the job."
She pressed her palms together and slowly stepped over to the jury. "So Wayne walked into the station and just handed them money in exchange for their resignations?"
"No. He penned the letters. He never came to the station for anything because he doesn't leave his manor."
"Oh," Pamela replied. She put her hands on the jury bar and leaned forward, giving all of them a view of her cleavage. Bruce recognized a new fragrance in the air. Nobody, not even Barbara, would realize the sudden aroma was a new smell other than him. They'd just think of the smell as her natural fragrance. "What makes you think that it was Wayne who sent those letters?"
"I..." Gordon had to tear his head away from looking at her ass. "His name was signed on those letters."
"So it's not possible at all that someone forged his signature and claimed to be him?"
Bruce smiled. That was exactly what had happened. It was Pamela who had forged his signatures because she had known that it would make the Batman more distracted if his alter-ego was charged with criminal actions.
"Not that many people in Gotham have the sort of money for something like this," the commissioner stated. "Wayne is the one of them."
"But there are still other people who could have done this?"
"Yes, I suppose."
Grange looked absolutely shocked at Gordon's admission there. They had prepared for questions of similar variety and of questions regarding whether or not someone could have framed Bruce, but Gordon had just blown out their whole case by saying it was possible that Wayne was innocent. The pheromones had done their work well, obviously.
"Thank you, Commissioner," Pamela said. "No further questions." She turned away from the jury stand, keeping her chest down as she spun for the benefit of the judge and police captain. Her hips swayed dramatically on her way back to the table.
It took the judge a couple of seconds to realize that he had to dismiss Gordon from the witness stand.
Slade refreshed the page again, waiting for it to reappear and read the exact same number that it had been before. He had signed in and out several times, changing his password on multiple occasions throughout the day. He had to be sure.
There was no way it was that easy. Five-million dollars for a single night job in Gotham City and the Bat had never known about it? He had been paid alright- his account balance had gone up from two-hundred-six-million to two-hundred-eleven-million over the course of the day- but it couldn't be over yet. There had to be some sort of trick involved; a virus embedded in the transfer or a signal that would identify its number from the server.
Whoever had hired him couldn't have known that Ivy would strike that night, or else he might not have hired him. Someone had needed twenty-four hours of privacy from the Bat, and had chosen to hire a mercenary to keep him safe. And he had been willing to pay five million for Deathstroke. Why? What was his endgame?
The page reopened and showed the exact same amount as before. His account hadn't been hacked, his savings stolen. Just the same.
He wasn't some master computer hacker; he had no idea how to track the man down through the transfer, nor did he know how to locate where he was through the destroyed laptop he had taken from the building where he had been hired: people figured this stuff out for him before they hired him to kill whoever it was they had located. He also didn't have any friends who could help him in this sort of matter. This was by far the strangest job he had ever taken.
Slade didn't question his employers, as that would lead to him not getting paid. But he had already been paid, and this person wasn't his employer anymore. The kind of person who would spend five million in a single night was the kind of person who had some sort of plan in the end to get more for their money. An investment of sorts, but in what market?
He'd figure it out, though. Because if being a mercenary had ever done him any favors other than making him rich, it had given him down intuition. And his intuition warned him that whoever had hired him was planning something big; something that would change the world.