The Inheritance: Part 1

Chapter 4

It's a little concerning how easily it comes to her. How well she plays the part of a villain. She chalks it up to it just being another mask. Another role to play. And yet, it's more natural than any bit, and it's more than just an end to a means.

She's followed a lead overseas. A businessman named George Franco who's been connected to a dozen or so women flooding Bludhaven as refugees with no explanation. They refuse to talk about what they'd run away from, but all show signs of PTSD or other stress disorders. She'd tracked him to France, but he's always a few steps ahead, relocating every couple of weeks and leaving little evidence behind.

After almost three months of chasing, she'd found herself grasping at air long enough that she reached out to her least favorite contact. And, of course, he wasn't far away. Slade always seemed to be closer than she'd like, and his assistance came with a price.

He named a time and place. It was a public plot: kill without killing. It wasn't suited for Nightwing, so she made a mask that could take the heat. It was remarkably easy, but her name was tied to Slade's in the fallout. He kept his word, paid in full, but in the end, she got more than what she'd bargained for in the best or worst way possible.

Doors have been opening without her needing to knock, and she's gotten a backstage pass to underground crime rings she didn't know existed. So she's played along.

"Ah, Renegade, so glad you could make it." She's greeted by none other than Franco when he walks into his office.

Fifteen minutes late.

"And here I thought I was dropping in unannounced."

He sets his jacket down at his chair, then walks to the side of the room and pours himself a glass of amber-colored alcohol. He takes a sip of the drink before setting the glass down and turning to her.

"I know you met with one of my girls last week. You've been snooping. I figured you'd come visit be soon enough—would you like a drink?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't exactly come here casually."

"Of course." He takes his drink and moves back to his desk. He opens a drawer on his right, and fishes out a thumb drive. He flicks it over to her before taking a seat. "All my girls are legally, and voluntarily employed. That's a copy of the employment records if you want to see for yourself."

She turns it over in her palm, but eyes him carefully. She doesn't believe a single word he says.

"I suppose there's a completely normal explanation why seasonal, junior staff needs to sign NDA's that restrict even the mention of their employment?"

"I cater to a high-profile clientele," It rolls of his tongue. Rehearsed. Pre-planned. "It protects both the company, and the consumers."

Consumers. Yeah that tracks.

"And these employees end up on the streets of Bludhaven without a pot to piss in on their own accord?"

"Are you suggesting I don't pay my employees?" He shakes his head. "I pay very well, mind you, and that's not to mention the tips. It's not my fault how they choose to spend it."

He motions for one of the guards. A tall gentleman dressed in an all-black suit with dark brown hair slicked back steps forward.

"Would you please show her the exit?" To her, he says. "Unless you have any other pressing issues you'd like to discuss?"

She's got plenty of questions. She just doesn't want his answers.

She shakes her head, standing and stepping towards the door. Franco downs the rest of his drink, then opens his laptop and starts typing. The drive his her hand weighs heavy.