Richard stared at her incredulously. "Sorry, but you want to go where?"

"Wayne Tower," she repeated, not sure why he seemed so surprised by this.

"What for?" Richard scrunched his face together as if the idea made him cringe.

"Uh, don't you think your dad should know what's going on?" Barbara rolled her eyes towards the high ceiling. "I just want to talk to him. See what he has to say."

And see what he might know, of course. But Barbara didn't find it particularly helpful to speak that last part out loud. Sure, she trusted Richard... to an extent. He was more than helpful and proved to be an important source of information. But why should she show her cards all at once? Especially when he wasn't showing his.

"Believe me..." Richard raised his eyebrows so high they nearly touched the dark strands of hair hanging down his forehead. "He knows exactly what's going on."

Shit. This meant she had to reveal more than she intended. "Well, there's something else too. I don't know if I should tell you this though." Barbara fiddled with a lock of orange hair. Just like she hoped, Richard snapped his head towards her with obvious interest.

"What is it?" He leaned forward on his chair.

"This is strictly confidential, okay?" Her voice dropped to a whisper as she moved in closer. Richard nodded eagerly, nearly falling out of the chair. "My dad told me Bruce is the GCPD's number one suspect." Okay, that wasn't exactly true. But it was pretty heavily implied.

Richard remained for a moment as if to consider this. "So there are no others?"

Barbara shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I don't know. He didn't say anything about that. But it's pretty clear Bruce is who they're honing in on."

Richard tapped his chin and frowned. "I don't understand. Bruce? Why would he go after his own employees?"

"Well, he's the common link between all the victims." She gave another overdramatic shrug. "So unless he really is behind the disappearances, then it's obvious he's being framed."

For a second, Richard shut his eyes and Barbara feared he saw through her bullshit and would reject her notion to go to Wayne Tower. Hell, if she were him, she would do the same. But when they opened again, they were alight with a newfound spirit that burned like a bright blue flame. "Let's go then. It's just across the street, anyway."

Barbara couldn't help but smile to herself. Damn, if she wouldn't have made a great cop. She would've cracked even the toughest suspects out there. "Let me just tell Mrs. Kringle we're heading out for lunch."

After collecting her things, Barbara rolled beside Richard towards the circulation desk. The head librarian was so engrossed in her paperback novel she didn't notice Barbara until she cleared her throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Mrs. Kringle quickly shut her book and set it aside. "How's your research coming along?"

"Very well. I've learned quite a bit." Barbara smiled at her. "I was wondering if I could go on break now?" She looked at her watch. "It's nearly noon."

"Of course, dear! There's no need to ask for permission. I'm not a slave driver." She chuckled.

Barbara's grin widened. "Right, just wanted to make sure. I didn't just want to walk out or anything. That would've been rude."

"Go ahead! You've been studying for hours. You need a break, and in fact, I do too." The woman pulled out a container from one of the drawers and placed it on top of the desk.

"Thank you, Mrs. Kringle. I'll see you in an hour." Barbara waved at her before continuing for the front doors.

"Here, let me get that for you." Richard rushed forward and pushed the door open with his back.

"Ah, thank you, nurse." Barbara smirked as she rolled passed him. "You're quite the gentleman."

"Who says chivalry is dead?" Richard returned her smirk as he caught up with her.

"I don't think anyone says that." Barbara glanced at him, furrowing her eyebrows at the pair of sunglasses he had pulled out. "Seriously? There's not even any sun!"

"My eyes are sensitive. I can't take the risk," he said as they crossed the street together.

Deciding not to press the subject any further, Barbara turned her attention to the tallest tower in all of Gotham. Like a lighthouse rising out of the depths of the ocean, Wayne Tower stood like no other building in the city. Though crafted with the same sharp curves and edges as all the other skyscrapers, its architecture was not nearly as dreary and that was solely because of the neon blue W at the top. It added the slightest tinge of color to the otherwise black building.

"Looks like Bruce hasn't renovated his building yet," Barbara remarked, noticing the rows of gargoyles lining the top of the observation deck.

Richard snickered. "Wait until you see the inside."

"Oh, God. I can already imagine the torches lighting the halls," she groaned. "Tell me, is there a spiked metal gate that lets us in?"

"You'll see." He gave her a cryptic smile before walking ahead, disappearing around the line of trees. When Barbara appeared on the other side, she saw where he had run off to. Standing there like a doorman, he held the glass door open and gestured for her to go inside.

"After you." He gave an exaggerated bow.

Barbara snorted at him. What a goofball. But she would be lying if she didn't find it somewhat endearing. Most guys took themselves too seriously or tried too hard to be cool. But Richard was different from the little she saw of him. He was silly and perky and most importantly, he wasn't ashamed to be himself.

