“‘It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.’”

No official cause of death had been released regarding the last of the Wayne dynasty. The tabloids had indulged in scandalous speculation, but nobody really paid much attention. Too many people had died during Bane’s reign of terror for even the death of Bruce Wayne to stand out. Most people simply wanted to move on and put the myriad tragedies behind them.

But for some, this was easier said than done. Gordon looked across the empty grave to the melancholy figure who completed the funeral party. Tears streamed down Alfred’s face. He looked older and more frail than Gordon remembered. He could only imagine what the man was feeling, now that he had outlived the entire Wayne family.

Lucius placed a gentle hand on Alfred’s shoulder before stepping away to give him some time alone at the grave. Gordon and Blake followed after Fox. Glancing backward in sympathy, Gordon saw the butler cross to the graves that lay next to Bruce’s: the resting places of Thomas and Martha Wayne.

“I’m so sorry,” Alfred sobbed. “I failed you. You trusted me, and I failed you.” His drooping shoulders shook with sorrow.

Gordon and Blake parted company with Fox, and then made their way to the drive in front of the mansion. Gordon turned toward the younger man.

“Can I change your mind about quitting the force?”

“No,” Blake answered. “What you said about structures. About shackles. I can’t take it. The injustice.” He gestured back toward the gardens—and the grave. “I mean, no one’s ever going to know who saved an entire city.”

“They know,” Gordon said. “It was Batman.” Plans were already afoot to erect a granite statue of the Dark Knight in a plaza downtown. Gordon had started writing the speech he intended to deliver on the day the statue was unveiled. It was a better and more heartfelt speech than anything he had ever composed for Harvey Dent Day.

At last Gotham knew who its true hero was.

Blake quietly slipped into the office just as the lawyer was getting to the meat of the matter.

“Mr. Wayne’s will was not amended to reflect his more modest estate,” the lawyer said. “Nevertheless, there are considerable assets to be disposed of.”

A small group had gathered in the lawyer’s office for the reading of the bequests. The complications regarding Wayne’s finances had kept the estate tied up in probate for a time, but everything had finally been sorted out. The ex-cop shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place.

“The contents of the house are to be sold to settle the estate’s accounts,” the lawyer declared. “The remainder is left in its entirety to Alfred J. Pennyworth.”

Good, Blake thought. He didn’t like the idea of the manor’s fine furniture and artwork being carted off to market, but he figured the old butler more than deserved whatever was left over. Alfred had given his all to the Wayne family—and then some.