"So, Mr. Cobblepot, have you made up your mind?"
"Mr. Cobblepot, our time is limited. Hurry up and sign this document!"
The Court was pressuring him over the phone, while the Jewish United Consortium of Gotham City urged him impatiently from across the conference table. This was hardly the first time Oswald had felt pressure.
It reminded him of the predicament he had faced when he took over the family business from his father six months ago.
A cash flow that could collapse at any moment, loans scraped together from everywhere, financial statements awash in red-Oswald, who had spent some time as a gang boss, could hardly believe his father had kept the terminally ill family gasping for breath for a full decade.
And just look at what those two bastards whose heads he had blown apart had done!
Oswald did not even want to call them family, let alone "brothers."
Those two bastards had maintained their extravagant lifestyles throughout the family's difficulties, buying luxury goods and throwing lavish parties. They had even mortgaged a textile mill their father had entrusted to them to the Jewish United Consortium for a pittance to pay off gambling debts.
No wonder Oswald, parachuted into the family's succession meeting, had won the support of the vast majority of his relatives without any foundation of his own.
They really did look down on Oswald for his gang background, but their hatred for those two worthless lumps, William Cobblepot and Jason Cobblepot, was equally real.
And when the private doctor announced Tucker's death and the lawyer read out his will, the whole drama reached its climax.
"The heir-Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot!"
Hearing that unbelievable answer, the brothers exploded like a High-Explosive Grenade with its pin pulled. William smashed a teacup and saucer, while Jason charged at Oswald