Flass's voice continued to ring in Jim's head as he stormed into the building and dashed towards Loeb's office, despite the protests of his secretaries. As the office door slammed closed, Loeb looked up from his current paperwork, not at all surprised to see Jim standing at the other end of his desk. "Ah, Detective Gordon. I had a presentiment I might be seeing you," The Commissioner spoke nonchalantly. "Arnold Flass is a murderer," Jim spoke bluntly, skipping the pleasantries. "He belongs in jail,"

"Detective Flass was legally exonerated. The judge heard testimony, the case is closed," Loeb responded before sipping his coffee. As the Commissioner leaned back in his chair, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips, it took a lot of willpower and strength for Jim not to attack him right then and there. "You used your connections to orchestrate his release," Jim leaned across the desk. "You perverted the system!"

"Petulance and naivete are a bad combination. Know when you're beaten," Commissioner Loeb stated. "I was knee-deep in the Flass investigation. There is no one with enough credibility to trump our evidence," Jim snarled. Loeb stood up and opened one of his drawers, grabbing a cassette. "I do enjoy when unwavering certainty is undermined by the truth," Loeb spoke as he pressed play. As the blank TV screen flickered on, a black-and-white image floated onto the screen. And the so-called witness who came forward was not who Jim was expecting it to be.

Harvey.

The older man's gaze shifted away from the camera; he looked tired and worn down. Like he was worried about something other than coming clean on the tape. "Look in the camera, state your name and why you're here," The man behind the camera instructed. "My name is Detective Harvey Bullock, and I presented false evidence against my fellow GCPD detective, Arnold Flass," Harvey sighed. Why? How could he do this? He knows Flass is guilty! Jim's gaze shifted to where Commissioner Loeb was standing, his arms folded across his chest. Shaking his head, Jim stormed out of the office, vowing to get answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the precinct, that toxic concoction of anger and betrayal continued to run through Jim's veins as he waited for Harvey on the upper level of the precinct. "Hey, there you are. Aw, dude, I feel like a herd of cattle had a dance party in my head last night," Harvey chuckled, rubbing his temples. "Why the hell would you lie to exonerate Flass?" Jim glared.

Harvey paused and slowly turned towards Jim, eyes blinking furiously. But before he could even open his mouth, Jim interrupted. "Don't lie, I saw the tape," he warned. "I'm not denying anything," Harvey stated. "I did what I had to do. If I didn't do what Loeb told me to do, I would've lost my job. Probably gone to prison," "What does he have on you?" Jim questioned. But rather than answer, Harvey looked away, trying to avoid the question. "Harvey..." Jim prodded.

"Do you honestly think you're the only one who had the orders to take a punk down to the end of a pier and put a bullet in his head? Huh? The difference is my Cobblepot didn't come back," Harvey snapped. "Who did you kill?" Jim asked. "Some scumbag mobster," Harvey whispered. "Caught him coming out of the club one night, and my sergeant put a gun in my hand, held another to my head. And said, 'Make a choice,' I decided to keep breathing,"

"Damn it, Harvey," Jim groaned. "What are you gonna do, arrest me? Go ahead, arrest me. but don't stop there," Harvey challenged. "Half the cops in the GCPD have a Cobblepot, and Loeb has the goods on all of them. That is what Loeb does," "Well, it ends now," Jim vowed, turning on his heel. "Jim, going after Flass was bad enough. Going after Loeb is suicide, plain and simple," Harvey warned. "So what? Am I supposed to stay quiet? Fall in line like the rest of you?" Jim squinted. "That would be a good idea," Harvey nodded.

"The day I do that is the day I quit being a cop," Jim spoke coldly. With that final statement, he walked out, leaving Harvey in the dust.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The stench of antiseptic and fresh coats of paint filled the hallway as Holly walked toward the vending machines. It was approaching lunchtime, and while she didn't have a lot of money on her, she was able to come up with a couple of dollar's worth of coins. Alfred had fallen fast asleep, and as Bruce read quietly, Holly offered to grab some snacks to kill some time and settle the rumblings in their stomachs. She plucked the few quarters into the machine as she typed in the code for a few bags of chips. And just as they were about to fall off the swirled rack, they got stuck. "Come on!" Holly sighed, giving the machine a small shake, but it still wouldn't budge.

She shook it harder this time, watching with glee as they finally broke from the rack's clutches, falling to the bottom of the machine. But her small victory was short-lived as a piercing buzz broke the silence. As she reached into her coat pocket, her heart sank upon reading the caller ID, it was her mother. As the phone began to ring the third time, Holly hesitantly answered. "Hello?" her voice trembled. "Oh thank god, Holly. I was starting to worry," Barbara replied, her voice clear and sober. "Where are you?"

"I'm with a friend," Holly lied. She couldn't bring up the fact she was in the hospital. That would make her mother worry and rush over. And while Holly could never bring herself to say it out loud, she didn't feel safe around her mother. Even if she was sober. "Why are you calling?" Holly asked. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay after what happened yesterday," Barbara spoke somberly. "I'm sorry, Hols," "It's fine, I guess," Holly's voice grew low, almost a whisper.

"I need you to come home," Barbara sighed. "There's something I need to talk to you about," The young girl curiously quirked a brow. What was so important that it required her presence? "What's going on?" Holly inquired. "I just think it'd be best if I told you in person," Barbara reasoned. "Mom, whatever it is, I can handle it. Just tell me," Holly assured. Barbara took a deep breath; the line going silent for a few seconds. "I'm filing for full custody of you,"

Holly's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "Wha-what?! You can't be serious!" Holly stammered. "Baby, I know this is shocking to you, but this is for your own good," Barbara spoke calmly. "How is this for my own good? You're taking me from my dad!" Holly objected. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Hols. Yes, you'll be living with me, but if your father agrees to the arrangement, I will let him visit you," Barbara clarified. So what? I'll only see him during the holidays? What kind of bogus arrangement is that?!

