"Well I just heard the news today..."

The pristine building, that served as the main office of Wayne Corporation Industries, sat high above the Gotham skyline. The sleek lines of the building created an imposing presence in the business world. The architecture was in the latest trends, yet, despite the cutting edge appearance, the tower still innovated enough timeless features so it would never fall out of fashion.

The inside of the building reflected the modernization of the outside. The latest security measures had been taken into consideration from the very conception of building. Every task from computer codes to the color of the grout in the bathrooms had been delegated, debated over, and given careful perusal all to ensure that the owner of the company would never need give it a second thought.

Inside the furnished office, current Chief Executive Officer, Bruce Wayne did just that, only for a different reason. He never needed to think about the building, because he simply knew the building. He’d studied the blueprints, walked the hallways, and memorized the stairwells, insuring a quick exit or unseen entrance if circumstances arose. He sat in the imposing leather chair behind the custom made desk as he did every business day. Function concerned him, not aesthetics, despite the three thousand dollar paintings that furnished his office.

Bruce flipped through the gold trimmed Rolodex before giving up and simply pressing the intercom. The business day was going as usual. Routine ruled his life. The daily paces gave him the same sense of comfort. It was that comfort that allowed him to function with detached interest on more than one occasion.

The intercom buzzed back almost immediately. A female voice inquired politely, “Yes, Mr. Wayne?”

This was not one of those occasions. “Maggie, has there been any word from—”

“I’m sorry, sir. I will let you know personally when I get the call.”

“Yes, um, thank you, Maggie.”

Margaret, Bruce Wayne’s personal secretary, of five years had worked her way up from the mailroom. She had the rare quality of being pleasant and maintaining said demeanor without being fake. That ability, coupled with her uncanny ability to remember numbers and names, had made her the perfect person to work along side the impassive C.E.O.

Bruce drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk. He took a moment to reorganize the daily mail by word count, from least to most, in descending order. Then, he looked at his watch. The tiny gold hands pointed to half past two. His right hand went to push the intercom button, but he stopped himself.

Three times in one hour was more than enough. That total, of course, didn’t include the five times from the previous hour. Nor, the call from his cell phone he made at lunch. The situation was becoming irritating to say the least. He had more patience than this.

However, he usually he was patient because he knew the outcome. This situation, unlike many others, had an aura of uncertainty surrounding it. Uncertainty, which lead to unproductive feelings of trepidation. Oh, why, Bruce mused, couldn’t this be easy such as predicting a merger or a company split? Or even, locating known jewel fences as he seemed to be doing lately, with Catwoman out and about.

He picked up the top memo. Scanning it quickly, he put it in a pile of papers to be shredded. The next memo. ‘New water fountains indeed energy efficient. Studies made during the week of...’ Shredder. He moved to the next paper in the stack, a note of information from Lucius Fox.

Why hadn’t they called yet?

‘Powers Tech stock climbing.’ Blah, blah, blah. ‘Industrial pressure on Wayne Space and Engineering. Outbid on the last two government jobs.’ Well, that wasn’t good. The competition’s name didn’t ring any immediate bells, or at least, any loud ones. Bruce frowned and tapped the intercom. Before he could ask for the docket on Powers Tech and its subsidiaries, Maggie’s curt, yet civil, voice came through.

“No, Civil Court has not called. They said anywhere between eleven and four. If you like I can have the calls routed directly to your office, that way you’ll know when the phone rings.”

Taken aback, Bruce momentarily forgot what he wanted to say. The docket, his mind reminded him; right, but first Maggie’s attitude. Not that he could blame her, the poor girl had as much important things to do, like scheduling all his meetings, answering all his calls, and... now he was feeling guilty.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could bring me the file on Powers Tech so I could review it.”

Silence from her end. “Oh,” she said, somehow managing to make that word an apology and an epiphany at the same time, “right away.”

Darn. He had almost put it out of his head. Unconsciously, he resumed to drumming his fingers. The rest of the meticulously organized papers ended up in his “To Do” box. With luck, when Maggie came back with the file, he’d be able to get his mind back on work.

Wait. What if while she was gone, the phone rang? Absurd, his mind chided him. The reception area was vast, with many interns and secretaries. Surely, one of them would have the sense to answer a ringing phone. But, what if—stop it!

Despite his good sense, he found himself rising from the high back chair and eventually found himself outside his office. A few people looked at him, puzzlement clear on their faces, as he stood just outside the double doors.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” he murmured and turned around.

