| tropolis - October 31
Samantha Vanaver was the heiress to the Vanaver fortune—one of Gotham's wealthiest families, only a tier below the Waynes.
So when she invited Joseph to attend a Halloween costu charity gala benefiting those affected by the Hour of Chaos across Arica and the world, he saw little reason to refuse.
The Vanaver Estate in tropolis—chosen due to Gotham's current instability—was ablaze with light and teeming with paparazzi. Inside, the ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and gold accents. Champagne flowed freely as a string quartet perford gothic arrangents beneath vaulted ceilings.
Around Joseph stood the upper crust of tropolis and beyond—so of the wealthiest and most influential figures in Arica.
Max Lord. Veronica Cale. Michael Holt.
And many more.
Kori stood beside him, holding his arm as his plus-one. She wore a stunning purple gown that shimred like starlight, paired with silver opera gloves, delicate silver earrings, and a silver necklace set with a green gem—her Nanode in disguise.
Joseph couldn't help the faintly smug smirk he sent toward the envious glances drifting their way.
He himself wore a tailored black suit, a gold tie, and a Venetian gold-leaf mask. On his left wrist glead what appeared to be a sleek gold fitness tracker; on his right, a gold RoLex. Both were his Nth Bands.
It was Halloween.
Who would suspect they were dressed as themselves?
Waylon had also attended as Joseph's bodyguard. He stood off to the side among the other guards—though a noticeable gap separated him from the rest. No one seed eager to test whether the cannibalism rumors about Killer Croc were true.
Publicly, the event was marketed as a night of unity and healing for those affected by the Hour of Chaos.
In reality, it was a carefully curated display of networking, reputation managent, and quiet power recalibration with so severely affected by the Hour of Chaos and others dead, leaving a vacancy in their respective fields for the taking.
Joseph endured conversation after conversation with people he had no interest in, politely declining collaboration proposals wrapped in flattery and veiled opportunism.
Kori, anwhile, was delighted. The spectacle of Earth's elite fascinated her.
Unfortunately, Joseph now found himself trapped in what felt like an unskippable cutscene—with Simon Stagg, CEO of Stagg Enterprises.
Simon Stagg's face seed permanently twisted into a sneer of corporate superiority. His eyes swept over Joseph with open appraisal before lingering far too long on the gold-leaf mask. Then they shifted to Kori.
"Joseph Luthor," Stagg drawled, his voice smooth but coarse beneath the polish. He made no move to offer a handshake. "I've been watching you all evening. You have a talent for… high-value investnts. Impressive portfolio."
His gaze slid back to Kori.
"But your taste in accessories? Even more impressive."
He gestured lazily toward her with a crystal flute of amber liquid.
Kori tilted her head slightly, erald eyes flashing with curiosity that was rapidly cooling into irritation.
"Stagg," Joseph replied evenly, his voice dropping a register. "I don't appreciate the way you're speaking about my girlfriend. Unless you're here to donate to the victims of the Chaos, I suggest you move along."
Stagg chuckled—a dry, rattling sound. He stepped closer, invading their space, the scent of expensive tobacco clinging to him.
"Let's skip the act, boy. I appreciate rare acquisitions. I've never seen a specin quite like her. The height. The skin tone. Exotic. Even by Gotham standards."
His eyes traced the lines of Kori's dress again.
"Na a price. For the evening. Whatever collaboration fee you're thinking, I'll triple it. Everyone has a number, Joseph. What's hers?"
His hand reached—
And stopped.
Kori's silver-gloved fingers clamped around his wrist with crushing force.
The ballroom didn't go silent.
But for Joseph, the music stopped.
In an instant, his mind calculated a dozen thods of dismantling the man in front of him.
//A public Vitruvian maiming would be ill-advised. Alternatively, exposing his shell company, Blackwater Security—currently functioning as an illegal tahuman task force targeting his competitors—and initiating a hostile acquisition of Stagg Enterprises would prove both efficient and educational,// Nova intoned calmly.
Right. That works too.
Joseph laughed lightly, as though Stagg had delivered a clever joke. He leaned forward, voice soft enough to remain private.
"Simon," he whispered, "be ready. I'll deal with you later."
A fraction of killing intent slipped through.
Stagg's complexion drained instantly, turning a sickly pale. He tried to pull back, but Kori's grip held firm for another deliberate second before she released him abruptly.
He stumbled, nearly losing his footing.
"Enjoy the party," Joseph added pleasantly. "I hear the hors d'oeuvres are to die for."
