"What…? You were ahead of me?" Weaver muttered, staring at Adam in disbelief. The man looked far too relaxed, too confident. Weaver had spent the morning trying to get ahead in the game, yet Adam had already played his cards hours ago.
Adam smirked but didn't even bother responding. In truth, he had been planning this for weeks. Ever since overhearing that Flass and Loeb were scheming against Gordon, Adam realized that simply backing Gordon wasn't enough. No, there was far more to gain if he positioned himself on Loeb's good side.
So, while Loeb attended the forum in Metropolis, Adam made his move. Using his growing network and deep pockets, he hired the right "social companions," rented the best luxury cruise cabin, and made sure Loeb's trip was dripping with indulgence. In Gotham's dark game, loyalty could be bought, and Adam intended to buy it thoroughly.
He gave Weaver a dismissive glance and strolled off the dock. A new idea was forming in his mind... something bigger, something permanent.
Not long after, Adam ducked into a grimy public phone booth. The glass walls were streaked with smudges and the floor reeked of stale alcohol and something fishy—exactly the kind of squalor Gotham was infamous for.
He dialed a number. "Selina. Hope I'm not interrupting your beauty sleep. How's the job I asked you to handle?"
The voice that answered was laced with irritation, and a teasing purr. "Adam, if you call me this early again, I will kill you," Selina grumbled. "I was out until sunrise, running around six different places. I just got in, and I'm lying here without even taking a shower… and now you're calling?"
"Well," Adam said with a lazy grin, "if you're still in makeup and heels, you're practically halfway ready to go out again. Wouldn't it be efficient to get this done now? Best of both worlds, right?"
"Fuuuuck! You bastard," Selina hissed, rolling over in her bed. The morning light traced the silhouette of her sleek figure. Even half-awake, her voice dripped with dangerous charm. After a moment, she sighed, and said, "Fine. Meet me at 51 Grundy Street in an hour. If you're late… I'll make sure you regret it."
"Ah, what's that? Bad signal? Okay then, see you soon!" Adam hung up before she could fire back another threat. With a smirk, he stepped out of the booth and headed for Grundy Street. The most update n0vels are published on Novᴇ(l)Fɪre .ɴᴇt
Grundy Street was infamous. Named after the legend of Solomon Grundy, the supposed undead monster that rose from Gotham's swamps on stormy nights, this street carried an eerie reputation. It was also a hotspot for shady nightlife and whispered rumors of dark magic. Perfect for someone like Adam.
When he arrived, Selina was leaning against the hood of a black vintage car, cigarette in hand, wearing a sleek black dress that clung to her tighlty. She gestured toward a dilapidated storefront behind her.
Adam frowned and asked, "What is this? A… hotel? Or a bar?"
Selina exhaled a puff of smoke, the corner of her mouth curving up, "Neither. Both. Think of it as… flexible real estate."
She sauntered toward the entrance, her heels tapping against the cracked pavement and said, "You asked for a cheap, low-profile venue with enough space for your 'equipment,' didn't you? This Japanese-style bar is up for transfer. The price is dirt cheap, and there's a wine cellar basement perfect for your little side projects. As for the front? The bar will make a perfect cover."
Adam glanced around, wrinkling his nose. The neighborhood was crawling with lowlifes—street girls leaning against lamp posts, strung-out addicts lurking in shadows, and a group of rough-looking men eyeing Selina with open lust. No wonder the previous owner wanted out.
Selina caught his hesitation and smirked. "What's wrong, handsome? Don't tell me Gotham's bottom-feeders scare you."
Adam sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You really think a cheap taunt is going to make me walk in there?"
"Maybe not," she said, flashing a teasing grin. "But you're following me anyway, aren't you?"
Inside, the bar was a confused mix of Western design with random Japanese knick-knacks slapped on the walls—paper lanterns next to cowboy posters, faux bamboo clashing with neon beer signs. It was a mess. Clearly, the place had changed hands multiple times, and no one had bothered to invest in a proper renovation.
A bald Asian man stepped out from behind the counter, smiling with a snake-like slickness, "Ah! You must be the big buyer Ms. Carmen Condova mentioned."
He bowed slightly. "I'm Kim Minjun, the current owner. Pleasure to meet you."
"Carmen Condova?" Adam shot Selina a look. She winked mischievously, clearly, that was her alias for the deal.
Adam raised an eyebrow. "Kim Minjun? That's… Korean, isn't it? And you're running a Japanese bar?"
"Of course! No problem at all, Mr. Sunday," Kim said, apparently convinced that was Adam's name.
(Selina smirked again.)
"You see, true Japanese style originated in Korea—"
"Stop." Adam cut him off, his patience thinning. "I don't care about your history lessons. One question: how much?"
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