Late into the night, the snowstorm began to pick up as Jim, Harvey, and Oswald drove through the woods and turned down the winding roads. They couldn't admit it out loud, but both detectives couldn't shake off the feeling that they were walking into another death trap. Considering they were miles outside the city, and if anything were to go wrong and they called for backup, it'd take them a while to get there.

As the car drove up one steep hill, onto another snow-covered road, the car came to a slow halt as Bullock pulled off to the side of the road, looking through the windshield to find a two-story home in much need of repairs. From the outside, it appeared that it wasn't abandoned as the porch lights were on and candlelight flickered in the windows. "You sure about this, Penguin? You're telling me this is where Loeb keeps 20 years of dirty secrets?" Harvey squinted, glancing through the car mirror at Oswald. "It doesn't feel right,"

"Well, maybe that's the point. No one would suspect it," Jim reasoned. But Oswald rolled his eyes, muttering incoherently under his breath. "What would you prefer, Detective Bullock? A sign saying 'Super-secret blackmail hoard?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and exhaustion. "You know, the last time the three of us took a ride, you were in the trunk. I liked that better," Harvey reminded, leaning into the back. "I told you I overheard Falcone on the phone to Loeb. He said the farm was safe," Cobblepot assured, his words more so aimed towards Jim. "Now, I'll wait here, and when you're done, flash the lights or something," 

"Uh-uh, you're coming along," Jim shook his head, unbuckling his seatbelt. "But if whoever's inside sees me and reports back to Falcone..." Oswald tried to protest but Harvey cut him off. "Then you'll be in some really deep doo. What'd you think, huh? We were gonna do your dirty work and then you were just gonna waltz in and take through the leavings? Have some respect!" Harvey scoffed. A sudden knock came from the passenger window, and Oswald gasped as he peered at the dark figure on the other side. Keeping their hands on their guns, Harvey rolled down the back window, revealing an older man with a seemingly concerned look on his face.

"You fellas lost?" He asked. "Good evening, sir. We were sent by Commissioner Loeb. Might we have a word out of the cold?" Oswald took the reins of the conversation, leaving Jim and Harvey staring at each other with uncertainty. One wrong word and their entire mission would be for nothing. "Well, Marge is putting on some tea," The old man replied. Oswald nodded gleefully as the detectives quietly sighed with relief, though they weren't out of the woods yet. They followed the old man across the road and inside the house where they sat at a circular table covered in green cloth, in the center lay a small white cake.

Jude's wife soon entered the room, carrying a steaming teapot, and poured everyone's drinks. "I love your house, it's so cozy," Oswald complimented. "Thank you," Marge smiled. "How long have you two been here?" Jim asked. "Oh well, about 20 years," Jude answered. "Ever since Mr. Loeb bought the place. Hard to believe. Time boy, you should've seen Margie back then! Hot to trot," Marge chuckled and looked up at her husband as she finished pouring Oswald's tea.

"What were you doing before that?" Harvey questioned. "Nothing much, Margie was a nurse over at Arkham. And I was working on the railroad. Whoo-whoo!" Jude chuckled as Oswald imitated his gesture of the train's whistle. But while Jude seemed to be doing most of the talking, Marge's friendly demeanor grew a little suspicious. "Why are you men here?" She inquired. "Inspection. Commissioner Loeb has some security concerns," Jim lied. "We didn't hear nothing about it," Marge claimed. The chatter in the room grew dangerously quiet as Jim set down his teacup, and Jude leaned back in his chair. 

"You didn't get a letter?" Oswald questioned, trying to keep up with the lie. "No," Marge assured. "That's odd, you should have gotten a letter," Cobblepot pretended to look dumbfounded. "You got I.D.?" Marge asked, still keeping her smile. "Well, I don't know that that's necessary," Jude joined in. "No, no, it's fine," Jim insisted, reaching into his blazer pocket, and showing it off to the elderly couple. "Jim Gordon, GCPD, this is Detective Bullock. We're on the Commissioner's personal detail,"

"He don't look like a cop," Marge pointed to Oswald. But Oswald kept his calm, claiming he worked undercover. Suddenly, a thud came from upstairs, startling all five of them. "Damn raccoons," Jude muttered. "Jim, what do you say we get on with our inspection?" Harvey suggested. "Hm, perhaps you wouldn't mind showing us around?" Jim requested, turning back to Jude. "Oh, absolutely!" the older man nodded. "Marge, would you mind fetching my keys?" "Sure," Marge nodded, grabbing her teapot as she walked out of the room. 

