Nolan's phone vibrated softly against the desk.
He glanced down at the screen.
Marcy's name blinked in and out. He picked up the phone immediately.
"Go ahead."
On the other end, Marcy didn't waste time, "There's been an attack." She said exhaustion exuding from the other end of the line
Nolan frowned slightly, already pulling up a news feed on the nearby monitor.
"Where?"
"Lunch meeting. Fine dining place downtown," Marcy replied quietly. "Target was Kane."
Nolan froze.
For a moment he didn't speak.
The words simply hung there in the air between them.
"…What?"
"He survived," Marcy continued. "But it was coordinated. Multiple shooters. There was even a bomb in the car he arrived in."
Nolan leaned back slowly in his chair.
Shock spread across his face.
Someone had just tried to assassinate Jacob Kane in broad daylight.
In Gotham.
He shook his head slowly in disbelief already knowing who it most likely was.
"That's…"
He exhaled.
"…insane."
His mind immediately began moving through the possibilities of why Maria would choose such an overt method. Kane will be on guard now, doesn't that just make the situation worse?
After a few seconds he straightened in his chair, the shock fading into focus.
"This changes things."
Marcy waited.
Nolan rubbed a hand across his face before speaking again.
"We need to have a meeting."
His voice had hardened.
"Everyone."
A brief pause.
"Please inform the others."
"Understood," Marcy replied.
The call ended.
Nolan lowered the phone slowly.
For a moment he simply stared out the window at Gotham's skyline.
Just what was Maria's game plan here?
***
The conference room inside the continental was quiet when Nolan entered.
The room was large but understated—dark wood table, leather chairs, dim lighting that kept the space private and insulated from the rest of the hotel's operations.
Around the table sat the core of his organization.
Terrell leaned back in his chair with his arms folded, thick fingers drumming idly against his forearm.
Marcy sat straight-backed with a tablet already open in front of her.
Dre had a notebook beside him, a pencil tucked behind his ear like he'd been working on blueprints moments earlier.
Across from them sat Naima, calm and unreadable as always.
The door shut behind Nolan.
For a moment he stood there.
Then the shift happened.
His posture loosened slightly. His shoulders tilted with a hint of casual arrogance.
Quentin.
He walked toward the head of the table and pulled out the chair.
"Alright," he said, settling into the seat.
He glanced around the room with a small smirk.
"First off—thank you all for showing up on such short notice."
A few nods came back from around the table.
Quentin waved a hand lazily.
"Before we get into the heavy stuff though…"
He leaned back slightly.
"Let's go over the boring stuff."
There was a subtle pause.
Then the shift came again.
Quentin's casual posture straightened. The smirk faded into something far more measured.
Kieran.
He folded his hands neatly on the table.
"Financials first."
Marcy tapped her tablet and turned the screen slightly so everyone could see the figures.
Kieran nodded approvingly.
"We're in the green."
That got a few raised eyebrows around the table.
"Not only is the hotel performing well," Kieran continued, "but our trade routes have begun generating substantial income."
His eyes moved to Dre.
"It was a good idea to levy our supplies and become distributors for allied organizations."
Dre shrugged modestly, though there was clear pride in his expression.
"Figured if we're already moving product across the city we might as well make a cut off it."
Kieran nodded.
"And it has paid off."
He tapped the numbers on the tablet.
"We're currently supplying only allied organizations at a discount. Even so, the margins are strong."
He leaned back slightly.
"Once we expand to additional customers, revenue will increase significantly."
Dre nodded once.
"That's the plan."
Kieran's gaze shifted across the table.
"To transportation."
His eyes landed on Marcy.
"The transport fees are working."
Marcy inclined her head slightly.
"We took a hit when we switched from offering the service for free to charging," she said quietly. "Some groups stopped using us initially."
Kieran nodded.
"As expected."
He tapped the table lightly.
"But the market has stabilized."
Marcy scrolled through another set of numbers.
"Next month we should move fully into the green on that side as well."
Kieran allowed himself a faint, satisfied smile.
"Good."
He looked around the table at the assembled leaders.
"The organization is financially stable."
Then his expression hardened slightly.
"Which brings us to the reason we're here tonight."
His gaze lifted.
"And the attack on Jacob Kane."
Kieran's composed posture loosened again.
The calm precision faded from his eyes, replaced with something sharper—more amused.
Quentin was back.
He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head.
"As you all know," Quentin began casually, "we've been trying to wedge distrust between Maria and Kane."
His eyes drifted across the table.
"We achieved our goal." He smiled ruefully, "Perhaps a little too well."
Several heads tilted slightly at that.
Quentin tapped a finger against the table.
"I believe it was Maria behind the attack."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Then Terrell frowned deeply, "Why the hell would she try to kill him so soon?" Terrell asked, leaning forward. "She should know a hit team wouldn't work on someone like Kane."
Quentin shrugged, "Exactly the question I've been asking myself all afternoon."
He leaned forward slightly now, his usual confidence dimming just a little, "I don't see her plan." That alone made the room grow heavier.
Quentin was many things—but uncertainty wasn't usually one of them.
"And that," he continued quietly, "worries me."
His gaze moved around the table.
"If Maria pulled the trigger, she did it for a reason."
He drummed his fingers against the wood.
"We need to be on guard."
"And ready to react to the slightest movement."
His voice hardened, "This is a battle of reaction time." His eyes settled on each of them in turn. "We cannot lose."
For a moment no one spoke.
Then Quentin's tone shifted again, lighter.
"Oh—speaking of reaction time."
He glanced toward Dre.
"I believe Dre and I have a meeting tonight."
Dre looked up.
"With a lieutenant."
Quentin gave a thin smile.
"And if things keep escalating the way they are…"
He tapped the table once.
"…that meeting just became a whole lot more important."
Dre frowned slightly from across the table.
"Why is it so important to meet with the Khadym?" he asked. "Aren't we spreading ourselves a little thin here?"
Quentin smiled.
Not a friendly smile.
The kind that meant he thought three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.
"We're planting seeds," he said simply.
Dre raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
Quentin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"The Court's greatest strength isn't money."
He lifted one finger.
"It isn't influence."
Another finger joined it.
"It's mystery."
His eyes moved slowly around the room.
"No one knows they exist."
That silence had protected them for generations.
Kings in the shadows. Untouchable because no one could fight something they couldn't see.
Quentin tapped the table once.
"We need to destroy that anonymity."
Terrell leaned forward slightly now, interested.
Quentin continued.
"If the right people start hearing whispers… if certain organizations start realizing Gotham has an invisible group manipulating things…"
He shrugged casually.
"Suddenly the Court isn't operating in the dark anymore."
Marcy nodded slowly.
"They'll have to start reacting."
"Exactly," Quentin said.
His grin widened slightly.
"We can maneuver roadblocks for them."
He gestured vaguely as if placing pieces on a chessboard.
"Every gang leader who knows they exist is another variable the Court has to worry about."
Another tap of the table.
"And the more variables they're dealing with…"
His voice lowered.
"The easier it becomes for us to move."
Quentin leaned back in his chair again.
Relaxed.
Almost amused.
"So no," he said lightly.
"We're not spreading ourselves thin."
He glanced toward Dre.
"We're making sure the Court doesn't get a fair fight."
A small chuckle escaped him.
"Let's not give them one now."