The space behind him was empty. There was no one there.
Sidney frowned, finding it odd, and looked back again.
A giant shadow appeared in the window, its black cape obscuring the body and absorbing even the moonlight. Two prominent points on its head made it look like a demon from the abyss.
"Batman!"
Sidney was startled and instinctively tried to flee.
The black shadow swooped in, followed by an agonizing, bone-deep pain. Sidney hunched over, about to scream for help, when a dark fist suddenly appeared before his eyes, rapidly expanding.
BANG!
A fierce impact struck him.
Sidney was sent flying backward, crashing heavily onto the floor. His nose was excruciatingly sore, and his head felt like it would explode.
Bruce grabbed his collar, leaped out the window, and deployed his grapple gun mid-air, hooking onto an upper-floor sculpture. The rope went taut, pulling both of them upward.
Once they reached the rooftop, Bruce slammed Sidney onto the concrete floor, clamped his left hand around his throat, and used his right fist to deliver a rapid series of strikes to his chest, stomach, and abdomen.
Punch after punch, like hitting a sandbag, each one sinking into the flesh.
Sidney gasped, trying to claw at the hand clamped on his throat, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pry it open. That hand was as solid as steel talons. He let out a suppressed moan, his eyes filled with desperate pleading.
Stop! I'm going to die! Please!
Perhaps hearing his silent plea, Bruce stopped. He hauled Sidney up by the collar until the man could see his rage-filled eyes.
"Dominic Sidney?"
Sidney trembled, tears and snot streaming down his face.
"I'm not a criminal, I'm a businessman! I haven't broken the law! Please, spare me."
Bruce stared into his eyes, speaking distinctly, word for word.
"Martin Jessie, current Mayor of Gotham City. March 2nd, 2001, 10:30 AM: transfer of $360,000. May 7th, 2002, 4:00 PM: transfer of $1,030,000. April 9th, 2003, 1:00 PM: transfer of $2,760,000."
Sidney's pupils contracted slightly, a look of horror flashing in his eyes. How could he know this? Who leaked it?
Bruce continued, "Killian B. Robb, Gotham City Police Commissioner. July 3rd, 1996: transfer of $2,400,000. Christmas 1996: transfer of $3,000,000. May 8th, 1998: transfer of $960,000. Thanksgiving 2002: transfer of $4,800,000. And Torque Marshall, Brut Dean, Fisk J. Clay, Lindell John..."
With every name mentioned, the despair in Sidney's eyes deepened. He frantically shook his head.
"I didn't do it! I don't know who they are! I don't know them at all! Believe me, believe me!"
"Still trying to deny it."
Anger surged in Bruce. He grabbed his collar and threw him over the edge of the building.
Sidney's body traced an arc, falling from the rooftop of the thirteen-story building.
Sidney's eyes widened. He was completely stunned. He had never dreamed that one day he would die from a fall. The night wind howled in his ears—the call of death.
Sidney was overcome with despair, wildly flailing his limbs, struggling like a drowning man.
"No! Please, save me!"
"Don't!"
BANG!
When he reached the ninth floor, a powerful tug came from his ankle. The intense force yanked his body upward, all the way back to the rooftop.
His body was suspended upside down by a rope, swinging in the night wind.
Sidney gasped for air. The feeling of escaping death is only known by those who have experienced it. He had gone through it once and never wanted to go through it again.
Bruce pulled him up close, asking him word by word.
"Where are the Central Bank internal ledgers? Tell me."
"I... I... I..."
Sidney stammered, unsure if it was from the cold or the terror. Seeing the other man about to let go again, he quickly blurted out.
"They are in the safe in my study."
"What's the code?"
"9... 9... 9, 99347!"
After uttering the last number, Sidney was completely exhausted, a look of near-death on his face.
Bruce snorted. He leaped into the air, his black cape stretched taut, gliding like a nightingale to the study window.
He found the safe and entered the code.
Inside, besides cash and jewelry, were several thick stacks of folders.
Bruce pulled out one document and quickly flipped through it. It recorded Central Bank's black market trade over the years, mainly three categories: illegal currency exchange, arms dealing, and drug trafficking. All accounts, times, locations, and personnel were present.
After a quick glance, Bruce picked up the second one.
This document recorded Central Bank's commercial activities, with several pages detailing the various coercive measures used to force competitors into submission, along with the necessary expenses incurred while performing those tactics.
Bruce gritted his teeth, put the document away, and picked up the third one.
This was what he was looking for: Central Bank's internal ledger, the bribery list. Names, positions, bank accounts, dates of bribes, locations, and expenditure receipts—all there. At the bottom of every page was a summary and Falcone's own signature.
Martin Jessie, Killian B. Robb, Torque Marshall, Brut Dean, Fisk J. Clay...
All the major figures in Gotham City were on the list, along with some people who shouldn't have been.
Bruce gripped the document, his right hand actually trembling.
Just then, footsteps sounded outside the door.
"Master, the bathwater is ready."
Bruce snapped back to awareness. He grabbed all the documents and darted out the window like a nocturnal feline.
Outside the study, the maid, Connie, looked puzzled. Her employer was usually punctual about his rest time, leaving the study for the bedroom before ten. What was the matter tonight?
"Master, do you want to wash up?"
After a moment, there was still no reply.
Connie felt something was amiss. After thinking, she said quietly,
"I'm coming in."
She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open to enter the study. Sidney was standing by the window, motionless, seemingly lost in thought.
Connie smiled. "You're in your study!"
Sidney grunted.
"Notify the butler to prepare the car. I need to go out."
"Understood."
Connie nodded. Although surprised by her employer's behavior tonight, she didn't ask any questions. She put down the tea and left.
At 10:30 PM, a heavily disguised Sidney drove away from the villa, heading north along Central Avenue. There was no one else in the car, just a large box filled with items.
The Gotham night was cold, but he felt his heart was colder.
Thirteen years!
Thirteen years of effort, all gone.
"Batman!"
Sidney gnashed his teeth, wishing he could rip the flesh from the hero's bones.
The files in the safe concerned the fate of the Falcone family, and now they were in Batman's hands. If Falcone found out about this, he would definitely not spare him.
Having worked together for over a decade, Sidney knew Falcone too well.
There was only one path left: escape. He needed to get as far away as possible before the news broke, preferably finding a secluded place to hide and observe the aftermath.
If Falcone won, he would hide in Europe and never return. If Batman won, he would change his name and face and return to Gotham City. With the resources he had on hand, he could certainly make a comeback.
"Just you wait, you rotten Bat. I will repay the humiliation you inflicted on me many times over."
Sidney clenched his jaw. While turning a corner, he accidentally nearly crashed into a black Lamborghini.
"FUCK YOU! Can't you drive?! I'll kill you!"
Sidney raised his middle finger and cursed loudly. After shouting, he suddenly felt something was wrong.
A Lamborghini!
Black!
He gasped, his eyes reflecting limitless terror.
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