Behind the scenes, Adam had already put his next move into motion.
Without making any waves, he'd slipped envelopes stuffed with cash to certain reporters, nudging them to dig into Weaver's corruption. He told them to exaggerate it if needed—make it loud, make it scandalous. Everything from secret dealings in the Arkham branch, handshake promotions, to rumors of turning detectives into personal henchmen. If someone could turn the Arkham police force into his own private mafia, that someone was likely Weaver.
Adam's goal was simple: discredit anyone loyal to Weaver, especially the deputy director who was next in line for promotion. In doing so, he created space for someone outside of Weaver's circle—someone like himself.
Adam didn't explain all this to Jason. The kid was too sharp already, too curious for his own good. No reason to pull him deeper into this side of Gotham. Jason had a gutsy spirit, the kind that either rises up or burns out young. Adam knew the comic version—Jason was too scared or too stubborn to back down once he knew how the game was played.
A little ignorance might keep him alive.
Sure enough, after Adam submitted the proposal—and added a bit of well-timed generosity to help Loeb "notice" it—he was finally summoned.
"Get me that Chinese cop from Arkham—what's his name? The detective one," Loeb apparently said.
And that was how Adam found himself back at headquarters.
He didn't feel much walking through the building again. But Loeb? The man was practically glowing when he saw him.
"My boy!" Loeb beamed, offering a rare handshake, "your report from South America was brilliant! Really! The Wayne Foundation is already drafting policy off your recommendations. Dent was gritting his teeth but the press is eating it up!"
He was talking about Adam's development plan—one that proposed relocating farmers from mountainous drug-producing regions to plains with better crop options. It helped local economies, reduced illegal planting, and made the whole operation easier to regulate. Everyone got something out of it—Lionel got better control, the Wayne Foundation got to brag, and Dent got headlines.
Adam smiled modestly and nodded, waiting.
Loeb didn't waste long. The real topic wasn't far behind.
"About your proposal…" Loeb said, sitting back in his chair, "The whole 'Prohibition Enforcement Squad' idea—it's clever. But we've hit a snag."
Adam raised an eyebrow and asked, "Harvey Dent?"
"Yes," Loeb confirmed, annoyed. "He says we're not trustworthy enough to handle it. Claims the police department is too—what's the word he used? Ah—'compromised.'" He rolled his eyes. "The guy wants to pass sweeping alcohol laws but he doesn't want us involved in enforcing them. Then the mayor jumps in, says we 'don't have the budget for a new squad.' So it's all stalled."
Adam gave a slight nod. He expected this.
"With all due respect," he said smoothly, "if Harvey wants these laws on the books, someone has to make them stick. And only one group in Gotham actually has the manpower, tools, and authority to do that: the police."
Loeb leaned in, curious.
"If we're not trustworthy," Adam went on, "then fine—let's prove we are. Make Arkham a pilot. We keep it small, run it clean, and let the results speak for themselves."
Loeb twirled a pen between his fingers and asked, "And the money?"
"That's the beauty," Adam said. "We don't need new funding. Offer officers legal ways to earn outside income. Let them take approved part-time jobs. Or allow passive business investment—"
Loeb paused, eyes narrowing—interested now.
"I'm talking about giving officers options. Legal grey space. Side businesses. Nothing related to policing, of course. But if it eases pressure and keeps morale high, who's going to complain?"
That was the line Adam had been waiting to drop.
Loeb's expression shifted. That spark behind the eyes—that approval was unmistakable.
He glanced around, then chuckled. "Finally, someone around here thinking like a politician. Good."
What Adam left unsaid, Loeb picked up anyway: the right structure could make room for whitewashed favors, disguised payouts, and indirect ownership—all under city law. Clean enough to survive a media story. Messy enough to control.
Loeb leaned back in satisfaction. "You really did your homework."
Adam just nodded. Quietly, he thought about the bar being run in Jason's name. Not exactly sustainable long-term. This new enforcement squad would be his real base of power.
Then, just as Adam was thinking of getting up, Loeb shifted again. This time, serious.
"Weaver's gone," he said flatly.
Adam froze inside—but didn't show it.
"What's your take on it?" Loeb asked casually, but there was weight behind the question.
Adam stayed still for only a heartbeat. Then he exhaled, calm as always.
"I was in South America until recently, sir. I only just came back. Haven't had time to catch up internally." He paused thoughtfully, then added, "But if you ask me? Feels like someone leaked something from inside."
That answer visibly surprised Loeb.
He had assumed Adam would deny everything—maybe act shocked or shift the topic.
Instead, Adam went on.
"With what little I've seen? Someone in the department fed intel to the wrong people. That's how Black Mask got the wrong information about that truck. Then the Penguin got hit. Then Weaver spiraled. Looked like sabotage, not bad luck."