Lex had an excellent memory.

Faces. Numbers. Conversations. Deals.

He didn’t forget things that interested him.

So when he walked into the club in Gotham for a business meeting he didn’t want to have, and saw a woman on stage he knew he had seen before, he stopped walking.

Just slightly.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But enough.

He stood there for a moment, watching, expression thoughtful instead of entertained, like he was trying to solve a problem instead of enjoy a show.

“…Five years,” he said quietly to himself. “Different city.”

He moved to a table, sat down, still watching the stage with the same look he used when he was trying to decide whether to buy a company or bankrupt it.

Recognition clicked into place slowly, then all at once.

He remembered the name she used back then. Remembered the conversation they’d had for exactly eleven minutes. Remembered the reason he left early that night and never came back.

He remembered thinking she was smarter than everyone else in the room.

Including him, for those eleven minutes.

When she came off stage, one of the staff started to walk toward him, but Lex stopped him with a small gesture of his hand.

“I’m not here for a dance,” he said calmly. “I’m here for her.”

A pause.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a card, set it on the table.

“When she’s done,” Lex said, “tell her Lex Luthor is in Gotham again.”

He adjusted his cuff slightly, like this was inevitable, like this had always been a matter of time.

“And that I remember her.”