A board meeting was just breaking up on the top floor of the tower. Worried executives rose from their positions around a large polished oak table, gathering up their notes and reports. Picture windows looked out on the thriving city below. Half-empty pitchers of fresh water waited to be picked up by the service staff. Marble busts of company’s founders, Solomon and Zebidiah Wayne, gazed down from their perches as the board members exited the room.

Miranda Tate lingered behind, hoping for a private word with the CEO.

“Mr. Fox,” she said, “I believe in what Mr. Wayne was trying to do. I’m only asking for explanations because I think I can help.”

“I’ll pass along your request,” Fox said. “Next time I see him.”

A dignified African-American gentleman in his sixties, Lucius Fox sat at the head of the table. His neatly trimmed hair and mustache were now more salt than pepper. An old-fashioned bow tie gave him a courtly air. He had started out as a research scientist and engineer, before assuming control of the company nearly a decade ago.

“He doesn’t talk to you either?” Miranda inferred.

“Let’s just say that Bruce Wayne has his…eccentricities.”

To put it mildly, Fox thought.

“Mr. Fox,” she persisted. “Are you aware that John Daggett is trying to acquire shares of Wayne Enterprises?”

“I was not,” he admitted. “But it wouldn’t do him any good. Mr. Wayne retains a clear majority.” At that he fell silent, indicating that the conversation was at an end.

Miranda departed, clearly disappointed not to have learned more about the company’s current prospects. Fox sighed. He appreciated the woman’s energy and conviction, but certain information could not be shared with anyone other than Bruce Wayne himself. Miss Tate needed to remain in the dark, along with the rest of the world.

Returning to his own office, he found an unexpected visitor.

“Bruce Wayne,” he intoned. “As I live and breathe.”

Bruce rose to greet him, leaning on his cane. Fox couldn’t remember the last time the hibernating heir had visited Wayne Tower.

“What brings you out of cryo-sleep, Mr. Wayne?” he asked. Bruce chuckled.

“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor—even if you have lost most of my money.”

Fox just dismissed the accusation.

“Actually, you did that yourself,” he replied. “See, if you funnel the entire R&D budget for five years into a fusion project that you then mothball, your company is unlikely to thrive.”

“Even with—”

“A wildly sophisticated CEO, yes.” He leaned forward, and gave Bruce the cold, hard truth. “Wayne Enterprises is running out of time. And Daggett is moving in.”

Bruce accepted the gloomy prognosis without complaint.

“What are my options?”

“If you’re not willing to turn your machine on—”

Bruce cut him off.

“I can’t, Lucius.”

“Then sit tight,” Fox advised. “Your majority keeps Daggett at arm’s length while we figure out a future for the energy program with Miranda Tate. She’s supported your project all the way, incidentally. She’s smart, and quite lovely.”