Chapter Text
Somehow, the game—officially dubbed The Widow’s Club Murder Mystery (Starring Everyone, Especially Tim) —lasted five full hours.
By the end, Jason had been “arrested” for tax evasion and general smugness. Steph had “fainted” a record seven times. Cass “confessed,” then promptly “deflected,” and ultimately vanished into the fog with eerie silence. Damian tried to strangle Dick with a feather boa—an act that, debatably, matched the aesthetic.
Duke nearly convinced everyone he was the real detective—while simultaneously managing to frame every single person in the room. Including Bruce. Twice.
And Bruce? Bruce never broke character… though by hour three, he did quietly retreat into the study long enough to place a call.
“Lucius,” Bruce said in a low, urgent tone the moment the line picked up, “I need you to come to the manor. Now.”
There was a beat of silence before Lucius’s voice came through, calm and mildly amused.
“Well, hello to you too. How are you this evening?”
Bruce exhaled. “…I’m fine,” then added “It’s a family thing.”
“Ah.” Lucius sounded far too pleased. “So, not business.”
“No,” Bruce admitted. “Just… another adult presence would help. Come to the manor.”
Lucius chuckled, smooth and knowing. “Tell me, Bruce—how many people did you try for help before me?”
Bruce’s jaw tightened. “…That doesn’t matter.”
“So, quite a few, then.”
Bruce didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
“Mm. I see.” Lucius leaned on the silence just long enough to make Bruce regret the request. “You know, I’ve weathered my fair share of chaos at WE while you disappeared at…opportune times. And now, after years of missing various meetings, suddenly you’d like me to sacrifice my quiet evening?”
“I won’t miss the next three,” Bruce said immediately.
Lucius gave a short, amused hum. “Bruce, you’ll miss them. You always do.”
“Lucius”
“But,” Lucius went on, his tone smooth with just a hint of amusement, “I’ll be generous. I won’t come myself, but I’ll send reinforcements. Someone who can share the… burden of your current predicament.”
Bruce frowned. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely,” Lucius admitted.
Click.
There was a knock at the manor door not ten minutes later.
Alfred opened it to reveal Luke Fox, looking mildly confused but composed. “Dad said you needed me.”
“Right this way, Master Luke,” Alfred said, voice calm as ever, “you’ll want to see what you’ve walked into.”
Luke’s eyes swept the room, taking in the feathered robes, mood lighting, and barely contained chaos. Then, with a small smirk, he straightened his posture and followed Alfred to a table in the corner where a wooden box sat, filled with folded cards.
“Master Tim anticipated extra players,” Alfred explained. “Each card is a character, ready to slot into the narrative seamlessly. Pick one, and you’re in.”
Luke reached into the box and pulled a card. Unfolding it, he read aloud: “Lost Heir.” His voice carried a dramatic flourish, emphasizing each word. “The secret heir, long hidden from the world… until now.”
Tim’s grin nearly split his face. “Perfect! You’re exactly who the story needed!”
Luke glanced at the room, then, leaning slightly on the table with mock gravity, added, “I shall claim my birthright… and seek vengeance for the slights committed against my fortune.”
Damian raised an eyebrow. “He’s good.”
Luke swept his arm theatrically toward the room. “All of you are suspects in this tragic tale, and I will discover the truth.”
Steph flung herself dramatically across the couch. “ANOTHER HEIR?!”
Jason groaned into his hands. “We’re never getting out of this alive.”
Bruce glared at the phone still in his hand. “…You’re making this worse,” he muttered to the absent Lucius.
And somewhere, in his own quiet living room, Lucius Fox was no doubt smiling.