Descent Into Panic

The information came from one of her men, stationed in that region specifically to abduct children for her. He was the one who had originally kidnapped Reggae, so he was quick to realize something was wrong.

This middle-aged man, who had spent half his life working as a low-level thug, told Margaret the news as if it were part of his routine. He was not clever enough to sense anything suspicious.

After all, family reunions after years of separation weren't unheard of, and certainly not rare. Reggae had been taken when he was still a baby—far too young to remember who had stolen him. There was no chance of him identifying the kidnapper.

But Margaret immediately sensed something was off. Those who commit terrible deeds are always hyper-aware of anything connected to their wrongdoing.

The woman, still slender and elegant despite being over fifty, pondered the situation as she sank into the sofa behind her, hanging up on her underling mid-call.

Because she disliked the sensation of harsh lighting, the room was lit only by soft ambient lights, casting an unusual dimness over her surroundings.

Margaret gritted her teeth, trying hard to recall the scene when Reggae had been adopted.

Back then, the wealthy man who adopted him refused any family background check and wanted to take the child away as quickly as possible. She had thought it was just one of the eccentricities of the rich, and seeing how much money was involved, she agreed without giving it much thought.

Now, it seemed she had been careless. What if that man had deliberately targeted her? Otherwise, how could the child have ended up back with his biological parents so easily?

Margaret thought long and hard, and ultimately decided that she needed to eliminate this problem at the root. Otherwise, one day, that family could end up testifying against her in court.

Her mind made up, she stood and walked over to the desk phone. After dialing a number, the call was quickly answered on the other end.

It was the same middle-aged man who had informed her earlier. He sounded puzzled but asked what Margaret needed from him.

"I need you to kill that entire family—the one you just mentioned."

On the other end of the line, the unshaven man froze for a moment. "B-but, that family already moved away!"

Margaret's brow furrowed immediately. She snapped, "Then go find them!"

The man on the other end sensed that something was wrong, but helplessly replied, "But I already looked. I really can't find them. The couple moved the day after they found their child. They left town, and no one knows where they went."

Margaret was about to respond when another call came through—this time on her cellphone.

She couldn't ignore it. The sudden flurry of calls was making her paranoid, and she suspected it might be more bad news.

And she was right. Glancing at the screen, she saw that the caller ID was from her informant at the police station.

Margaret took a deep breath and answered the phone.

On the other end was a middle-aged officer. His voice was urgent, clearly relaying something important. "Ms. Margaret, it seems Gordon just got his hands on evidence against you from Batman. He's on his way to arrest you right now!"

At that moment, Margaret completely lost her composure.

"Bang!"

The phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a thud, the voice on the other end still calling out to her. Meanwhile, from the landline, the middle-aged man had also heard the sound of the phone dropping and began asking questions repeatedly.

The two voices combined, nearly causing Margaret's mind to explode.

She took several deep breaths, summoning the psychological resilience that decades of life had granted her. Slowly, she regained her composure and began to see things clearly. No matter what, she couldn't just sit and wait for her downfall—she had to erase the evidence.

She abruptly ended both calls.

Suddenly, Margaret recalled something from ten years ago—the flu that claimed the lives of hundreds of children. At the time, she hadn't given it much thought. A large-scale disposal of bodies would have drawn too much attention, so she had buried the remains in a secluded area outside Gotham.

Back then, she didn't think it was a big deal. After all, Gotham's every inch of land and its rivers were filled with the bodies of those who had died under suspicious circumstances, and no one seemed to care. Many people were lost to the city's darkness without anyone trying to recover them. But now, to avoid going to prison, she needed to clean it all up—immediately.

Yes! And the orphanage!

Margaret realized that every inch of that place was tainted with evidence of her crimes. Some of the children didn't remember where they came from, but others that are abducted at an older age, still vividly recalled how they had been taken from their homes. These children would eventually become witnesses against her.

And the safe in the records room—those documents! When so many children died, she had considered destroying the files. But the records were all mixed together and difficult to organize. She didn't trust anyone else to do it, fearing they'd find a way to blackmail her. She never had the time to deal with the mountain of evidence, so it had all remained untouched until now.

She needed to get rid of it all! No—burn it all to the ground!

And then… there was that person. Even if everything fell apart and she got arrested, that person had enough influence to pull her out of prison. Margaret's expression hardened with resolve.

In an instant, she made a decision.

At that very moment, as she began to move, Batman—who had been closely monitoring her every step—moved as well.

...

The Gotham Police had come and gone, unable to find any trace of Margaret Williams at her villa.

It was already nighttime, and by all accounts, Margaret should have been home. But she wasn't. Only a cup of coffee, still warm on the table, hinted that someone had been there recently, as if the faint warmth silently told a story.