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Beams of light briefly illuminated a pillar with the words 'Luthorcorp Fertiliser Plant No.3' on them before a ridiculously expensive sports car came around the final bend of the route to it's intended destination, travelling at a speed that held the same amount of contempt for the speed limits that the driver held for the surrounding area. The twin beams moved on to alight on a parking space set aside for v.i.p.'s and newly minted managing executives.
The sports car stopped with the suddenness of an angry stomping on the brake pedal. Before the single occupant took the time to secure the car, shut off the finely tuned engine and find some much needed composure.
Stepping out into the crisp, clean midwest evening air in handmade shoes so sinfully comfortable that they made their wearer uncomfortable and wearing a tailored outfit that had no practical use outside of meetings and boardrooms. The owner adjusted a coat that cost enough to feed a large family for over a month against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Already tired eyes took in what was no doubt going to become familiar surroundings for the next few years before staring daggers at the name of the company on the front of the building.
"Thanks . . . dad." Tess Mercer's mournful words carried the sad acceptance of what her life had become.