Councilman Richard Hayes worked late most nights, partly from dedication to public service but mostly to avoid going home to a wife who'd stopped pretending to love him years ago. His office on the fourth floor of City Hall was comfortable, private, and conveniently located near several restaurants where business was conducted with cash and handshakes.
He was reviewing zoning applications when the lights went out.
"Building maintenance," he muttered, reaching for his desk lamp. It didn't turn on either.
Emergency lighting cast pale shadows across his office. Hayes reached for his phone, then stopped. Someone was sitting in the chair across from his desk.
The figure wore a black suit and a white mask, featureless except for eye holes. Long dark hair fell to his shoulders. He sat perfectly still, hands folded in his lap.
"Who are you?" Hayes demanded, trying to keep his voice steady. "How did you get in here?"
"My name is Saguro," the figure said, his voice calm and measured. "I'm here to discuss your recent business dealings."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The Tricorner Development Project. Twelve million dollars in city funds allocated for low-income housing. Except the housing was never built, was it, Mr. Hayes?"
Hayes felt sweat beading on his forehead. "That project was cancelled due to environmental concerns."
"Environmental concerns." Saguro tilted his head slightly. "Is that what you told the families who were promised homes? The children who are still living in condemned buildings while you pocket their future?"
"You don't understand the complexities—"
"I understand perfectly." Saguro stood, and Hayes saw he was tall, perhaps six-foot-three, with the build of someone who stayed in excellent physical condition. "You stole from the poor to buy yourself a lake house. You voted against school funding while sending your own children to private academies. You preach about fiscal responsibility while taking bribes from developers."
"Those aren't bribes, they're campaign contributions—"
"Semantics." Saguro moved around the desk with fluid grace. "Tell me, Mr. Hayes, when you look in the mirror, do you see a public servant? Or do you see what you really are?"
Hayes tried to run, but Saguro was faster. A hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm, guided him back to his chair.
"Please," Hayes whispered. "I have a family."
"So did the people you stole from." Saguro pulled a rope from his jacket, the knot already tied. "So do the children who go to bed hungry while you dine at four-star restaurants. So do the elderly who die in winter because you voted against heating subsidies."
"I can change. I can make it right."
"Change?" Saguro's voice carried a note of genuine curiosity. "When? After the next election? After the next bribe? After the next family loses their home because you decided their needs were less important than your wallet?"
Hayes was crying now. "Please. God, please."
"God?" Saguro paused. "Do you think God approves of your work, Mr. Hayes? Do you think He smiles when you cash checks written with other people's suffering?"
The rope went around Hayes' neck with practiced efficiency. Saguro lifted him as if he weighed nothing, securing the other end to the light fixture.
"Justice served," Saguro said quietly, placing a handwritten note on Hayes' desk.
He left through the same window he'd entered, disappearing into Gotham's maze of rooftops and fire escapes. Behind him, Richard Hayes swayed gently in the emergency lighting, a message to anyone else who thought public office was a license to steal.