"Now listen, before you go, you fellas have got to get a piece of Marge's cake. She makes it with sour cream. Tastes like a warm Sunday morning," Jude gestured to the delicacy. The thuds from upstairs continued, only this time growing louder than the last. "That's one hell of a big raccoon," Harvey remarked, looking up at the ceiling. "Maybe we should start upstairs," Jim suggested as he and his partner began to stand up from their seats. "Just wait a lick for the keys," Jude persuaded. But as Marge walked back into the room, she didn't bring back the set of keys.

"Margie-pie, that was awful quick!" Jude's smile faded as Marge pulled out a rifle and cocked it back. "Ma'am, put down the..." Before Jim could finish his sentence, Marge fired a shot near the shelves, narrowly missing Jim as he ducked behind cover, along with Harvey and Oswald, but there weren't many places to hide in such a small room, especially with Jude pulling out his handgun. As Jim and Harvey exchanged fire with the couple, Oswald quickly crawled onto his hands and knees into the next room. 

And as Marge left the room, Harvey stood up from behind the loveseat, and shot Jude in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground and into the chair behind him. "Freeze!" Jim yelled, pointing his gun at Marge as she aimed the barrel of her rifle at Oswald's chest. But as she turned around and tried to run, she lost her footing and slammed her head down on the table, knocking herself unconscious. "Th-thanks, Jim," Oswald spoke breathlessly. "You saved my li..." "Watch them," Jim instructed, handing him Marge's gun. Oswald slightly nodded as the detectives marched up the stairs, leaving Oswald to poke and prod the wounded couple. "You're lucky I have a soft spot for old ladies," He commented.

~~~~~~~~~~~

 Reaching the top of the stairs, Jim and Harvey found a door with a padlock, the keys dangling from a small hook. As he unlatched the door, he and Harvey stepped into the room, soft hums and mutters filling the room. On one end of the attic was a middle-aged woman dancing and twirling around in a blue dress, her blonde hair unkempt and in need of a good brushing.

"Oh, uh... i-it's so quiet downstairs," she stammered, finally noticing their presence. "Is the party over? I-I prepared a song, it includes a dance and everything!" "Who the hell are you?" Harvey squinted. "I'm Miriam Loeb. Did-did my father send you?" the woman replied. Jim and Harvey turned to each other quizzically. It wasn't just blackmail that Loeb was keeping hidden away, even a man in such a powerful position could harbor dark secrets of his own.

As they sat down at the table, Miriam fidgeted with her hands, her gaze shifting from the table to the detectives in a nervous smile. "So, Miriam, you live up here all the time?" Harvey questioned. "Always. Ever since... I'm not alone though. Father comes to visit on Sundays, and we listen to the radio and play checkers. He always lets me win," Miriam explained. That last detail brought a slight smile to Jim's face, his father used to do the same thing, just as Jim did for Holly when he was first teaching her how to master the art of the board.

"My dad used to do the same thing," Jim spoke. "Oh really? Fathers are funny like that, aren't they?" Miriam chuckled. "Yeah, your dad's a real hoot," Harvey's smile was not quite as genuine. "Does he keep other stuff up here? Like important papers or files? Or maybe rooms full of boxes?" Harvey inquired. "No. Why would he do that?" Miriam's face fell, looking confused. "This is a waste of time," Harvey whispered to his partner. Resting on another table, Jim grabbed the photo frame, showcasing a small window into Miriam's past, a life where she wasn't locked away in the attic.

"Miriam, what happened to your mother?" He showed her the photo. "She... died," Miriam hesitated answering before changing the subject. "I've started a new hobby. Would you like to see it?" "Sure," Jim nodded, watching as Miriam opened one of her drawers. But while Miriam was distracted, Harvey got up from his seat and started walking towards the door, but Jim was quick to stop him. "What are you doing?" Harvey whispered. "Loeb's wife died 20 years ago. Skull fracture from a fall down the stairs. Miriam would've been a teenager," Jim explained.

 "So, you think Loeb killed her? She was the witness? Maybe that's why he keeps her cooped up here?" Harvey speculated. "You said I wasn't the only one with a Cobblepot. Maybe this is his," Jim spoke. Miriam loudly shut the drawer, turning the detective's attention back to her. "I started making jewelry!" She grinned, setting a floral tray on the table. But the jewelry the woman had been making wasn't made out of beads or colored bands. "What's it made of?" Harvey looked at the oddly shaped necklace she held up proudly.

