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Bruce knew going to galas concussed was always a bad idea. Alfred was always warning him nothing good came from doing so. Here he was listening to another elite drone on about numbers, packing and shipping, and field goals for their company. He wasn’t paying too much attention and was looking for a way to get away from the visiting billionaire to Gotham. Yes, he had a file on the guy, but he had a file on everybody. Bruce takes a drink from his glass, alcohol, perfect for his concussion. Tapping his com in a pattern that let his kids know they are free to ruin this gala he endures the mental attack of mind numbing speech.
Taking in the area, Bruce, spots one of his kids walking towards him. This was usually a good strategy to get others to go away. Introduce a kid or two, have the opposing party insult his child, he was a bad dad for this, and he is blaming the concussion completely, and then go off on said insulting party member making him look like an overprotecting parent.
“Pardon me Mr. Masters, but have I introduced you to any of my children. I believe I see one heading this way.” Bruce cutting off his chatty companion. The one in question stops short, and a voice replies over the comm.
“Father none of us are currently at your location.” Damian’s voice, “Have you adopted another without telling us again?”
Masters takes in the child that walks up getting a vicious smile on his face, “Mr. Wayne, I heard that you have a habit of adopting any black hair, blue eyed teen but this one isn’t yours, he’s mine actually.”
“You wish fruitloop,” came the fast reply of the teen. “Names Danny Fenton and I’m here with the Mansons tonight and noticed you were causing death by boredom.”
“Nonsense Daniel, Brucie here was enjoying my company.”
Bruce stared at Danny hard. Somewhere inside his brain neurons fired that shouldn’t and his mouth opened and did that thing people do. He said something.. “Oh, Fenton. How are Maddie and Jack doing? I haven’t seen them since we spent that night together seventeen years ago.” The reactions of both Vald Masters and the sixteen year old Danny Fenton had him revisit the thought, going to galas concussed is bad.