Dinner Plans

The school called it a "formal dinner," but it was mostly a staring contest.

The Excelsior Academy, being the foremost center of education for the children of the wealthy, held a bi-annual formal dinner for the families who donated the most amount of money to the school.

At the ornately-designed ebony table sat representatives from four families: the Queens, the Waynes, the Luthors, and the Edges.
Oliver sat with his two parents at one side of the long table, his mother chattering with Sarah Edge. Vincent Edge, Sarah's husband, owned a massive media corporation in Metropolis--the only one that LuthorCorp didn't own. Vincent and Sarah's son, Morgan, attended Excelsior despite his relatively low grades.
Oliver, bored out of his mind, tried to make friendly eye contact with Morgan across the table, but Morgan seemed to be perfectly set on ignoring everyone else in the room, keeping his eyes on his plate of roast duck.
Lionel and Lex sat toward the table's head, across from Bruce.
Bruce had come alone. He could have asked Lucius or Alfred to come along, but he specifically asked them not to.  This was a dinner for students and their parents.  His parents were dead.  No one would replace them.

Terrence Reynolds, the school principal, sat at the table's head, completely fed up with the obvious unspoken resentment that the men at the table had towards one another.  He was African-American, average height, slightly heavy-set, and easily angered. He didn't care in the slightest about the egos of the "Excelsior Royal Families"; he only allowed this dinner to be held because he knew that the satiated egos of the families were the only reason the school was so well-funded.

He swallowed his pride and took a quiet, deep breath. He needed to say this.  "If I could have your attention for a moment, please?"
The attendees all stopped eating and talking for a moment, turning to face him.
"Though I've said it before, I want to apologize again for the incident three weeks ago.  We—"
Lionel interrupted.  "Oh, come now, Mr. Reynolds, how exactly were you supposed to defend the school against an attack by heavily-armed gunmen?  Would you fortify the building with armed guards at every doorway?  Called in the National Guard?  No, Mr. Reynolds, I think the school did an admirable job.  After all, no one was hurt."
"Yeah," Victor Edge interjected with his signature New York accent, "just how was that, exactly?  Morgan tells me that the thugs just dropped to the floor, like somethin' hit 'em."

Reynolds had been waiting for this moment all day.  He'd answered the question countless times, always with the same answer: "I couldn't tell you, Mr. Edge.  I was out-of-state during the incident..."
"Well 'aint that convenient," Vincent interjected.
Reynolds ignored the comment and continued. "...and reports have been inconclusive."

"So you have... no idea what actually happened?"
When the attendees heard Laura Queen's question, they all looked down towards the end of the table in surprise.  She'd not joined into the main conversation all night.  Her face revealed a deep concern: she was worried about what had happened to her son, despite his claims that he was alright.
When Lex saw Laura's worried face, he slowly leaned back in his chair.  She reminded him a little of his own mother, and he didn't want everyone else to see his eyes welling up a little.  His own mother had died from a rare and unexplained illness, leaving him alone with his unaffectionate, demanding father.
"Mom, nothing happened," Oliver said.  "They just fell over, all at once.  Right, Lex?"
Lex momentarily looked back at Oliver and nodded.  They'd been held in the same room, and both saw the same unexplained event.  In fact, everyone in the school had given the exact same report: every gunman in the entire building fell unconscious at the same time, with no apparent cause.  Some reported a simultaneous gust of wind; others didn't.

Now that this subject had been brought up, Reynolds knew it would be the focus of the rest of the evening.  He was not looking forward to it.  As if in answer to his thoughts, Reynolds' secretary quietly walked in the room, moving over to whisper in his ear.  His eyes widened with her news, and he took a brief second to compose himself before speaking to his guests.
"I've just been informed that a man matching Floyd Lawton's description is attempting to rob a bank two blocks from here."
The room erupted with panicked questions.
"What!?"
"I thought he was in jail!"
"Are we in danger?!"
"Which bank?"
"Where are the police?"

"Stay calm, everyone," Reynolds replied in a very firm and slightly intimidating voice. "The police have patrol cars waiting downstairs; they will escort you safely to your homes."

The two mothers continued panicking while Vincent Edge and Robert Queen angrily asked Reynolds for information that he didn't have.  Bruce and Oliver kept completely calm.  They looked at one another across the table, exchanging looks of calm determination.  They'd been through this before, and they knew what to expect.  Neither of them were the type to be taken advantage of because of their relative youth: if they could help it, they would make sure they and their loved ones—or, in this case, Oliver's loved ones—got home safe.  As the dinner guests all got up from their seats and gathered together into a small, slightly hysterical crowd, Oliver whispered to Bruce: "I think we're the sanest people here."
Bruce nearly smirked at that, but stopped when he noticed Lionel Luthor's face:
Completely calm, merely observing the situation.  Bruce knew a thing or two about how to read human facial expressions—he'd taken a couple of college-level courses in criminal psychology—and Lionel portrayed no hint of surprise or concern.  The average observer might conclude that Lionel was simply a very composed man, but Bruce knew better: Lionel knew it was coming.

As the group walked down the stairway towards the school's entrance, Oliver and Bruce stayed at the front, with Lex trailing just behind them.  Bruce didn't mind Lex's presence.  From what he could tell, Lex had changed quite a bit in the past month or two since the attack on Bruce's tower.  His random and infantile mocking of Bruce had completely ceased, and he was much more reserved.  Bruce speculated that Lex and Lionel weren't exactly on the same page, probably because Lex actually had a conscience.   That didn't make Lex a friend by any means, but it also meant that he wasn't exactly a threat either.
"Are we even safe in our homes?" Oliver asked.  "I mean, the guy escaped from here last time, even after he was surrounded by cops.  My place isn't exactly bulletproof."
"Mine is." Bruce replied.  "Take your family there; I'll call Alfred to let him know you're coming."
Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Bruce.  Hey, wait, where are you going?"
"I've got somewhere else to be," he cryptically replied as they walked through the front doors.  Instead of moving forward and entering one of the police cruisers parked on the street in front of them, Bruce turned right and walked towards his own car, sitting in the school parking lot.
Other teens at Excelsior drove flashier vehicles; ones that were meant for looks and not much else.  Bruce's car was every bit as expensive—if not more—but it wasn't meant merely for looks; it was meant for speed.  On the outside, it looked like a brand-new, jet-black Mustang, but as soon as the engine roared to life, it was obvious that it was something else entirely.
Bruce pulled out his phone and hit the fifth number on his speed-dial.  He would call Alfred in a moment, but he needed to call someone else first.  He heard the other side of the line pick up, and he started talking before they could respond.  "Bart, Deadshot's robbing a bank two blocks from Excelsior.  Meet me there. Now."