“The house and grounds,” the lawyer continued, “are left to the city of Gotham, on condition that they never be demolished, altered, or otherwise interfered with, and that they be used for one purpose and one purpose only: the housing and care of the city’s at-risk and orphaned children.”

A school bus pulls up in front the mansion, only a few days after the movers delivered the brand-new bunk beds. An elderly man watches as the bus disgorges dozens of wide-eyed children, who gaze in awe at the palatial edifice.

Father Reilly steps from the bus, gathers the children, and shepherds them toward the open front doors, past a freshly-erected sign bearing the new name of the household.

THE

THOMAS AND MARTHA WAYNE

HOME FOR CHILDREN

Alfred suspects his former employers would approve.

The lawyer stood and gathered up his papers. People began to file out of the office, now that the bulk of the estate had been disposed of. The attorney gestured toward a desk in the corner, where a pretty young woman, who looked fresh out of law school, sat beside a small collection of miscellaneous envelopes, knick-knacks, and minor items of little value.

“My clerk will help anyone with the smaller correspondences and instructions…”

Blake figured that was where he came in. The clerk smiled at him as he approached the desk.

“Blake, John,” he volunteered.

She consulted her list.

“Nothing here.” Frowning, he started to step away, and then realized what the problem was. He took out his wallet and offered her his driver’s license.

“Try my legal name.”

She glanced at the ID before checking her list again.

“Yup, here it is.” She reached behind the desk and sorted through various items. After a moment, she handed him a bulging sports bag. He hefted it, more confused than ever.

What the hell is this all about?

“You should use your full name,” she suggested. “I like that name…Robin.”

He smiled sheepishly, slightly embarrassed. He had always preferred to go by “John,” which had seemed tougher and more suitable for a cop. Then again, he wasn’t a cop any more.

He stepped away the desk, wondering what was in the bag. He was tempted to open it right away, but decided against it. Wayne was gone, but Blake still felt obliged to protect his secrets. He owed the man that much.

The lawyer strolled over to the clerk’s desk. Leaning close to her, he lowered his voice. Blake couldn’t resist eavesdropping. Detective habits died hard.

“Any word on the missing item?”

The clerk shook her head.

“No, not yet.”

“Well, they’d better leave no stone unturned,” the lawyer said, scowling. “We can’t just put a string of pearls on the manifest as ‘lost.’”

Applied Sciences was back in business.

Fox had spent months repairing the damage from Bane’s invasion—and beefing up the security—but the underground armory looked as good as new, as did the new and remaining prototypes. Lucius intended to keep a close watch on his inventory, just in case they were ever needed again.