Bruce stared in abject rage at the defacement of his vision standing before him. He watched the “For Sale” sign be covered with that ghastly red “Sold” sticker, and the men adjust the post. They looked over at Bruce and smiled at him, unaware of the debacle before them today.
“Congratulations Mr. Wayne!” One of them shouted, the other two nodding and waving in recognition.
He tried to be cordial and smile back. He tried to wave and acknowledge their social interaction, but it was obvious how angry his was. There was no containing his emotions now. There was no containing his retribution. Vengeance would come for this. And as his watch blinked away at notifications, it became clear that vengeance would come very soon. He turned around and left the apartment complex, ordering and stepping into a taxi, this being a hotspot for public transportation. He sat in the backseat and adjusted his attire. He readied himself for the violence he was about to unleash. He felt ready. He felt that this was a long overdue moment to let out all his feelings. He felt the mask come metaphysically over his eyes, and the cape drag spectrally behind him. He knew what had to be done. His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call, one he typically wouldn’t answer but when it came from Lucious Fox he knew it was urgent.
“What?” He answered, as the phone was placed on speaker.
“Margaret says you’re at the apartment complex.” Lucious began. “How does it look?”
“Fine.” He replied, making no attempt to mask his anger. Lucious picked up on the energy shift and tried to deduce what’s wrong.
“Is it not to scale? I visited the site myself many times, it should be just as you designed.”
“It’s to scale.”
“…Is it the greenery then? That area has always had tricky soil.”
“It’s fine, Lucious. It looks perfect.”
“I see…then if I might ask…what is it that’s soured your mood?”
“He sold it to them.”
Lucious’ heart dropped as he instantly understood what Bruce was talking about. Hopelessness flooded his heart as he knew the rage he was bound to hear.
The “New Gotham Square” was the latest apartment complex Wayne Enterprises had commissioned. It was a nice place to live. Appliances were modern, in unit washers and driers, decent size. The area was what really made it home. Living so close to Grand Avenue meant shopping, restaurants and entertainment were only a short walk away. It was public, meaning safe, and it was so close to where half the city worked that residents could very easily live and work without a vehicle, if they lived in this apartment complex. It was Wayne Enterprises attempt at giving to Gotham’s underprivileged. Rent would be extremely affordable, by any metric certainly but for that area it would be miraculous. Water, internet and garbage would be lumped into the rent, and long time Gotham residents could receive a discounted rate to aid those who may have families to take care of. It was exactly what Gotham needed. Housing for the poor, that didn’t treat itself like housing for the poor. It was almost a luxury apartment you’d see in a sitcom. And naturally, it was wickedly expensive.
The apartment complex would technically make money, but only if it was completely full and everyone paid their rent on time. If there was one thing that Gotham’s underprivileged could not be relied on to do consistently, it was pay their rent on time. Bruce knew this, and he was willing to put up the cost. It was a brand deposit. The company had more than enough money, they could afford to spend some every month on keeping housing afloat. It was about the principle, not about the dollar. He tried to convince his board of directors of that fact. He had mostly succeeded. Except Dale.
Dale Schubert was a high stakes investor from New York city. He owned three percent of Wayne Enterprises and he was the pinnacle of profit driven, caustic slag in the ocean, smog in the sky, worker exploiting, layoff purporting, yacht buying, child molesting board of directors dirtbag. There was nobody on Earth that Bruce hated more than Dale, and that was including the Joker. Dale was the greatest enemy of the “Cleaning Up Corporate Act” ever conceived, and infuriatingly he dodged every effort to remove him. It was him who was responsible for ruining the New Gotham Square.
Billion dollar companies in China and Japan were buying apartments in America for massive paychecks and converting them into AirBnB’s. They would take housing from people who may need it, and convert it into over priced glorified hotels for wealthy couples vacationing in a new city. Bruce didn’t hate the idea of the AirBnB market, but he hated every instance of it taking up space instead of housing for a permanent resident. He had been swatting away overseas investors since the beginning, and he had done a great job. Dale, however, only wanted the money. The Chinese were willing to pay enough money for these homes to completely break even from construction, cut an executive an enormous check and fund the next big project. What’s more once the Chinese own it, keeping it funded and operated is officially their problem, a cost cutting so grand it was a no brainer to any shareholder with future plans. So Dale did what he had to do. He went behind Bruce’s back, made deals with the Chinese, and sold the entire property before even one citizen could get it. Bruce was livid. Lucious was in the dark. He tried to mollify Bruce as best as he could.
“Mr. Wayne I am so sorry. I…I had no idea. That shouldn’t have been possible…he must have forged your signature, or lied about his title. He has no qualifications to make that happen.”
“Can you undo it?” Bruce growled, his toneless malice eking through the phone.
“I will do my best sir. I will do my very best.”
The car returned to silence as Lucious pondered Bruce’s state. He waited to hear if Bruce would begin screaming, or swearing, but to his horror Bruce did nothing. The only noise he heard through the receiver was the humming and scraping of the vehicle he was sitting inside. After a pause long enough to push Lucious to his breaking, he tried to find a way to aid Bruce’s mind.
“Is there…something I can do for you? Sir?”
“We have a board meeting in twenty minutes.”
“I know, sir. I’m in the conference room right now. Would you like me to take it over for you? You can take this one off.”
“Keep the other’s distracted.”
“Others?”
“I’m meeting with Dale.”
Lucious felt a darkness spread over his heart as he realized what Bruce meant. He knew there would be no stopping his rampage now, and he decided to let it pass. If it had to be done, it had to be done. He could stomach no response to this hideous warning, and instead merely hung up his phone. His heart rate rose as he stepped out into the lobby, and began including Margaret in his stalling tactic.
