Of course, Damian's good mood faded as soon as he found a note in his father’s handwriting waiting on his desk. “An apology letter to Comissionor Gordon.” He reminded himself that Fake Drake had said his father loved him, but he was still stung by the treatment. He had nothing to apologize for. Well, perhaps the fire but he wasn't going to admit
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"I could have waited that out, but then he made it clear that unless you confirmed my story, he’d regard me as someone trying to extort you for money, a runaway or a kidnap victim. I have no official identity, so I'd be trapped. Mother said she would give me no aid from the League, so none of them would come for me. So I did what I had to. I would have merely taken money from a bank account I siphoned off, and hidden myself for a time in an abandoned League safe house." He was aware he was showing his hand to his father, but he would be shocked if Father hadn’t already found the information out.
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Something else occurs to him. "Do you not trust me?"
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The second question made him start. "I don't understand your question, Father." What did that mean, trust? He didn't trust his mother, he obeyed her. Trust was something fools did.
His own mother had allowed him to be blown up the first time he had met his father. His father had replaced him with street rats. His ninjas obeyed him because they believed Grandfather to be a Messiah. Grandfather would happily use him for a new body. He...trusted Grayson a little. "I trust in what I know of my parents." It was as good a lie as he could say.
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"I. Am not the best example. Sometimes I'm not good with people and think that I need to shut myself away. But I know that doesn't work. I've seen the damage it does. Not just to me or those I care about. But to the city as well.
"We can't live in isolation, Damian."
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