"Bones. Starlings. They land on my windowsill, and... you can catch them if you're really silent and still," Miriam's voice grew quiet and eerie with every little detail. "And I can be really silent and still. Silent as a mouse," "And then what do you do?" Jim asked, knowing exactly where this conversation was going. "I... crush the back of their heads, I just press down with my thumb. It makes like a... a popping noise," Miriam continued, the cracking of bones only sending chills down the detective's spines. 

Watching this woman go through the mental torture of being locked away for years, never to have any contact with the outside world struck a chord within Jim. For a parent to shelter their child from the world and have them living in a deluded and warped fantasy was sickening. Watching Miriam slowly lose her mind made him think of Holly. She had seen and heard terrible things upon moving to Gotham, but to think the only option was to lock her away was something he could never bring himself to do

"Miriam, can you tell us about your mother's death," Jim slowly asked. "I'm a good person. Sometimes, good people make mistakes. That's what father said," Miriam trembled, still clutching the bone necklace. "Did you make a mistake with your mother? Was it like what happens with the birds?" Jim prodded. "No," Miriam shook her head. "Not like with the birds, silly. I had to use a candlestick on her, she wouldn't stop singing either! She knew that it was my night. I was supposed to perform at dinner. Not her,"

"So you hit her, and she stopped?" Jim questioned. "And your dad covered it up," Harvey added, taking a bite from one of the crackers. "He knew that it was my night!" Miriam chuckled. But the disturbing conversation was interrupted by a singular gunshot, and as Jim and Harvey drew their guns and walked back down the stairs, they found Oswald lying on the floor, badly beaten and bruised. "I'm sorry, Jim. They-they came at me, I tried..." Cobblepot apologized. Outside, a car engine started up and as the snow crunched outside, Jim looked out the window to find the elderly couple taking off into the night, too late to catch up with them.

"Did you find what Loeb's hiding? Is it here?" Oswald asked. "Yes," Jim spoke coldly, his orders to Oswald were very clear but he still screwed up. "Well, a deal's a deal. You have to let me in there!" Cobblepot reminded. "Who's he?" Miriam asked, staring at him curiously. "He looks just like a bird," Oswald slowly turned around, looking at her bewildered and confused, like she had just spoken to him in Gibberish. "Oh, I love birds!" Miriam clapped eagerly. 

With all the evidence they could get, Jim could finally get some leverage on the Commissioner. Now Jim could only hope that with the secret's discovery, it would be enough to make him squirm. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I shouldn't be doing this, why did I think this was a good idea? Holly's guilt was eating away at her with every step she took. But as the thought of being taken away from her father once again crossed her mind, her guilt was quickly pushed to the side. She needed help, and she needed it now. Amidst the sea full of corrupt people in power, one name stuck out to Holly. And while separations and child custody arguments weren't his specialty, Holly could only hope that Harvey Dent could offer some small semblance of guidance.

As she climbed up the stairs towards Dent's office in the federal building, she picked up the pace, only to be stopped by the receptionist who looked up from her typewriter and cleared her throat. "Hi, I need to speak with Harvey Dent. I left him a voicemail, it's urgent," Holly explained. The older woman squinted, looking Holly up and down with suspicion. "Shouldn't you be in school, young lady?" She questioned. "Listen, I don't have much time. Is he here or not?" Holly dodged answering.

The receptionist rolled her eyes and pointed to the door on her right. "Third door to your left," She grumbled.  "Thank you," Holly muttered quietly. Following the receptionist's instructions, Holly kept walking until she reached the third door, greeted with a brass plaque that read "Harvey Dent, ADA," You can do this, Hols. Surely, he's dealt with similar situations before. Holly reasoned with herself. Taking a deep breath, Holly knocked and not two seconds later, a calm and measured voice encouraged her to come in.

As she pushed the door open, Harvey Dent sat at his desk, a filing cabinet open as he seemingly organized his case files. He paused, looking up at her as he set down his current file. "Can I help you?" He inquired. Holly hesitantly took a step, standing a foot or two away from his desk. "Mr. Dent, I sent you a voicemail last night, hoping to speak with you on an urgent matter," She spoke slowly, hoping she wouldn't stumble over her words. Dent leaned back in his chair, gesturing for Holly to sit across from him. She complied, setting down her book bag and adjusting her tie.

