Inside the Iceberg Casino, deep within a quiet office sealed off from the gambling floor, Ogilvy sat with his most trusted subordinate.
The thick walls blocked out all sound. No music. No laughter. No trace of the chaos outside.
What took place here would never reach anyone else's ears.
Their conversation, however, revolved around something chilling.
The murder of their own companions.
"Boss, you can rest easy," the subordinate said with a twisted smile. "That foolish woman Lark and that fat pig Grayletard are already in hell, shaking hands with Satan."
Ogilvy leaned back in his chair, his expression calm, almost bored.
"Were there any traces left behind?" he asked lightly.
"Absolutely not," the man replied without hesitation, patting his chest confidently.
"I bribed prison guards and had the weapon smuggled inside. Our people handled the job from the inside. After that, everyone who knew about it was silenced."
He lowered his voice, pride creeping into his tone.
"I used a false identity the entire time. No one knows who I really am, and there's no way this leads back to you."
Ogilvy's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What about the surveillance?"
"Already handled," the subordinate answered quickly.
"I had several key cameras damaged ahead of time. The repair crew won't enter the prison until tomorrow morning."
He paused, then added casually, "Besides, Lark and Grayletard made enemies all over Gotham—and even beyond. Plenty of people had reasons to want them dead. No one will suspect us."
Only then did Ogilvy nod.
"Well done," he said. "Still, never lower your guard. That old Penguin is far more dangerous than he looks."
The subordinate hesitated, then frowned slightly.
"Boss… there's something I don't quite understand."
Ogilvy raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Those two messed up the money laundering operation, sure. But they were loyal veterans—people who followed Penguin for years. Even if he's ruthless, wouldn't he still care a little?"
The man continued cautiously, "Now that they've died mysteriously, if Penguin digs deep into this… isn't there a chance it could point back to us?"
"They were already headed for prison," he added.
"Ten years, maybe more. They wouldn't have posed any threat at all. If you're still wary of Penguin, why take such a risk?"
Ogilvy chuckled.
Then he raised two fingers.
"You made two mistakes," he said coldly.
"First," he continued, lowering one finger, "Penguin is a monster without warmth. He doesn't care about loyalty—only image."
"If Lark and Grayletard die in prison, he'll roar about revenge, shout about justice… and then start a gang war."
"Not because he cares about them," Ogilvy sneered.
"But because Penguin's reputation demands blood."
He dropped the second finger.
"Second," Ogilvy said slowly, "those two were still a threat—even behind bars."
The subordinate froze.
"Lark controlled the Iceberg Casino. Grayletard controlled laundering and shipping. Together, they handled unimaginable amounts of money."
"They had enemies, yes—but they also had allies. Parole was never impossible."
Ogilvy's eyes turned sharp.
"If they were ever released, everything I've built would collapse overnight."
"They were Penguin's confidants. If they came back, my position would be worthless."
The subordinate nodded slowly, beginning to understand.
What Ogilvy didn't say was even more important.
He wanted Penguin to believe Gotham's gangs were growing restless.
Two senior subordinates dying in prison would force Penguin's hand.
To maintain dominance, Penguin would ignite bloodshed.
And in that chaos—
Ogilvy would rise.
His foundation was still weak. The only way to grow fast was to stand in Penguin's shadow… until the day that shadow could be replaced.
"That's incredible," the subordinate said in awe.
"Your plan connects perfectly."
He leaned forward excitedly.
"First, you had me spread the rumor that the Pink Dream was fake. That attracted attention. Once the laundering trail surfaced, Lark and Grayletard were doomed."
"Then you shifted Penguin's focus to Kaito Kid and used the chaos to erase them completely."
The flattery grew thicker.
"You killed two loyal elders without lifting a finger, seized control of the Iceberg Casino, and removed rivals in one stroke."
"Boss… the day you replace Penguin doesn't feel far away anymore."
Ogilvy snorted.
"Kaito Kid wasn't part of my plan," he admitted.
"But his appearance worked in my favor."
"If he hadn't targeted the Pink Dream, I would've struggled to leak the laundering evidence quietly."
He smiled faintly.
"His Notice saved me a great deal of effort."
"That means luck is on your side," the subordinate laughed.
"Lady Luck herself is backing you."
Ogilvy listened to the praise calmly.
Then he said softly, "If I ever control this city… you'll be remembered as my greatest contributor."
Bang.
The gunshot echoed once.
Ogilvy's right hand was already holding a pistol.
The bullet went straight through the subordinate's forehead.
The man collapsed instantly.
Both of them still wore smiles.
Ogilvy's smile faded slowly.
He stared at the corpse without emotion, then pressed a black button on his desk.
Moments later, several figures in black uniforms entered the room, carrying unfamiliar tools.
Without speaking, they zipped the body into a bag and scrubbed the blood from the floor.
Their movements were efficient.
Professional.
When they finished, they left as silently as they had arrived.
No one asked questions.
No one looked surprised.
Because this was routine.
They were the Iceberg Casino's cleaners.
Penguin despised cheating in his casino. Reputation mattered more than money.
Anyone foolish enough to cheat paid with their life—and someone had to erase the evidence.
These cleaners were experts.
They lived by a single rule:
The more you know, the faster you die.
So they never knew anything.
In truth, when Lark controlled the casino, far more bodies had passed through this room.
Ogilvy merely continued the tradition.
Once the door closed, Ogilvy walked to the window.
The lights of Gotham glittered beneath the night sky.
His reflection stared back at him—dark, calm, calculating.
No one knew what plan he was brewing next.
But Gotham would feel it soon.
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