After Harvey Dent made his proposal, he pulled out a coin from his pocket. Its surface gleamed with silver luster.
"This," Harvey said, holding it up reverently, "is a Queen Victoria silver coin. Issued by the British East India Company in 1840. It was a keepsake from my father."
He let Adam study the coin. The Queen's portrait was worn but clearly visible — a cold, elegant face from another era, staring into nothing.
Adam didn't speak. He waited, still as stone, eyes never leaving the coin.
"There's no ruler in history more fair," Harvey continued. "Which is why what happens next—" He flipped the coin high into the air, letting it spin in a blur of flashing silver, then caught it with a sharp slap into his palm. He didn't look down.
"—comes down to the toss."
"Guess the coin," he said, smiling like a man enjoying a private joke.
Gordon shot to his feet. "Harvey, are you serious? This is a felony investigation. You're making decisions like a kid in a carnival game?"
Harvey didn't flinch. "Jim, this is the fairest way. No lobbying, no politics, no bribes. Just chance — pure, unfiltered chance. Fifty-fifty. It's the only system left that's incorruptible."
As Gordon prepared to protest again, Adam's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Obverse," he said flatly. "I call Queen Victoria — face side up."
Even Harvey blinked at the speed of his answer. "So soon? You're not even going to think it through?" he asked, suddenly serious. "This isn't a party trick, Adam. If you're wrong, I won't — can't — give you the warrant. That's the deal. Think twice before throwing away your only shot."
Adam shook his head. "No need. Whatever fate decides, I'll accept it."
His eyes locked with Harvey's. "Besides, I'm a cop. I choose the side that represents justice. You didn't show which side you caught it on — so I'm choosing based on what should be right."
Harvey stared at him for a moment, then let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, he opened his hand.
There it was — Queen Victoria's profile glinting in the overhead light.
Harvey chuckled, half in surprise, half in admiration. "Well, I'll be damned. Looks like even Her Majesty approves of your conviction."
He clapped Adam on the shoulder. "Alright. A deal's a deal. I'll draft the search warrant immediately."
With that, he disappeared into the back office, rummaging through cabinets and drawers.
As soon as he was out of sight, Gordon leaned in toward Adam, his voice hushed but incredulous.
"You lucky devil — you actually nailed it? What are you, part rabbit? Got lucky paws under your sleeves?"
Adam lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and exhaled calmly. His eyes flicked to the door Harvey had passed through.
"You think that was luck?" he said quietly. "Let me ask you something, Jim — you remember what Harvey said about his childhood?"
Gordon nodded. "Yeah. Rough home. Poor. Drunk father. Junkie mom."
"Exactly. Now tell me — how does a kid raised in a house like that end up with a silver coin from 1840?" Adam's voice was low, but firm. "That thing would be worth a small fortune today. In that kind of household, anything with value would've been pawned the second the bills came due. There's no way that coin survived."
Gordon blinked. "So… what are you saying? It's a fake?"
"More than that," Adam said, eyes narrowing. "I'm saying his father probably got it cheap — or got scammed. Drunks attract hustlers like flies. That coin likely got the same face on both sides."
Gordon straightened slightly, the pieces clicking together. "So no matter what you called…"
"I'd win," Adam finished with a faint smile. "But it wasn't just a hunch. I read Harvey. I read the coin. The odds were always with me."
Gordon let out a soft whistle. "Damn. That's sharp, Adam. No wonder people think you solve cases in ten minutes."
Adam didn't answer. He just stared at the door, smoke curling from his cigarette. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by NovᴇlFire(.)nᴇt
Because deep down, he knew the truth.
It wasn't brilliance or luck. It was knowledge. He remembered this story from somewhere else — from another life.
He knew that Harvey's coin was a curse.
When Harvey was a boy, his alcoholic father would play a twisted game — flipping a coin to decide whether Harvey got beaten that night. Heads meant pain. Tails meant mercy. But the coin had heads on both sides. It was never a game. It was just cruelty, disguised as chance.
And when Harvey finally discovered that truth — years later, after his parents were gone — he didn't throw the coin away. He kept it. Carried it everywhere. Because it reminded him what fairness wasn't.
Over time, he began using it for something else — a ritual of hope. He'd flip the coin for people who had lost everything, promising that if it landed heads, it meant better days were coming.
And sometimes, that tiny illusion of control was enough to keep them going.
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