Interrogate the boss

The boss, sensing his leverage was gone, began to laugh. It wasn’t the manic laugh of a psychopath, but the genuine, belly-aching chuckle of a man who had seen something truly absurd.

"You think this was about proving you’re fragile?" he gasped, shaking his head as he looked at Laurel. "Ms. Lance, I was hired by the Bertinelli syndicate. You were supposed to be the star witness in their racketeering case. I was told to grab the ADA, bring her here, and keep her quiet until the trial was over."

He gestured vaguely at Laurel's unclad form. "No one—and I mean no one—expected you to be in the shower. My team called me in a panic. They said, 'Boss, she’s completely naked and she’s beating us with a towel.' I told them to just roll with it."

Laurel’s deadpan mask finally cracked. A hot, prickly flush of genuine humiliation crawled up her neck. For all her talk of indifference, hearing the clinical, professional breakdown of her "naked towel fight" from the man who ordered it was a different kind of sting.

"And then her sister shows up," the boss continued, grinning at Sara. "The legendary White Canary. We had a spare set of chains and a very bored security detail. Stripping you wasn't about the mission, Sara—that was just for a bit of fun. A little bonus for the boys. Honestly, the entire situation was just... hilarious."

"Hilarious," Sara echoed, her voice dropping an octave. She gripped her escrima sticks so hard her knuckles turned white. Her usual bravado was flickering under the weight of the man’s smugness.

Laurel felt the weight of every eye in the room again. She wasn't just a hero right now; she was a punchline. The mental image of herself streaking across Star City, dodging headlights and hiding behind dumpsters, suddenly felt less like a survival story and more like a comedy of errors.

"Great," Laurel muttered, her shoulders finally slumping slightly as she looked at her bare feet. "Just my luck. I’m the only ADA in history whose closing arguments are going to be overshadowed by my 'birthday suit' debut." She looked at Oliver, her eyes tired. "Let’s just... arrest him. I want to go home and sleep for a week."

Oliver didn't lower his bow. He looked at the boss, then back at Laurel, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. "Laurel, wait. If we hand him over to the SCPD, he’s going to talk. He’ll tell the press, the jury, the judge... everything. What if he tells anyone? Your reputation as ADA will be destroyed. You could lose your license."

Laurel looked at the boss, who was currently giving her a mocking wink, and then out toward the shuttered windows of the warehouse, imagining the city beyond.

"Oliver," she said, her voice sounding small but resigned. "Half the town saw me in my birthday suit tonight. I smashed a window at the Mayor’s campaign office while naked. I fought three guys in an alley while naked. I even turned down a coat from a nice lady on 4th Street because I was in too much of a rush."

She let out a short, bitter laugh and looked at her sister. Sara just gave a grim, empathetic nod.

"No one is going to forget this," Laurel continued, turning back to the boss with a look of pure, exhausted spite. "My reputation is already a smudge on the sidewalk. I’ll just have to endure it. But if I don't put this man in a cell, then all of this—the cold, the sweat, the humiliation—it was for nothing."

She stepped forward, the rifle still in her hand, and looked the boss in the eye. "Laugh all you want. You're going to be doing it from Iron Heights."