Bruce road the taxi cab up to the Wayne International Plaza. He paid the cab driver and tipped him $150 in two bills. He tossed them into the driver’s seat and stormed straight into the building before he could even hear a “thank you.” He went straight into the elevator, past everyone who asked for his attention. He arrived at the top floor and met with Lucious Fox, Margaret, and three other board of director members that had arrived early. Lucious made eye contact and swiftly took Bruce aside, into the corner of the room for quiet conversation.
“Is Dale here yet?” Bruce asked, his tone hushed.
“He’s here. He’s in the conference room.” Lucious also whispered, his words guised under the laughter of the other’s conversation.
“Keep them occupied.” Bruce muttered, preparing to leave.
“What are you going to do?”
Bruce didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Lucious knew what he was going to do. Lucious could feel the darkness enveloping Bruce as he became the vigilante he had taken on. Lucious nodded slowly as he recognized what would happen behind those doors.
“How will you get away with it?” Lucious asked.
“He’s got a litany of things the FBI would want to know about. Tax fraud, money laundering, conversations with minors. He’s a dead man walking already. I’ll remind him.”
“How do you know that will work?”
“I know him.”
Bruce then walked away, refusing to allow the conversation to slow him down any further. He strode headstrong into the conference room with a straight back and steady pace, Margaret timing the security lock perfectly for him to walk through the doors without slowing. He shut the seal behind him, and in seconds started arming the door for soundproofing.
“Bruce!” Dale said, walking towards his business partner with an apologetic stance. “I fixed your little apartment idea!”
Dale had enough hair gel in to be visible in single clumps. He had the most obviously fake blonde hair ever conceived, with fluorescent white teeth and a spray tan skin tone that was covered by a suit of grey, white and black. His voice had the nasal, wide mouthed abrasiveness of a New York accent watered down from years of business. He walked gently towards Bruce and put a hand on his shoulder, as if comforting his friend on this great tragedy. Bruce didn’t acknowledge the man with either word or glance, as he finished the code to soundproof the room. Dale knew the energy was against him, but he didn’t yet know the scope of Bruce’s hostility.
“I know that was a big deal to you kid, and hey I respect it. I like a guy who stands up for what he means. But sometimes, Bruce, you have to learn to let go. That apartment idea of yours was a complete disaster. Bleeding money month after month after month. It’s better sent to someone else. Besides once you see the money you’ll feel much better. All those zeroes made my head spin.”
Bruce finished the door and walked over to the table with the coffee accessories. He saw that the coffee pot was half full and dripping more fluid. Dale was brewing a fresh pot.
“Yeah have some Joe, it’ll cheer you up.” Dale said, taking his hand off Bruce Wayne and walking away to the massive windows. He took a deep breath and looked down at the complex visible from here. He continued his contracted monologue in defense of his decision.
“This is a good thing Bruce, I know it. You’ll see it too. I mean seriously, is this what your father would want? His company he worked so hard for bleeding out by wasting money on these ungrateful poor people? I mean honestly Bruce, do you really think this’ll make a difference? You think giving these stupid drug addicts a roof over their heads will change them? That place would be a crack house in a month. Let the Chinese take it over. And we keep your father’s company going for years.”
The coffee pot was three quarters full. Nearly there.
“I promise you Bruce, when you come over and take a spin on my new yacht, you’ll forget all about how disappointed you are now. You’ll have some drinks, you’ll dip in the hot tub…maybe some girls? Huh? Come on man, say something.”
Bruce grabbed the coffee pot by the handle and sprinted for Dale. He stopped one step before colliding with Dale and used all his forward momentum to thrust the coffee pot in Dale’s direction, then rip it backward. The lid shot off in a flash and scalding hot coffee covered Dale’s entire upper body. His hair to his belt was splashed in flaming brown beverage that steamed in the air and melted his flesh. Dale stood shivering for a second as shock took over. For one single second of time the room was silent. Dale caught his breath and his nerves caught up to the moment as it became him. He stood shaking as his skin cracked and scarred under the heated coffee. He screamed bloody murder and stumbled into the table. He keeled over and tried with shut eyes to get to the table with napkins, but in his way was Bruce Wayne, who had no compassion to give.
He struck Dale’s stomach with his right knee and knocked him to the floor. Dale gagged as the wind was knocked out of him. He clutched his stomach and writhed on his back, weeping and silently pleading for the pain to end. Bruce lifted his foot and stomped down twice. The first strike broke the guard of the feeble man, allowing his weak spots to be more exposed. The second sent the heel of his shoe square into the right side of the man’s chest. Dale screamed louder as pain became all he knew, and mercy was nowhere in sight. Bruce knew that by now Lucious’ conscious had him call an ambulance, and they would soon be arriving, even despite the soundproofed door. The time for the warning was now. He grabbed Dale by the throat and cut off his air flow, stopping the screaming for a few brief moments. Bruce’s words came out like a fire of hatred, burning hotter than the coffee ever could.
“I know about your messages to Layla Taylor! I know your home is money laundered! I know about your drug addictions and I know about your tax fraud! Sell your stocks! Leave Gotham! I don’t ever see you again or I swear to God I will bury you! Understand?! Sell your stocks!” Bruce threw the man to the ground and stormed out of the lobby. He pressed the button for the ground floor and waited for the elevator to come up and get him. The room around him was a panic as every wondered why Dale was screaming.
“Bruce! What happened?!” Margaret cried, panic taking her voice.
“Call an ambulance.” Bruce replied, his tone much calmer than when he came in.
“What happened?!”
“Dale spilled the coffee pot on himself.”