DCU: Split

GOTHAM GAZETTE

 By Marla DeStefano

"Continental Hotel Booms Amidst Criminal Allegations"

Despite its enigmatic owner currently sitting behind bars awaiting trial, Gotham's newest luxury venture the Continental Hotel has seen an unexpected surge in business, drawing in the city's elite, tourists, and curious high-rollers from across the tri-state area.

Located on the edge of upper Midtown, the hotel's opulent exterior was unveiled just days before its namesake, Kieran Everleigh, was arrested in front of a crowd of stunned reporters and guests. The charges against him racketeering, conspiracy to commit bank robbery, weapons trafficking, and multiple counts of homicide read more like the rap sheet of a gangland enforcer than a suave entrepreneur. And yet, business at the Continental hasn't slowed it's soared.

"I booked a week the day he got arrested," said Matteo Russo, an out-of-town investor from Blüdhaven. "There's something mythic about it. Like you're staying in the eye of the storm."

Sources inside the hotel claim operations have remained 'smooth and professional,' with no disruption to service or amenities. One anonymous employee even commented, "Honestly? We just hope Mr. Everleigh is okay this slander is ridiculous."

That momentum, however, has stirred darker conversations. Several local experts and former GCPD officials have begun to question who, exactly, Kieran Everleigh really is.

"There's something theatrical about it," said analyst Jon DeWitt. "A man appears out of nowhere, opens a flawless luxury hotel in one of Gotham's most war-torn neighborhoods, and within months, gets arrested for being a criminal kingpin? It sounds like fiction."

The speculation has only intensified with rumors of the hotel becoming a "neutral zone" for high-level criminals, a claim GCPD has not confirmed though sources inside the force acknowledge that the building is "being watched closely."

Meanwhile, Mr. Everleigh's trial is slowly moving through preliminary stages. Last week, he was officially denied bail.

He is currently being held at Arkham Asylum, pending a full psychiatric evaluation before standing trial.

The Continental's PR team has declined to comment on the ongoing investigation.

Still, in a city that feeds on contradiction, it seems the more the mystery grows, the more people want a reservation.

"It's Gotham," Russo added with a shrug. "We like our monsters well-dressed."

***

The courtroom was colder than Nolan remembered.

Not in temperature, though Arkham's standard-issue jumpsuit didn't do much against the building's draft but in mood. There were fewer reporters this time. No flashing bulbs or murmured gossip from the benches. Just a quiet intensity, like he was being watched by a snow man. 

Two guards escorted him in, one hand shackled to a belt loop as protocol demanded. He kept his expression calm. That, at least, was a learned skill.

He spotted his lawyer seated at the defense table already, flipping through a small leather folio. The man sharp, clean-shaven, eyes always scanning glanced up and offered a subtle nod as Nolan took his seat.

"You look well," the lawyer said quietly.

"Arkham's spa packages are criminally underrated," Nolan muttered back.

The judge, a firm-lipped man with a stacked docket, entered moments later.

"All rise."

Gavel. Formalities. Then it began.

"This is the matter of Gotham v. Everleigh," the bailiff announced. "The court will now proceed with the pretrial conference and evidentiary review."

Nolan's eyes didn't flicker when the prosecutor stood. She wore gray and carried a stack of files like a loaded weapon.

"Your honor," she began, "the people are requesting that this case proceed to trial based on the strength of the collected evidence—"

"Which we've yet to examine in full," Nolan's lawyer cut in, voice calm but firm. "Defense requires access to several materials that remain sealed under protective order. We also question the admissibility of key photographic surveillance, which appears to have come from extra-legal sources."

The prosecutor smiled. "The chain of custody will be made clear in court."

The judge held up a hand. "Enough. Both parties will submit discovery requests by end of week. Any withheld material will be ruled on during next session."

"And psychiatric evaluation?" the prosecutor asked.

The judge flipped a sheet.

"First report returned inconclusive. Subject is coherent, but secondary observation is underway to determine whether defendant's psychological condition could impact competency to stand trial."

Nolan's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. The last session had been vague questioning about memory gaps and inner voices. Harmless enough. But he knew how easy it would be to twist that.

The lawyer leaned toward him again. "We'll push to delay trial until final psychiatric report comes through. Gives us time."

"I don't need time," Nolan muttered.

"You need leverage," his lawyer corrected. "Time gives us that."

The hearing continued—brief mentions of dates, jury selection prep, and the prosecution's intent to call multiple witnesses, some anonymous. Nolan didn't flinch.

Finally, the judge slammed his gavel again.

"Hearing adjourned. Next pre-trial session in three weeks. Defendant to be remanded to Arkham Asylum in the interim."

The cuffs snapped back around his wrists. The guards moved in, and Nolan stood, face unreadable.

As they led him back through the courtroom door, his lawyer called out softly, just loud enough to reach him:

"Your friends in the underpass say hi. Stay patient."

Nolan didn't look back.

***

A cold rain slicked the asphalt above Gotham's underbelly, but down in the tunnels beneath Old Gotham Station, business moved as steadily as ever. The low thrum of generators echoed across the iron ribs of the tunnel walls, casting fractured shadows across stockpiles of stolen goods, cash bricks wrapped in plastic, and crates of unregistered weapons—spoils from Janus Cosmetics and what remained of Black Mask's crumbling network.

Around a repurposed railway table, the four de facto leaders of the Underpass Society had gathered. The light was dim, but their voices carried the weight of people who weren't just surviving anymore they were in control kind of odd for people that used to be homeless.

Marcy Liu, her gray braid tied back tightly, flicked through a folder thick with purchase orders and payout logs. "We've rerouted every lane Black Mask used to launder his money through Janus. As of last night, we've got the full map clients, drop times, who's still loyal. This could keep us funded for years if we're smart."

"Yeah, but smart don't mean safe," Dre Matthews muttered. He leaned back in a folding chair far too small for his heavy-set frame, rubbing his jaw with a scarred hand. "We ain't got our face anymore. We're ghosts without someone in charge."

Naima stood stiffly against the wall, arms folded tight across her chest. "Business is still running. The lieutenants are following their orders. But morale's getting thin. Nolan was the spine holding us straight. No one's cracked, not yet, but they're restless."

Terrell 'Stitch' Gaines lit a match with one hand and held it over a cracked map of Gotham. The light danced over the routes they'd carved through the city's infrastructure—their veins, now pulsing with stolen wealth and danger. "No one talks like he did. Ain't one of us who can keep them looking forward the way he could."

"He knew how to make people feel like they belonged," Marcy added quietly. "Even the broken ones."

There was silence for a moment, the kind that came with the weight of absence.

Then Dre leaned forward. "So how the hell do we talk to him?"

Stitch looked up from the flickering match. "Can't just waltz into Arkham and hand him a burner. They check everything in there."

Naima spoke without moving from her post. "We need someone inside. A delivery. A plant. Something to open a channel."

Marcy nodded slowly. "Surely there is someone we can convince to deliver a phone."

"Anyone on the list?" Dre asked.

"Not sure." 

Naima's voice was sharper now, focused, "but, in the meantime, we keep the seat warm for him. Streets don't sleep."

Marcy closed the folder and met each of their gazes in turn. "Until he's back, we're the voice he left behind. Let's make sure when he comes home, we can show progress."

—

A/N: this might seem like a rehash of "a bizarre situations" court scene but it's not they are two different hearings in hindsight going straight to jury selection would have been best lmao.