"Unfortunately, I haven't had the chance to check my voicemails yet, but I'd more be than happy to help you. What's your name," Dent asked. "Holly, Holly Gordon," she replied. The last name since a flicker of recognition across the young lawyer's face. "Gordon? As in Detective James Gordon?" He questioned. "Yes, that's my father," Holly confirmed. With that confirmation, Dent gestured for Holly to continue, asking her why she was visiting him, especially during school hours.

She didn't plan out exactly how this conversation would go, but the more Holly explained her situation and the immense amount of stress she was under, the fear of leaving everything and everyone she'd come to know and love and admitted that this whole custody battle felt like a personal vendetta against her father. While there were times Holly did start to ramble, Dent continued to listen to her intently, giving her as much time as she needed to get things off her chest. When she finally finished, she caught her breath, the weight of all the anger and frustration that had been building up for the past few days, coming off her shoulders like a ton of bricks.

"I understand that you're going through a rough patch right now, Ms. Gordon," Dent said, his voice growing sympathetic towards the teenager. "But I must inform you that family courts are not my area of expertise. I deal with criminal law, not custody battles," Even though Holly knew Dent was more equipped to deal with criminal matters rather than situations closer to home, there still had to be something he could do to help her. "I figured as much. I... I just had no one else to turn to. And my father's mentioned you before, so I thought maybe you could help," Holly sighed. "I'm sorry for wasting your time,"

"No need to apologize. Clearly, the situation with you and your parents has been difficult. It's like a game of tug-of-war. You remember that game?" Dent inquired. "Yeah, I used to play it in elementary," Holly nodded. "You've got one parent wanting custody, and the other parent wanting custody as well. And if they don't meet in the middle, one of them will start to lose their grip," Dent continued. "But I don't want my dad to lose his grip. Surely, there must be a way for my voice to be heard in court, right? After all, I am their child," Holly asked.

"Yes, you do have a right to be heard within the family courts," Dent answered. "You're thirteen, correct?" Holly nodded in response, and Harvey reached into his desk, pulled out a small booklet, and flipped through it. "Under Section B, Line 4, at the age of thirteen, your voice, while not the deciding factor, can be considered by the family courts. You have the right to express your preference in which parent you'd prefer to live with. However, it is the judge that will consider what is in your best interest," Dent read.

A glimmer of hope flickered within the young girl's eyes. Maybe if she were to explain how she felt more comfortable living with her father over her mother, it'd be enough to sway the judge into letting her stay in Gotham. "So, it is possible that I might get to stay with my dad?" Holly double-checked. "It's possible. But as I said before, your input is not the only deciding factor with custody. The judge also has to consider things like financial stability, ability to provide you with a safe and stable environment, and their relationship with you," Dent explained further.

"I just find it very selfish that my mom is taking me from him all because he moved on with someone else," Holly sighed. "Not to mention, she left me and my dad for months without telling us where she was. How can I trust that she won't up and leave me again?" "Then that's a concern that you should bring up in court. If you have hesitations about going to live with your mom, then the judge will also take them into account," Dent answered. "But in the meantime, you should speak with your father and have him get a family lawyer. There will also be a representative of the court that'll look into your home environments, and they will also want to speak to you,"

Of course, it's never easy with the legal process. Damn it, Mom. "I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, Mr. Dent. I know it must be weird for someone to barge into your office like this," Holly sat up in her seat, reaching for the strap of her book bag. "It's not a problem at all, Ms. Gordon. Legal matters are what I am here for, after all. But I would strongly advise against you skipping school again," Dent warned. Holly took in a quiet breath, fearing that this would be brought up again. "I won't, I promise," Holly swore. "Good. I'll call you a taxi. If you or your dad need anything else, just give me a call and I'll be there,"

"Thank you, Mr. Dent,"