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in. But I want to know I love you," Barbara said, trying to sound optimistic. "And think about it, sweetheart. We'll get to spend more time together. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" As long as you're not drinking and yelling. Holly wanted to respond, but she bit her tongue and responded with a quiet. "Yeah," 

"We're scheduled to meet with the courts next week. If you have any questions, they can help you understand what'll happen going forward. Now, when are you coming back home?" Holly's breath hitched in her throat as she tried to respond. But the more she tried to open her mouth, the more she felt like she was suffocating from the inside. "I... I need a couple of days," She finally answered. "Okay, but don't keep me waiting too long," Barbara spoke understandingly. "Love you,"

"Love you too," Holly answered. Clicking off the phone call, a heavyweight almost immediately collapsed on top of the young girl's shoulders. And as she slid onto the floor, what was left of her fragile childhood collapsed around her. And in the aftermath was nothing but the taunting rubble.

~~~~~~~~~~~

By the afternoon, snow began to fall, its powdery white flakes falling all over Gotham. While there wasn't enough snow to make an impact, it was still beautiful to watch through the diner windows. Jim sat at one of the booths, sipping on his cup of coffee as he waited for Dent, the only person he could trust at the moment, to arrive. When he finally arrived, they got right to business with the Loeb/Flass situation.

"So, Loeb's been collecting dirt on cops for years and using it to control the department," Dent explained. "I doubt it stops there. He's probably got leverage on businessmen, politicians," Jim replied. "He's got nothing on me," Dent assured. "Just checking," Jim smiled weakly. "Anyway, yeah, that's the source of all his power," "And you wanna steal the dragon's gold," Harvey slowly nodded. "If we find the cache of evidence and destroy it, he'll be toothless," Jim spoke. 

"Oh, I know Loeb. He won't keep it anywhere obvious. We could watch him and hope he leads us to it," Dent offered. "We don't have that kind of time. Isn't there someone Loeb might have trusted? Ex-friends? Estranged wife?" Jim inquired. "Well, he was married. She died twenty years ago, fell down the stairs," Dent answered. "There were rumors that Loeb killed her, but nothing ever happened with it," While Jim quietly sat, processing this new information, Dent sighed deeply. "Still can't believe about your partner. Why'd he do it? What's Loeb have on him?"

"I don't know," Jim said. Sure, Harvey may have killed someone under the threat of losing his own life, but there had to be more behind it. More Harvey was unwilling to share. "Well, it's gotta be rough. I know how it is with cops and their partners," Dent sympathized. Suddenly, a wave of realization crashed over Dent, and Jim looked up from his coffee. "What is it?" he asked. But with a tiny smile forming, Dent grabbed his coat, quickly paid the bill, and walked out, Jim trailing right behind him.

Surprisingly, Dent's realization led them back to where all the drama and betrayal of the day began. Dent told Jim to wait for him in the locker room. Jim complied and waited in silence while Dent walked off in a different direction, coming back a few minutes later with one of Jim's colleagues. "What's the matter, Dent? I thought that the Lambusta case was settled. And why the hell are we meeting here?" Mr. Griggs asked as he followed Dent into the locker room. "You'll see," Dent responded. Mr. Griggs looked over to where Jim was standing stone-faced. "You know Jim Gordon,"

"What the hell's going on?" Mr. Griggs glared. "Have a seat," Jim instructed before shutting the locker room door behind them. "Back before Loeb was commissioner when he was a lowly homicide dick, you were his partner," Dent reminded Griggs. "Yeah? That was twenty years ago," Griggs confirmed. "But I always hear that cop partnerships are like marriages. You know each other better than your wives. Isn't that right, Jim?" Dent continued. "That's right," Jim nodded.

"You two digging up that old story about Loeb killing his wife?" Griggs inquired. "He was with me when she died," "We know about the secret files," Jim told him, making Griggs roll his eyes. "What secret files?" He tried to deny any knowledge, but he was going to throw either of them off that easily. "That was good. I almost believed him!" Dent smiled sarcastically. "What about you, Jim?" "No," Jim replied. "You're out of your depth, kid. Swim back to shore," Griggs warned. "He's got something on you too, doesn't he?" Jim sat next to Griggs on the bench. "He got you to do something for him. What was it? Robbery? Coercion? Murder?"

Griggs avoided eye contact with the detective, staring into the distance with fear and uncertainty. He was backed into a corner with no chance of escape. "And all this time, he's been using it to keep you under his thumb," Jim continued. "This is your chance to breathe easy again. Take it, Griggs," Dent added. But Grigg's face lacked emotion as he looked at both men. "I don't know what you two are talking about," he stated. "If I did, I'd say talk to Xi Lu. The Chinese bookkeeper on Huron Street. Loeb always said, 'If you want to keep something safe, you give it to Xi Lu,"

Without another word, Griggs walked out of the locker room, leaving Dent and Jim in the unsettling silence. While Dent seemed rather pleased about getting this new info that could lead to uncovering Loeb's secrets, Jim couldn't help but feel something was off. Someone so close to the Commissioner would never give them a clue that easily. Usually, the corrupt would squeal like pigs while lying on the ground, bleeding and screaming for mercy. But with Grigg's stubbornness and his subtle hint, this felt like a trap.