And he was kind of cute too, but she was never going to admit that...

As she rolled inside, the sight around her nearly took her breath away. Only a few inches in, and she already had to take back what she said. This place was the epitome of class and modern style. With its pristine white marble floors to its sleek black walls, Wayne Tower was not the gruesome dungeon she imagined.

Blinking at the blinding fluorescent light, Barbara moved towards the elongated desk where a pretty receptionist sat behind.

"Uh, hello," Barbara greeted.

The receptionist glanced up, her catlike eyes startling Barbara. "Hello, how may I help you?"

"I would like to speak to your boss." Barbara leaned forward and pressed the palms of her hands on the desk, leaving a pair of oily handprints on its gleaming surface. Oops. She tried to wipe the prints away with her sleeve, only to give up when she saw she was just making it worse.

The intensity in the receptionist's green eyes sharpened. "Do you have an appointment?"

Barbara's gaze shifted to the side. "Um... no."

"Don't worry, Selina." Richard came up from behind. "She's with me."

Her red lips curled into a beaming smile at the sight of the boy. "All right. Mr. Wayne is in his office."

"Thanks." He waved to her before guiding Barbara towards the elevators in the corner.

"Didn't realize you needed an appointment to see him," Barbara said, watching as the dial crept back towards the first floor.

"Bruce is an important man. And usually pretty busy." Richard folded his sunglasses together before tucking them in his coat pocket. "There was a time where even I had to make an appointment just to see him."

Barbara couldn't help but scoff at his comment. He couldn't be serious... right?

With a loud ding, the door slid open, and they both climbed inside. In what was probably the world's fastest elevator, it shot up to the top floor in under a minute. The door slid back, revealing a wide, dimly lit hallway.

So this was the dungeon.

"Just let me do the talking. At least, at first." Richard turned back to her as they made their way through the empty hallway. Barbara nodded, staring straight ahead at the pair of wooden doors in front of her. Strange how these were the only doors on this entire floor.

Rapping his knuckles against the doors, Richard pulled the handle back and let Barbara go in first. If she had ever wondered what Bruce Wayne's favorite color was, she now had an answer. She had never seen so much black in her life, not even at a funeral. Both the walls and floors were made of the same black marble that decorated the lobby. Hell, even the polished desk at the far end seemed to be carved from ebony.

From behind his L-shaped desk, black screens had been rolled down to cover the large windows. With not a single drop of sunlight pouring in, the room was even darker than the hall outside. If it wasn't for the fireplace burning to the left of them, the place would be almost pitch-black.

Bruce was obviously a fan of minimalism since all he owned was the desk and two leather chairs tucked on either side of it. With hardly much furniture inside, the office had plenty of open space, giving it an air of enormity and intense loneliness.

"Richard?" The man looked up from the papers scattered on his desk. "What are you doing here?"

"There's something important we have to tell you." He glanced over at Barbara. "Er, something Barbara wants to tell you. Barbara, take it away."

Bruce's icy stare flickered over to Barbara. "Ms. Gordon, what is it you need to tell me?"

Maybe it was the way the glow from the fire danced across his face. Maybe it was the overwhelming energy emitting from this place, but Barbara found she had lost her ability to speak. It took every muscle in her mouth just to open it. "Um, I was looking into the disappearances and I believe you're being framed for them."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Why would you believe that?"

She looked at Richard, and he nodded for her to continue. "You are the prime suspect-No. The only suspect in them."

"And what makes you think I'm not behind them?" The leather from his chair squelched as he shifted in it.

A shiver ran up the top of Barbara's spine. Had the air suddenly grown colder? "Well," she started. "Because I believe Pamela Isley is."

A long pause followed as the pair of men gaped at Barbara for several seconds. Wondering if she should continue and slightly desperate to break the uncomfortable silence, Barbara said, "I bet you're wondering why I think that, so let me explain. I did some research and found a similar pattern of disappearances in Seattle. Only men disappeared and like here, their bodies were never recovered."

"Around that time, living in the same city, was a Pamela Irving, who I also believe is Pamela Isley. She just remarried and changed her name." Barbara reached for her bag before pulling out the familiar book. "Richard told me that the disappearances started in the summer, the same time Pamela moved here. I don't think that's a coincidence. As for why she's going after your employees, well, your family is linked to her. Your father was once engaged to her and I believe because he didn't marry her, she is seeking her revenge by trying to frame you. You can read about it here."

The wheels on her chair squeaked as she slowly rolled over towards the towering desk. So that seemingly polite man back in the clinic was all an act then. Barbara wasn't surprised. Something about him unnerved her even back then. But what she wouldn't give for him to revert back to that act instead of the unfriendly grouch she now faced.