~~~~~~~~~~

That next morning, Jim stayed true to his vow to confront Loeb, and as he barged through the building towards his office, Commissioner Loeb only continued flipping through his files, barely acknowledging the detective. "I see you still haven't learned the art of knocking, Detective Gordon," Loeb spoke condescendingly. But Jim spoke not a word as he approached the desk, dangling the bone necklace in front of him. As Jim sat across from him, Loeb picked up the grotesque necklace, tossing it into one of his drawers.

Loeb blinked behind his glasses, barely able to deny the evidence and the uncovering of his most guarded secret. "Miriam is sick. She didn't mean to hurt her mother. She just... has these urges," the Commissioner sighed. "If you want to expose what she did, go ahead. You think I can't weather the scandal?" "I'm sure you could," Jim reasoned. "But that's not why you kept her locked away for 20 years,"

"Do enlighten me," Loeb challenged. "I think you love her. I think you've done everything you can to keep her out of Arkham. And you'll keep doing it," the detective spoke. "You're willing to hold my daughter hostage to achieve your ends?" Loeb questioned. "You're much colder than I thought," "So it seems..." Jim replied, carefully watching as the Commissioner's usually cold and calculated demeanor wavered into one of a nervous man, willing to do anything to protect his family. "I'll hand in my resignation today. Just keep Miriam out of it," Loeb bargained.

"No, you're not resigning. You step down, I'll have someone else to deal with. And chances are he'll be Falcone's lapdog, same as you. With you... I have leverage," Jim shook his head. Loeb's eyes slightly widened as for the first time, no one had ever been able to intimidate him before. Let alone set his entire life and career on fire. "So, what do you want?" he gulped. "Flass is tried fairly. And I want all the evidence you have on Bullock and every other cop in the GCPD sent to Harvey Dent. He'll decide who to prosecute," Jim stated.

"If I do that, I'm a dead man. I love Miriam, but I love living too. You can have Bullock's file. But not the rest," Loeb wagered. "Fine," Jim agreed, knowing that this deal was the best he was going to get. "And Miriam stays where she is. Is that all?" Loeb questioned. "There is one more thing," Jim added, a slight smirk forming on the edge of his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~

"It's become something of a habit to stand up here with Detective Gordon. But with the coming election for president of the policemen's union, there's no man I'd rather support," Loeb spoke from the balcony of the precinct. Applause erupted from the other cops and the press watched on, taking pictures and capturing every angle for the latest paper. While Loeb painted a face smile on his face for the media, deep down he was hiding the face he had been intimidated into the decision. After shaking Loeb's hand, Jim turned back to the balcony, addressing the crowd. "Thank you, Commissioner Loeb. It's a new day in the GCPD!" 

Not long after finishing his speech, Jim walked towards the back of the precinct to the locker rooms. Walking through the door, he saw Harvey rummaging through his locker, pulling out his things and tossing them into a small box. As the door shut behind Jim, Bullock slightly looked over his shoulder before returning to packing his belongings. "Sorry, I missed your big moment. I figured I'd catch the next one," Harvey apologized. "Your file," Jim got straight to the point, handing him the thick folder. "It's everything Loeb has on you," 

"Always hated that picture," Harvey shook his head as he briefly flipped through it. "You know, you tell yourself, 'I'll just do this one bad thing, and all the good things I'll do later will make up for it,' But they don't. There's still that bad thing. Penguin's gonna come asking for that favor, be careful," He warned. And with a slight nod, Jim turned on his heel and walked out of the locker room.