Harvey did not immediately answer Chen Mo's suggestion to "look into it together."
The fire in the reserve warehouse was still burning.
Water from the fire hoses flowed down the ramp, mixed with paper ash, oil, and the charred edges of banknotes. Several cash boxes had been dragged against the wall, their lids warped, the money inside fused into hard black lumps. Wind poured through the old ventilation shaft, blowing scraps of paper against the wire mesh, only for the water to soak them and wash them back to the floor.
The people who had been rescued sat outside the warehouse, wrapped in blankets.
Some clutched ledgers, some hugged their own arms, and others kept staring down at their shoes, as though they could not believe they had really walked out of that wire enclosure.
By the time Gordon put the last witness into a police car, dawn had broken.
Batman stood outside the ramp.
Ash stained the hem of his cape, and the reserve warehouse floor plan was still displayed on his wrist screen. Once the fire had been brought under control, what remained in B-4 was ledgers, hard drives, guns, vehicle license plates, and living people.
Not much money remained.
Gordon took a cup of coffee from an officer, had a sip, and immediately grimaced.
"The morning after Christmas. Precinct coffee. Cold."
Batman said nothing.
"You're right not to drink it." Gordon held the cup a little farther away. "This stuff is harder to swallow than that pile of burned money last night."
Officers in the distance were recording evidence numbers.
One crate of hard drives.
Three crates of ledgers.
Seven long guns.
A dozen or so vehicle license plates.
Nine living people.
Gordon looked at the list, his pen pausing for several seconds.
"At least the people