Chapter 45 : The Judge's Secrets
The Morrison mansion sprawled across two acres of manicured grounds in Gotham's most exclusive suburb. Stone walls, iron gates, the accumulated security of a man who had made powerful enemies throughout his career on the bench.
Judge Andrew Morrison. Corrupt to his bones. Connected to half the criminal enterprises in the city, taking bribes and delivering verdicts for anyone who met his price. The kind of man who made Gotham what it was—not the street criminals, but the respectable ones who wore suits and wielded gavels.
Selina had been researching him for months. Tonight, we were putting that research to use.
"Security patrol just passed the east wing," her voice murmured through my earpiece. "You have seven minutes before the next sweep."
"Copy that." I worked at the junction box on the mansion's exterior, gloved hands moving with practiced precision. The alarm system was sophisticated but not impossible—standard high-end civilian installation, nothing military-grade. "Camera loop is active. You're clear to move."
"Moving."
I watched her scale the wall like it was the most natural thing in the world—catsuit blending with shadows, movements fluid and certain. This was who Selina really was. Not the woman who'd been pacing our penthouse for weeks, restless and frustrated. This Selina was alive.
The camera feeds on my tablet showed empty hallways, looped footage hiding our presence. I'd studied Morrison's security for three days, mapping patrol routes, identifying blind spots, finding the vulnerabilities that always existed when rich men trusted technology more than vigilance.
"Second floor," Selina reported. "Approaching the study."
"Guard position?"
"Three of them, all on the ground floor. One in the security office, two on patrol." A pause. "Morrison himself is in the master bedroom. Third floor. Sleeping."
"Good. Let's keep it that way."
I made my way to the service entrance—the one the catering staff used during Morrison's frequent parties. My copied keycard worked on the third try, and I slipped inside to a darkened kitchen that smelled of copper pots and old money.
"I'm in. Coming up the service stairs."
"Copy. Safe is behind the painting in the study. Big landscape. Ugly as sin."
"How do you know it's ugly?"
"Because rich men with no taste always buy ugly landscapes to prove they have taste."
I smiled despite myself. This was what we'd been missing—the banter, the teamwork, the shared danger that made everything else feel distant and unimportant.
The service stairs brought me to the second floor without incident. Selina was already in the study, running her fingers along the frame of a painting that did indeed feature an ugly landscape—muddy browns and greens, meant to evoke some ancestral hunting ground that Morrison's family had never actually owned.
"Found it." She lifted the painting away, revealing a wall safe. Modern, electronic, the kind that cost fifty thousand dollars and was supposed to be uncrackable.
Selina cracked it in eight minutes.
"Personal best," she whispered, grinning. When she turned to look at me, her eyes were alive with the thrill of it. "God, I missed this."
"So did I."
The safe's contents were everything we'd hoped for. Cash—about thirty-five thousand in mixed bills. Documents revealing systematic bribery: payments from defense attorneys, prosecutors, private prison companies. Photos that suggested even worse—Morrison with known underage trafficking connections, faces I recognized from GCPD wanted bulletins.
"This is enough to destroy him," I said, photographing everything for our records.
"That's the idea." Selina filled her bag with the most incriminating materials. "Though personally, I'm more interested in the leverage than the destruction. A judge in our pocket could be useful."
"Look at you, thinking strategically."
"I learned from the best." She kissed me quickly, impulsively. "Let's get out of here before our luck runs out."
The exit should have been clean. Would have been clean, if guard number four hadn't decided to return from his bathroom break at precisely the wrong moment.
He came around the corner just as we reached the ground floor—younger than I expected, alert, hand already moving toward his radio.
I closed the distance before he could transmit. The chokehold was clean, controlled, exactly as I'd practiced. The guard struggled for eight seconds, then went limp in my arms. Still breathing, would wake up with a headache and confusion, no permanent damage.
"Remind me to never make you angry," Selina said as I lowered him to the floor.
"He'll be fine. But we should move."
We were out and clear within fifteen minutes, the Morrison mansion receding in the rearview mirror as Selina drove us through empty suburban streets. The adrenaline high was intoxicating—not just from the heist, but from doing it together.
"That was—" I started.
"Perfect," Selina finished. "That was perfect."
We didn't go back to the penthouse. Instead, Selina drove to a building I didn't recognize—an abandoned commercial property in the theater district, with roof access and a view of the entire city.
"My contingency spot," she explained as we climbed. "For when I need to disappear. I've never brought anyone here before."
The roof was cold, but Selina produced a blanket and a bottle of champagne from a hidden cache. We sat on the building's edge, feet dangling over nothing, the city spread below us like a tapestry of lights and shadows.
"This is what I needed," she said, popping the champagne. "Not the heist. Well, yes, the heist. But this." She gestured vaguely. "Us. Together. Actually doing something instead of just managing things."
"I'm sorry I forgot that."
"Don't be sorry. Just don't forget again." She handed me the bottle. "I love what you've built, Darek. I'm proud of you. But the empire isn't why I fell in love with you. It isn't what makes me want to stay."
"What does?"
"This." She leaned against me. "The man who'll abandon his post to come rescue me. Who'll plan a heist because I'm feeling caged. Who looks at me like I'm the most important thing in his world, not just another asset in his portfolio."
"You are the most important thing in my world."
"I know." She kissed me—properly this time, deep and slow. "But sometimes I need reminding. And so do you."
The champagne was good. The night was cold but neither of us cared. We talked about nothing important—memories, jokes, the kind of conversation that had been missing for too long.
When we finally made it back to the penthouse, the sky was beginning to lighten. We were exhausted, champagne-drunk, and closer than we'd been in weeks.
"Stay," I said as we reached the bedroom door. It was a question, not a statement.
"I am," she said. And she meant more than just tonight.
We fell asleep tangled together, the documents from Morrison's safe forgotten on the kitchen table, the empire and its demands held at bay for one more morning.
It wouldn't last. The world would intrude, the responsibilities would return, the weight of everything I'd built would press down again.
But for now—for this moment—everything felt possible.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Reviews and Power Stones keep the heat on!
Want to see what happens before the "heroes" do?
Secure your spot in the inner circle on Patreon. Skip the weekly wait and read ahead:
💵 Hustler [$7]: 15 Chapters ahead.
⚖️ Enforcer [$11]: 20 Chapters ahead.
👑 Kingpin [$16]: 25 Chapters ahead.
Periodic drops. Check on Patreon for the full release list.
👉 Join the Syndicate: patreon.com/Anti_hero_fanfic