Chapter Text
“Are you sure we have to let them stay? Isn’t there any way to convince Father?”
“Your step-father is a sentimental fool and you know it. We’ll play along, let him have this. What we need to be concerned with is keeping their stay short. And most importantly, keeping her away from him. Whatever it takes. I will not be supplanted by some immigrant slut!”
Oswald nearly snapped his switchblade in half. What he wouldn’t give to shove it in that woman’s throat. How dare she, how dare she speak of his mother that way? If it had been any other person in the world, they would have been dead before they could have finished the sentence. He took a deep breath to steady himself, satisfied with his eavesdropping and prepared to sneak away, when Sasha spoke up again.
“I’m more worried about the son,” he could hear the grimace in her voice, “the mother has lost any charm she might have once had. You’re far better looking. But her son… there’s something wrong with that uneducated guttersnipe. Something in his eyes. Doesn’t he remind you of the other one?”
“Fuck,” Charles whispered, and Grace snapped, “Language! We are above such crassness, Charles.”
“But she’s right. I knew there was something familiar about him…”
“I thought I told the both of you to never mention the other one again. That part of lives is over, and we never have to think about it again. Not unless that bitch comes for the will. She can’t demand child support, can she? Not when the boy is full grown.”
Oswald rolled his eyes at their petty concerns, grit his teeth at the obvious gold-digging, and snuck away to ponder the rest of the conversation in private.
The other one.
The way they had said that, all of them. It wasn’t just a casual reference, it was as if that were the title of whomever they were referring to. A shameful family secret, perhaps? A scandal that could be used to blackmail them? His mother had instilled in him a love of certain classics and his mind strayed to Jane Eyre. Did Grace have a mad husband locked away somewhere? But why should Oswald remind his step-siblings of, whom, their father? That seemed… improbable.
A sibling.
Gertrud was a great believer in portents and omens. The certainty and clarity with which the answer came to him brought to mind those moments when she would collapse into her armchair, exclaiming that she had had a vision.
Grace had another child. One, Oswald was sure, that his father knew nothing about. What had Elijah said about their past? They had been mistreated and without his help who knew where they’d be. And if there was another child, that meant they must have been left behind.
Oh.
From the way they’d been talking, it didn’t sound like an accident. If he confronted them without evidence, they could cover it up. Play it off as him trying to supplant them. And Elijah knew them better. If he found the evidence and then confronted them, they could still play it off as an accident. Say they tried, but were too afraid to go back. He might be disappointed, but he’d forgive them.
No.
If Oswald wanted to expose their true selves to his father, there was only one infallible way to do it.
Oswald needed to find ‘the other one’.
~ ~ ~
Oswald had begun working for Fish Mooney at the age of seventeen, around the time he realized the long-term investment of education would never be able to support his mother. It had begun as the smallest work. Being already more educated than many in the gangs, Oswald was often assigned to double check the books, looking for inconsistencies that might mean someone was skimming. Sometimes he helped pack getaway vans for the thugs who would be using them. Other times he had to test Ms. Mooney’s food or drink to ensure it wasn’t poisoned. A few years of absolute grunt work later, he was promoted to a secondary errand boy – take bloodstained clothes to Ms. Mooney’s favorite cleaner and pray they would get clean, or wipe the brains off the wall after someone had stepped too far out of line. Now, finally, six years after joining her gang, Oswald was promoted to Umbrella Boy. Not a particularly prestigious position, to be sure, but highly beneficial to the right man. And Oswald knew he was the right man.
But he still had years of planning before setting those plans in motion. No, his position would be beneficial to him this very moment for a completely different reason.
“You’re asking me for a favor, boy?”
“I – I suppose you could say that,” Oswald nodded, laughing nervously.
Present yourself as weak, meek, reverent.
“Your information network is renowned. I don’t want to waste your time, or course, but with such efficient workers I don’t imagine a little peek into the lives of a couple civilians should be taxing on your operation. I hope I’m not overstepping,” he continued.
Compliment, create a divide with yourself on the bottom and them on the top. Reassure them you haven’t ‘gotten any ideas’.
“And why do you want to know about these people?” Fish asked, tapping one long fingernail idly against what could only be called a goblet.
“Let’s call it ‘personal revenge’,” Oswald answered, “They have done me a wrong, and in turn I may have uncovered something that I could use as blackmail, or more. But I need concrete proof of my theory and I cannot get that unless I know where they used to live and with whom they used to live. Again, Ms. Mooney, my apologies if this is asking too much…”
“Not at all, my dear,” she shook her head, gaze steady, “But why not ask me to simply… get rid of them for you? I’d be happy to do that, you know.”
“I do know, and I am eternally grateful. I just – the wrongs they have done to me are so personal, I want the revenge to be just as personal. And… they have deceived someone whose good opinion I value. I would rather expose them than be rid of them only to have their memories honored.”
Fish nodded slowly, “I believe you, boy. Very astute,” she rearranged herself on the chair, lifting the goblet, “You shall have your answers,” she waved her hands at another man, “You – go find the least busy of my people working intelligence. Tell them to find the past identities of – who was this, again?”
“Grace, Sasha, and Charles Van Dahl. A mother and her children. Their surname… does not belong to them. They all acquired it through Grace’s marriage.”
“Yes, tell them to look into these people. Find out everything you can about their lives before this marriage, specifically the father of the children and if there were any other children. And locate them.”
“Yes, Ms. Mooney,” the man nodded and exited the building promptly.
“There,” she said, turning back to Oswald, “You should have your answers before the week is out. Now why don’t you rub the ache out of these tired feet and we’ll call it even. It’s not equivalent, but I like you. You’re the best damn umbrella boy I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you, Ms. Mooney. For everything.”
“It was no trouble, boy.”