"Here." She nearly lost her grip on the book as she handed it to him.

Holding it up with the palm of his hand, Bruce turned to the bookmarked page, barely even glancing at its words. "If this is true, Pamela would be nearly eighty years old."

Great. He didn't believe her, but who could blame him? It was a stretch at best. At worst, Barbara came off as a raving lunatic fit for Arkham Asylum. "If you had gone to the Isley mansion and saw what I did, you would know that this Pamela is the one talked about here."

With an audible slam, the book closed shut. "Assuming I do believe you," he said, never breaking her gaze. "Then I must ask you something first. Why do you care?"

Completely caught off guard by this question, Barbara stammered, "Wha-What? What do you mean?"

"Why do you want to involve yourself in this?"

"Be-Because of my father! I have to protect him!" She snatched the book back. "I don't know what's wrong with Pamela, but she's clearly dangerous!"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I think there's more to it than that. I considered several reasons as to why you came here, and I believe it's a distraction for you. And I understand." His thick, unwavering tone softened. Yet, that compassion-if that's what it really was-didn't quite reach his eyes. They remained fixed in that same cold, unblinking stare, almost as if they were mocking her. "You were a promising detective. You had just graduated from the academy. But then to have it all torn away? On top of becoming a paraplegic? Who wouldn't be miserable and want an escape?"

She quickly blinked away the bitter tears that stung her eyes. No effing way she was going to cry here. Not in front of them. "That-That's not true."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Is there another reason then? Maybe something more personal, like a missing friend?"

A surge of white-hot anger shot through Barbara's body, nearly lurching her off the chair. "You asked me why I care? Why do you care? It's none of your business why I'm doing this! And you can't stop me from continuing this investigation!"

Bruce frowned before taking one of the documents off his desk. "I don't intend to stop you, Ms. Gordon. But if you want my help, I expect your full honesty."

For the second time today, Barbara was left speechless. Thinking she must've misheard, she sputtered, "Your help?"

"Yes." He rose from his seat, handing her the piece of paper. "This is Marc and Rose Isley's will. Or rather, a copy of it. Since it was filed in probate court, it explains why Harvey Dent-"

"Ah, Mr. Wayne!" A sharp voice called out as the door flew open, and a short, round man came waddling inside. He was one of the ugliest men Barbara had ever seen, with his balding head and nose like that of a bird's beak. "You're a difficult man to get a hold of!"

A wan smile came upon Bruce's face as he regarded the man. "Mr. Cobblepot, what are you doing here?"

"Surprised to see me, Bruce?" The man lifted the cane in his hand. "You surely didn't forget about the appointment we had, did you?"

"Of course not." Bruce clasped his hands together, still retaining that humorless smile of his. "As you can see, I was a little preoccupied at the moment."

"Oh, well, not anymore!" Mr. Cobblepot grabbed the back of Barbara's wheelchair and pushed her aside, much to her outrage. "I've been waiting to speak to you for weeks! So if you think-"

"Oswald," Bruce silenced him. "Please, sit down." With the flick of his pale wrist, he motioned to the chair in front.

"Why, thank you." The man grinned before plopping down on the chair.

"Richard." Bruce turned to his ward. "Please take Barbara home now."

Richard nodded, clutching the handles of her wheelchair and guiding her out. By the time Barbara could process what just happened, they were already going into the elevator.

"What was that?" She glared up at Richard.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he hit the button with the number one labeled on it.

"This whole time, Bruce knew! He knew everything! He made me look like a complete idiot!"

"I did tell you he knew exactly what was going on," he reminded. "Well, maybe not that he was the prime suspect-"

"Ugh!" Barbara buried her face in her hands. "And he knew about Officer Bard too! I'm guessing my dad told him. Honestly, what doesn't my dad tell him? It's like he knows everything about me!" She looked down at the creased paper in her lap. "It's like everyone knows what's going on but me."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn't know everything going on either." He offered her a gentle smile. It wasn't as charming as his usual one, but it was enough to make Barbara's glare soften. "And it wasn't a complete waste, right? You have that copy now."

Barbara sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

With a slight jerk, the elevator came to a halt. Richard walked out first, taking several steps before realizing Barbara wasn't right behind him. He spun back around and saw she was still in the elevator, her hands trembling as she held the paper tightly.

"Hey, you coming?" He clutched his hands behind him as he crept closer.

"The will..." She lifted her bulging eyes from the paper. "It skips Pamela Isley."

He stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"It says here that everything, including the estate, will go to Pamela's children and grandchildren." The corner of her mouth twitched as she fought back a smile. "Now isn't that convenient?"