The Inheritance: Part 1

Chapter 7

A servants' corridor. That's what they'd called it.

A discrete, back hallway that allowed executives to travel directly to and from events being hosted downstairs, bypassing the need to interact with the establishment's daily patrons. Or at least, that's what the workers in town had been told and believed. And it made sense. Franco wouldn't want to associate himself with anyone who wasn't part of the elite class.

But there was still the fact that the hallway could be used to move seasonal workers between events and their rooms without drawing attention.

They went back to locate the hallway, broke into the elevator shaft, and explored all three floors it connected. It was just as the workers had said. They didn't find any hard evidence, nothing definitive, just more suspicions and bad feelings. It was obvious to them what the hallway was really meant for, but they couldn't deny the obvious explanation.

Maybe if it were operational...

She climbs back into the copter, cold and fatigued. The mid-morning sun reflects off the snow with a bright glare that her Gotham eyes aren't accustomed to. She squints as Red Hood prepares for flight, and yawns as her lack of sleep begins to catch up.

It's been three weeks since she's gotten a full night's sleep.

Red Hood slides into his seat, and she kicks herself awake, then turns toward him.

"All good to go?"

He presses a few buttons overhead and flips a switch before looking back at her. "Pretty much. I need to make a stop in Malta, but we'll be able to get some rest and food there."

"Sounds good to me." She fights another yawn and pulls on her headset.

They're airborne a few moments later, and the trip flies by fairly quickly. As they pass over miles of snow-powdered countryside, her eyes grow heavy, and it's a fight to stay awake. She shouldn't be this tired; she can go much longer with even less sleep. And that's not to mention her proximity to Red Hood. She barely knows him; she should be on high alert, but her gut seems to believe he's trustworthy, so she's calm enough that sleep is within reach.

Dangerous.

She tears her eyes from the terrain below and watches him as he pilots. There's no expression to read beneath the helmet, a veil to his emotions and thoughts. Just two, angled white lenses set in a soft scowl, and an unbroken plane of bright, crimson red.

Red Hood.

She's heard that before; somewhere. Her recollection is hazy, but she swears it means something. Something that she never needed to know, but picked up some time back. It must be from her early Robin days because the details escape her, but she remembers seeing that name in a report.

Hers? No, it must have been Bruce's, from his days before her.

They must be connected in some way. She'll do some digging when she's back with her computer. For now, it'll just eat at her.

She debates asking if he had any connection to Gotham, but decides against it.

Most mercenaries are connected to Gotham in some way, typically through business, but also through various traumatic events or inner-city contacts. It's a hub of crime and one of the top contenders for the most crime-ridden city in the world. Any merc worth a damn has been to Gotham. And if his connection went any deeper, she doubts he'd open up to her.

The rest of the ride is silent, but she's too tired to think of anything else to talk about, and he's not big into conversation.

The sun is beginning to set on the horizon when he brings the helicopter down. The touchdown jerks her out of a half-asleep daze, and she scans their surroundings to see a middle-aged man in a rich, dark silk suit waiting on the edge of the rooftop.