Hardly, Daggett thought. “You see me running Wayne Enterprises?” Regaining his composure, he got in the mercenary’s face. “Your stock exchange hit didn’t work, friend. And now you’ve got my construction crews working all hours around the city? How exactly is that supposed to help my company absorb Wayne’s?”

Bane turned toward Stryver.

“Leave us.”

“You stay right there!” Daggett ordered. “I’m in charge.”

Bane placed his hand lightly on Daggett’s shoulder. A hint of amusement showed in his dark eyes.

“Do you feel in charge?” he asked.

A chill ran down Daggett’s spine. He gulped as Stryver crept out of the room, leaving him alone with Bane. His mouth went dry, and suddenly his palms were sweaty.

“I’ve paid you a small fortune—”

“And that gives you power over me?” Bane asked.

It sure didn’t feel like it at the moment. Bane’s hand weighed heavily on Daggett’s shoulder. The frightened millionaire was starting to wish he was still in the Catwoman’s clutches. He tugged on his collar.

“What is this?” he asked nervously.

“Your money and infrastructure have been important,” Bane explained. “Till now.”

Daggett stared in horror at Bane’s grotesque countenance. He had thought that the infamous mercenary was merely another hired gun—somewhat more expensive than most, yet nothing more. But as he peered into the masked man’s pitiless orbs, he finally realized that Bane was working for no one but himself. And he was no mere soldier of fortune.

“What are you?”

“Gotham’s reckoning,” Bane answered. “Come to end the borrowed time you’ve all been living on…”

He gently took Daggett’s head in his hands. A primordial dread washed over the tycoon. He looked into the face of his destroyer as he grasped what Bane actually was.

“You are true evil…”

“I am necessary evil—”

A sharp crack ended the discussion.

The patrol car cruised through Gotham. Bruce sat in the passenger seat, staring glumly out the window. He and Blake had the car to themselves—apparently, Blake’s partner had taken a day off after chasing Batman all night.

It had been a long night for all of them.

“When you began,” Blake asked, “why the mask?”

Bruce didn’t see any point in denying it any longer. Blake had obviously sussed out the truth. And with Jim Gordon laid-up, he needed a reliable ally inside the police force. The young cop seemed a likely candidate.

“To protect the people closest to me,” he explained. But Blake didn’t buy it.

“You were a loner with no family.”

Not entirely, Bruce thought. He remembered Rachel—and Alfred.

“There are always people you care about,” he said. “You just don’t realize how much until a bad man points a gun at them. Or until they leave…” His throat tightened and he needed a moment to collect himself. “The idea was to be a symbol. Batman could be anybody—that was the point.” It felt odd to be discussing this openly with anyone besides Alfred, but who else was he supposed to talk with these days? Miranda Tate?