He was fully intent on rearranging his mail, but suddenly found himself grasping the receiver before the phone could even finish its first ring. It was only someone with the wrong extension, of all the rude and irresponsible things. He quickly put down the receiver and routed the call, there was mail he could be sorting now.

“Bruce!” a melodious voice called out. A tall, well-dressed woman walked towards him. Unfortunately, the melody of her voice didn’t match her persona. Her long drab hair was done up in a slightly askew bun. Her eye shadow was the wrong color for her attire, and even worse, caked on. She placed the newspaper sheet she was holding under her left arm, to extend her hand in greeting.

Bruce took her hand, a faux smile instantly settling across his face. “Sarah, how are you? What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

“Oh, well you should know.”

At thirty-two, transferred from Metropolis, Sarah Powell had become one of the most elite columnists at ‘The Gotham Gazette’. Her writing style was succinct yet still managed to convey a sense of emotion. The network of informants she had collected was the envy of some senior members of the journalist staff. Yet, it was her down to earth style and demeanor that made her seem less like the cutthroat media, and more like a comfortable friend.

“I should?” Bruce asked.

It was little surprise that she knew any news before him. He just couldn’t think of any reason that would warrant a personal visit from her. He gave her another look. Her fingers were slightly smudged with newspaper ink, not common for a journalist, but not ordinary either. The newspaper itself bore tomorrow’s date, an advance copy, no doubt.

“Well I was just on my way from the courthouse,” she paused as she opened the doors to his office. She held them so he could pass. “Well, no, actually, I was just on my way from the office, but I was at the courthouse.”

“The courthouse?” he echoed.

“Well, you know how it is Bruce. You have to verify every little bit of data before it goes on the news rags.” She crossed to the side of his desk and laid the advance copy sheet down for his perusal. “Not, that it’s news you don’t know, but I figured you’d like to read the article before it goes directly to press.”

A puzzled C.E.O. looked down at the copy sheet. The headline was about the newest tax reforms, but the article in the lower right corner. ‘The Millionaire...’ the rest of the type was obscured by a nonparallel fold. Well, he knew already knew the article was about him, that was a given. The second part read: ‘...And the Gypsy: Wayne Heir Takes Circus Orphan in as Ward.’

He scanned the article. The key words that stuck out all sounded so, well for lack of a better term, official. Words like ‘officially’ and ‘finalized’ and ‘approved’. Bruce read these words in awe, as if he had never seen them before. He tore his gaze away, looking back at Sarah.

“Where did you get your information?” he asked quietly.

Sarah, instantly flushed. “You mean,” she flustered, “you changed your mind?” She reached into her purse, fishing for her cell phone.

“No.” His one word stopped her search. She breathed a sigh of relief, evidently thankful she wouldn’t have to rush a piece for tomorrow’s edition.

“Well, I have a friend that works in the records department, not that this was a big secret or anything. I mean, it was a given that you’d get guardianship of that poor boy. Today’s decision was just legality. This is a great humanitarian piece, better than charity even. It must have done wonders for your public relations.”

“How long have you known?” The information was slowly registering in his brain.

She made a flighty motion with her hand. “A few days,” she said. “Enough time for some background and to whip up this piece. I was down there today just to double-double-check. A hundred percent accuracy you know me. They said they were going to call you, but I told them I was stopping here anyway, so they needn’t bother.”

Her tirade was cut off as her cell phone rang. She smiled at Bruce as she answered the call. “Sarah Powell. Gotham Gazette. What can I do you for?”

Bruce nodded as she covered the receiver to explain that it was a ‘pressing call’. She made apologizes and a quick exit but not before giving him congratulations. Sarah left just as Maggie came back with the requested file that somehow, impossibly, Bruce had completely forgotten about. He grabbed the folder just before she was about to put it down on the paper.

Maggie followed Bruce’s eyes downward, reading the text. She smiled at him, partly out of relief but more so out of genuine emotion. “I see you got your answer.”

“I did. And Maggie, thank you. In fact, why don’t you take the rest of the day off with pay. Shelia can fill in.”

“Thank you.” She turned towards the door. Bruce looked down at the paper, then back up to his receptionist.

“Oh, but can you do one thing before you go?”

Maggie turned, an inquisitive expression covering her face. Bruce held the paper up, almost delicately. “Could you have this framed?” he asked.

She nodded and took the paper from his hand. “All of it?”

“No,” Bruce said. “Just the important part.”

to be continued

~story index~