"I was hired by Wayne Group to investigate the museum theft. Someone should have informed you."
Martin had no patience for Andy, a man he considered a fool.
Yet, Andy remained unfazed, flashing his usual charming smile. "This museum originally belonged to Wayne Group. I was just doing my job. If anything happened, no one would want to solve the case faster than me. Why question me? Regardless, I have to do my best."
Martin waved his right hand, holding the device. "I'm not asking you anything," he said flatly. "I just need this."
Andy's eyes widened. He hesitated before speaking. "I know you're a renowned detective, Mr. Martin, but this is... too much. Don't you at least want to examine the riddles left behind?"
He didn't want to offend Martin, but he feared the case would remain unsolved. A detective couldn't afford to be this dismissive!
Martin shook his head. "Time is precious. Solving riddles is a waste of it."
What Andy didn't know was that Martin had already reviewed the classified intelligence provided by Gordon before arriving. He knew the scene, the riddles, and the security measures in place.
According to the museum's employees, the security system—designed by Wayne Group—was unique. Once activated, it is fully locked down. Only the system keyholder or the expiration of the lock period could grant access. No one could have stolen anything without triggering an alert.
Martin had two theories:
One Someone had managed to bypass the highly advanced system—possible, given Gotham's pool of criminal talent.
and second An insider job. Security breaches are easiest from within.
Even a fraction of the stolen goods' value would be an irresistible temptation.
Andy rubbed his hands nervously. "But riddles always contain clues! They aren't worthless!" he pleaded.
"They're bait," Martin replied coldly. "Designed to lure prey into a trap. But I don't need them. My employer gave me no deadline."
He tapped the device in his hand with confidence. "And I already have everything I need."
Andy frowned. "What did you find?"
"That's none of your concern."
With that, Martin pocketed the device and walked out.
But instead of leaving, he slipped into the museum's garage, placed a tracker under Andy's car, and found a hidden vantage point.
From the start, he hadn't cared about the device. If someone had hacked the system externally, Batman would have already found the traces. Yet, two days after the crime, Gordon had received no word from Batman.
That pointed to an inside job.
Andy, the system keyholder, was the prime suspect.
Since Andy had no criminal history, this was likely his first offense. Martin decided to push him.
Minutes later, from his hiding spot, Martin saw Andy rush to his car, start the engine in a panic, and speed off.
Martin pulled out his tablet, connected to Wayne Group's network, and tracked Andy's movements. He even tapped into the car's audio.
"Your plan is none of my business," Andy's voice crackled through the speakers. "I want my money. Get me paid, or we both go down! Don't forget—I know where the goods are!"
Martin scoffed. Another idiot.
Instead of fleeing, Andy was running straight toward the Riddler, expecting to be paid. Did he really believe the Riddler honored deals?
"Moron," Martin muttered. "But if he were smart, my job would be harder."
Martin didn't have a car, and Gotham's streets were unfamiliar to him. So, he hailed a taxi, gave the driver Andy's destination, and pulled out three fingers.
"Triple the fare if you get me there fast."
The driver's eyes lit up. With a stomp on the gas pedal, the taxi shot forward like a bullet.
Martin was slammed against the seat. He gritted his teeth, feeling Gotham's chaos firsthand.
When they arrived, the driver cheerfully waved his money. "See you next time, boss!"
Martin steadied his legs. "Let's hope not."
Andy had arranged to meet the Riddler at a warehouse near the port.
The workday wasn't over yet, so the area was bustling with workers in orange vests and large cargo trucks. From a distance, it looked like a swarm of ants.
Martin grabbed a vest from a nearby construction site, blending in as he made his way inside.
When he reached the designated warehouse, he saw a group of armed men.
Not just one gang—two. They were in the middle of an arms deal. Automatic rifles, rocket launchers, and other weapons filled the space.
"Killing someone with a borrowed knife," Martin murmured.
He understood the Riddler's plan immediately. If Andy walked in, he'd be caught in the crossfire.
Martin didn't care whether Andy lived or died—except that Andy still knew the whereabouts of the stolen goods.
He had to act fast.
Leaving the warehouse, Martin quickly spotted Andy moving through the workers. He moved in, swift and quiet.
Before Andy could react, Martin grabbed him by the neck and pressed a gun to his stomach.
"Don't move," he whispered. "One pull of the trigger, and your guts spill out."
Andy broke into a sweat. "Mr. Martin, what are you doing here?"
Martin didn't waste words. "Cleaning up your mess."
"But I—"
"If you still believe the Riddler is going to pay you, take a look inside that warehouse."
Andy hesitated, then peered in. The sight of the armed gangs shattered his illusions.
He gritted his teeth. "I risked my life for him, and that bastard is cutting me out?"
Martin smirked. "The Riddler is a lunatic. You're the idiot who trusted him."
He tightened his grip on Andy's collar and pushed him against the wall.
"Where are the stolen goods?" Martin demanded. "Tell me the truth, and I'll make sure you serve your sentence in Metropolitan Prison—with your family protected."
Andy finally realized he had no way out. Defeated, he gave up everything.