“I don’t make her do anything,” Cameron replied.
“I chose to take it,” Madeleine said. “I was responsible for hacking the home systems at each victim’s house. That was my job. Cameron executed.” There, in her voice, was a strange sarcasm again—and this time, Bruce understood that it meant Madeleine had neither planned nor approved of the way Cameron murdered their victims. “I saw what our mother went through in the prison system. I wasn’t about to see another family member endure it—especially not Cameron, who our mother gave up her life to protect.”
Cameron smiled at his sister. “It’s good to have you back,” he said. “Now we can actually move forward.”
“Move forward?” Bruce asked.
“Do you know why I killed each of those moneybags, Wayne?” Cameron said. There was a savage light in his gaze. “It’s because they were corrupt to the core.” Madeleine made an unhappy face, but he shook his head. “Had you not been Bruce Wayne, you would’ve gotten a much harsher prison sentence for interfering with the police. I’d bet my life on it. So forgive me when I say that I relish stealing the millions in their bank accounts, cutting their throats, and then using that same money to destroy the corruption they all stand for.” He shrugged, giving Bruce a wink. “It’s invigorating, wouldn’t you agree?”
“They weren’t supposed to die,” Madeleine interjected. She frowned again at her brother. “Let the loss of their wealth be their pain.”
“And have them avoid the justice they deserve?” Cameron scoffed before looking at Bruce. “Each of those so-called philanthropists earned money from Gotham City’s privatized jails. Tell me, then, whether or not they deserved to die.”
“They didn’t deserve to die like that,” Bruce said angrily. “No one does. Maybe not even you.”
“I’m already dead. Got my certificate to prove it,” Cameron said.
“And I was next?” Anger cut through Bruce’s voice.
“That was my plan. Although someone seems to have alerted you to it.” At that, Cameron shot Madeleine a scathing look. Bruce looked at her, too. Perhaps she had been watching out for him after all.
Bruce turned to Madeleine. “You honestly think that this cycle of theft, murder, and destruction is worth it?”
Madeleine lifted her chin. “I believe this is a wake-up call to Gotham City, yes,” she replied. “I have no patience for the ruling class that protects the greedy.”
“And what about me?” Bruce said quietly. “Do you believe I deserve the same fate as all the other people you allowed to die?”
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Madeleine said in a tight voice.
Cameron looked at her and sighed. “You really took a liking to this one, didn’t you?” When she didn’t reply, he shook his head and started heading toward the door. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Wayne, it’s time we finished our business with you. Show Madeleine how to access the rest of your accounts, and we’ll do our transaction quickly and quietly.”
Good. Keep them going. “Why should I?” Bruce snarled. “Because you’ll put a knife to my throat if I don’t? Like all the others?”
Cameron lifted an eyebrow at him like he was talking to a child. “Because, Bruce Wayne, if you don’t—there are a lot of hostages out there on the balcony who will have to answer for your stubbornness.”
Bruce glanced at Madeleine. She only gave him a grave stare. “Don’t make me do this,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly.
Cameron didn’t hear her. Instead, he just opened the door and stepped out. “Don’t take too long, sis,” he called over his shoulder. He left, leaving them alone for a moment.
“Madeleine,” Bruce said in the silence. “This isn’t really you. I can see it on your face.”
She didn’t answer, determinedly looking toward the door, but her body leaned instinctively in his direction, and he felt the warmth of her nearness. “It doesn’t matter,” she replied quietly, even as uncertainty tainted each word. “Our goals remain the same.”
“And what will happen to me, after your brother’s done with me?” Bruce hissed. “Do you think he will let me walk out of here alive? Do you think he’ll just hand me over to the police?” He glanced toward the door. “Do you think he’ll just let his hostages go?”
Madeleine didn’t reply right away—and in her moment of hesitation, Bruce saw the truth. “You do care,” he whispered. He leaned closer, desperate to see that something in their connection, whatever it was that they had, was real.
“I never wanted you here, Bruce,” Madeleine whispered, her eyes hard.
“Why?”
She glanced to her side and looked like she was about to say something—but then thought better of it.
“Why, Madeleine?” Bruce said softly. “Because I’ll tell you the truth right now—I really thought I liked you. And in spite of everything, I still feel something for you. Don’t take this path.”
Madeleine looked bleakly at him. “This story can’t end happily for us,” she finally replied, tearing her eyes away and standing up. “So let’s just finish this.”
Madeleine led him out of the dressing room toward the concert floor. Bruce analyzed their surroundings. There were at least a dozen Nightwalkers up along the balconies, each one dressed in full military-grade gear, their backs turned to the floor below.
How many had taken the hall? How were the police doing, working on breaking in? Bruce scanned the space, searching for a way out. His eyes settled on the door leading back into the stairwell. He hadn’t taken the outer stairwell all the way up—if he had, it would have led to the concert hall’s flat roof.
He turned his eyes away as they continued on, but his thoughts lingered on it, ideas spinning rapidly.
Madeleine led them up a flight of curving stairs, where they stepped through a balcony door. The light here was much dimmer, a warm hue that Bruce associated with the moments when the orchestra was still tuning. Crowds of people were seated in the rows, their backs turned to Bruce and Madeleine, almost as if they were show attendees—except each one of them sat tensely, unspeaking, their faces turning occasionally to look at the armed Nightwalkers standing at each section.
Bruce’s gaze scanned the hostages, searching for Dianne and Lucius. Some were crying. Others looked deathly pale, on the verge of fainting. Still others had bound hands, perhaps from struggling. He recognized the deputy mayor, then several of the city council members who had attended his last charity banquet.
And Richard. Bruce saw him guarding one aisle. It must be surreal for him, standing here overlooking all the black drapes in mourning for his father, Bruce thought, while knowing he was responsible for what had happened. With every movement that anyone near him made, he startled like a rabbit.
Madeleine kept her face turned stiffly away from the hostages, as if it helped her continue by not looking at them. Bruce kept searching the faces, a knot in his throat.
There. Lucius was seated in the front row, stone-faced, staring out toward where the balcony overlooked the main stage.