At twelve minutes past midnight, Milos failed to deliver the final password.
The phone at the Falcone Manor rang first.
Carmine Falcone sat in the small dining room, a floor plan of the North Shore Old Clearing Center spread before him. The B-4 reserve warehouse was circled in red at the bottom, with three loading ramps leading east, west, and north.
The man guarding the door answered the phone, listened for a few seconds, then immediately covered the receiver.
"Milos is dead."
Carmine looked up.
"What about the password?"
"The pickup crew never received it."
Everyone in the small dining room looked at the plan on the table.
The bank had staggered their schedules for them.
Maroni used the west ramp, Falcone the east. Vehicles went in, money changed boxes, ledgers changed covers, and when they came out, they became another company's business receipts.
They had followed these rules for years.
After Bruce Wayne publicly blocked the bank, the old branch no longer dared accept money. Cash, guns, ledgers, and people who needed to disappear were all left underground, awaiting one final transfer on Christmas Eve.
Originally, as long as Milos delivered the password, the two sides could still keep their schedules separate.
Now the password had failed to arrive.
Carmine picked up the phone on the table.
"Send the convoy into B-4 early."
The man in charge of transport paused on the other end.
"Maroni's time slot isn't over yet."
"That's Sal's problem."
The North Shore Old Clearing Center had been built beneath an abandoned freight warehouse.
The aboveground windows had been bricked up, and the sign had been removed. But someone had kept maintaining the three loading ramps. The oil on the rolling doors was still fresh, and there was no rust around the keyholes.
The Falcone