Stagg didn't respond. He retreated quickly—then faster—vanishing into the crowd toward the exit.
Not walking.
Fleeing.
Kori leaned into Joseph's side, her grip tightening slightly around his arm. A faint glow shimred beneath her skin.
"Thank you for defending ," she murmured. "I was about to reduce him to ash."
Before Joseph could reply, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around both of them from behind.
"Well," ca a familiar voice, amused and warm, "what's got you two looking ready to start a war?"
They turned to see a familiar figure.
"Selina!" Kori exclaid, pulling her into a warm hug.
Selina Kyle wore a sleek black gown that clung like shadow, paired with subtle diamond jewelry and playful cat ears perched atop her dark hair.
"Just so creep," Joseph replied casually. "It's been a while. What are you doing here?"
Selina hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "I ca with Bruce Wayne."
A short distance behind her stood Bruce Wayne himself—tailored suit, black cape draped over his shoulders, and a stylized Batman mask resting atop his head like a decorative accessory. He was quietly conversing with Samantha Vanaver.
No one would ever suspect Gotham's carefree billionaire playboy of being the brooding Dark Knight.
Even if he did look slightly more exhausted than usual tonight.
"Is he okay to be walking around already?" Kori asked gently. Joseph had not exactly gone easy on him.
Selina blinked. "You know? How?"
Kori pointed at Joseph.
Because he tells her almost everything.
Almost because he excludes the parts about controlling the Light or operating under aliases like Bullseye.
Selina's curious gaze shifted to him.
An image Joseph had tried very hard to forget resurfaced in his mind. He shook his head slightly.
"Trust ," he muttered. "You don't want to know how I found out."
Selina's lips curved into a wicked grin. "Don't tell you caught us having—"
Joseph deadpanned. "Do you enjoy embarrassing on purpose?"
Both won burst into laughter.
Selina waved a dismissive hand. "Relax. Alfred patched him up. He's fine."
Her tone softened slightly.
"Between Clark's death and Dent humiliating him in front of the entire world, he'd be locking himself in that mansion and brooding for a month if I hadn't dragged him out."
As if summoned by na, Bruce excused himself from Samantha and made his way toward them.
He had just opened his mouth to speak when a microphone crackled through the speakers.
"If I could have everyone's attention, please."
Samantha Vanaver stepped onto the stage.
She delivered what could only be described as a polished, emotionally calibrated speech. Joseph only half-listened; most of it was crafted for optics and press soundbites.
Still, the core points were clear:
The Hour of Chaos exposed systemic fragility.
Wealth must be used to protect civilization.
Private power must step up when institutions fail.
Joseph caught the subtle nod toward the global relief infrastructure he'd funded through BellCoin—no nas ntioned, but the implication was obvious.
He might have been flattered.
But he understood exactly why she did it.
Then the lights dimd.
An emotional video montage played—families displaced, cities damaged, children thanking anonymous donors.
Even Joseph felt the room shift.
When the lights rose again, Samantha smiled.
"As an example, the Vanaver family will be donating thirty million dollars to this cause."
Applause.
Then the pledges began.
Veronica Cale: seventy-five million.
Max Lord: forty million.
Michael Holt: fifty million.
The numbers continued adding up.
Finally, Bruce spoke.
"I'll donate two hundred and fifty million."
He said it calmly, as if announcing the weather.
The room responded with respectful applause and a flurry of cara flashes.
It was expected.
Bruce Wayne had been swimming in money since birth.
Joseph stepped forward next.
"LuthorCorp will match every donation made tonight."
Silence.
A sharp, collective intake of breath rippled across the ballroom.
Then the murmurs began.
Applause followed—louder this ti.
So guests stared at him like he was reckless, a young heir throwing around inherited wealth without understanding its scale.
Others looked at him with admiration.
Or calculation.
Kori bead openly beside him.
To her, this wasn't strategy. It wasn't dominance.
It was kindness.
She believed in helping people without conditions.
She squeezed his arm proudly.
Bruce's expression tightened—barely noticeable, but there.
Selina's jaw dropped.
Joseph caught the look.
Stagg had been correct about one thing—his portfolio was impressive.
After unleashing Nova onto the global markets and allowing it to fully leverage LuthorCorp's assets, Joseph's net worth had exploded beyond anything he could have imagined a year ago.
He wasn't the broke kid Selina had once taught to pick locks and steal jewelry.
He was the richest man alive.
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