Weaver's face was still stiff with shock from the last conversation. Loeb, noticing his sour look, smirked faintly but chose not to push him any further. Instead, he turned his sharp gaze to Adam.
"Adam," Loeb said coolly, "don't get too full of yourself. You're pulling in $5,000 a month in 'contributions,' but the other districts are whispering. Some of their men pay $8,000 a month. They're complaining that you're paying half what they are. If you've got so much money, why not increase your contribution to $10,000? That way, I have something solid to tell them."
Adam blinked, momentarily stunned. 'Ten grand? Are you kidding me?'
Everyone knew it was an unspoken rule to "offer" money to the top brass. But $10,000 a month? That was absurd. Even division chiefs like Weaver barely scraped together $3,000 or $4,000 in bribes. Asking a detective like him to pay more? That was pure daylight robbery.
"Director," Adam began with a respectful smile, his tone as smooth as honey. "You know I owe everything I have to you. I never had parents, and it's thanks to your guidance that I've even survived in this city. Whatever you ask, I'll do my best. No question."
Loeb nodded slightly, but Adam's eyes hardened as he leaned forward. His voice grew colder, cutting through the air.
"But the streets, Director… you know what they're like. They're full of junkies who'd kill for a few dollars, and no one even bothers to clean up the bodies anymore. Those Mexican crews? They're dying over a couple of bucks a head. Tell me, what kind of money do you think I can squeeze from people like that? I could sell on the streets a hundred times over and still make less than what I pull from my underground gambling stalls."
Adam's gaze slid over to Weaver, who sat smugly across the table, and his tone turned even sharper.
"These people think I'm paying less? That I'm not 'respectful' enough? How many of them actually pay $8,000, huh? Go check for yourself. I've never paid late, never missed a month. If they're jealous, they can swap territories with me anytime. Let's see if they last a single week on my streets."
His voice rose suddenly, and he said angrily, "Fuck! If I find out who's spreading this garbage, I'll burn their entire operation to the ground!"
Loeb didn't interrupt. He sat there calmly, sipping his coffee as though Adam's outburst didn't bother him in the least.
Weaver, however, seized the chance to play the righteous colleague.
"Adam, we're all part of the same department," Weaver said with a fake, patronizing smile. "What's the point of getting violent over a few rumors? The director's just asking, not demanding. You're making yourself look desperate."
Weaver's eyes darted toward Loeb, checking his reaction, before adding with a sly smirk, "But to be fair, there are rumors that you're making a fortune from those pirated discs. Some people might be a little… envious of all that easy money."
Adam's jaw tightened. His retort was on the tip of his tongue, but when he caught Loeb's subtle shake of the head, he swallowed his anger. For now.
"What's there to be jealous of?" Loeb said finally, his voice laced with mild contempt. "Selling bootleg DVDs isn't exactly something to brag about. But the truth is, Adam, you're using the police station's own facilities—the power, the storage—to run your little side business. You can't seriously expect people to believe you're not making a killing."
Adam scowled, but he said nothing. Instead, he grabbed his coffee and gulped it down like whiskey. Weaver, meanwhile, was practically glowing with smug satisfaction. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by NovᴇlFir(e).nᴇt
"So here's what's going to happen," Loeb continued. "I'm not increasing your monthly contribution to $10,000, but your pirate assembly lines are moving out of the Arkham branch. Find another location. From now on, you pay your own rent and electricity. I won't have the Arkham PD looking like a crooked side hustle. We're supposed to represent justice, remember? No mixing business with duty."
Weaver's grin widened. If Loeb weren't sitting there, he'd be dancing on the table.
Adam only nodded. "Fine. I'll handle it."
Loeb leaned back, folding his arms. "Good. The department's image is in the gutter as it is. Half the media calls us the lapdogs of Gotham's elites. They claim we only chase cases when a rich name is involved. We need to prove them wrong."
Then, as if changing topics, he turned his gaze on Adam and added, "But credit where it's due. Solving that nerve gas case in ten minutes? That's impressive. The city's buzzing about it. We can't keep you patrolling streets like some rookie. It's a waste of talent."
Weaver's smile faltered., 'Wait?! What?'
Before he could react, Loeb dropped the bomb.
"The General Administration has approved your promotion. Chief Inspector of Arkham District. You'll handle all major criminal cases from now on. Congratulations."
Weaver's jaw nearly hit the table.
"Director, isn't this too fast?" Weaver stammered. "He's been here what… a few months? And he's already getting promoted again? What will Mr. Wayne think when he hears the guy who beat him up is now Gotham's top detective?"
Loeb didn't miss a beat and replied, "Wayne? If anything, this proves we aren't taking orders from the rich. Bruce Wayne's not our boss. This promotion shows independence. Besides, the public loves Adam right now. Punishing him would look like corruption. Why make trouble for ourselves?"
Weaver slumped back, feeling like the floor had been yanked out from under him. He came here early to impress Loeb, but now? Not only had Adam avoided a penalty, he'd risen even higher.
As they left the cruise ship, Weaver's face was the picture of defeat. Adam strolled beside him, lighting a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily as he gave Weaver a sly smile.
"Hey," Adam said casually. "Want to know where you messed up?"
Weaver shot him a suspicious glare. "…What do you mean?"
"You showed up early to wait for Loeb. Cute. But while you were standing here, I was busy making sure Loeb enjoyed himself on his trip. Socialites, private drivers, the best room on this cruise? All arranged by me." Adam smirked, blowing smoke. "In this game, Weaver, it's not about who arrives first. It's about who moves the pieces before the other guy even shows up."
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