Chapter 4
Clark stepped out of the limousine. Wayne Manor never ceased to amaze him. Granite, ivy, immaculate gardens. Camelot. Alfred gathered his bags.
"Alfred, it's ok. I can take my own bags."
"Don't be absurd. Your room is on the second floor down the hall and to your left. Your lunch awaits you in the dining hall."
Clark was uncomfortable being waited on, but the grumble in his stomach told him to go on and get his lunch. Apparently, Alfred had knocked over a Subway outlet, because the table was filled with every imaginable cold cut, bakery fresh bread, spreads, pickles and juices.
Alfred returned half an hour later. "I see you have quite an appetite." Clark wiped some mustard from his cheek. "Thanks, Alfred."
Alfred noticed that Clark was about to say something. "Anything else, Mr. Kent. More juice, perhaps."
"How is Bruce doing? I mean – he's been through a lot this summer ..."
Bruce was so close to coming to terms with his parents' deaths, Alfred thought. His project would be finished soon. Alfred had some reservations about it, but as the months progressed he saw that Bruce seemed, well, focused. At peace. But would that peace last?
"He's fine," Alfred replied. I wish I knew for sure.
[Daily Planet newsroom]
Chloe scanned the latest headlines on dailyplanet.com. 'ATTORNEY GENERAL FRUSTRATED AT SLOW PACE OF LUTHOR COURT BATTLE' 'INTERPOL EXPANDS INVESTIGATION'
Will this never end, she wondered. She read the Interpol story. A parallel court battle had just started in London. Luthor Corp. and its European partners were hoping to keep the authorities out of their files. With the International Court prosecuting war criminals from the Bosnian conflict, the last thing they wanted was an arms scandal linking them to genocide.
She clicked the archive link. '2000: Luthor House absorbed into Rotterdam Enterprises' It didn't seem relevant to her. Luthor House was a tiny exporting branch of Luthor Corp. Europe. They dealt in coffee, fresh produce and other foodstuffs: trading between South America and the continent. According to the article, it had failed to turn a profit for three straight years. Luthor Sr. wanted to cut his losses, she thought.
[Amsterdam, Holland -- 8:58 AM local time]
Luthor House, however, was of great interest to Interpol. A stream of Dutch police cars screamed around the corner, blocking all intersections around the 19th century building. Although the building belonged to Rotterdam Enterprises, they had only completed the move six months ago. Most of the equipment: computers, phones, etc. were originally Luthor Corp.'s, but were acquired as part of the takeover. Normally, Luthor Corp. would send sweeper teams to purge all computer files and shred documents whenever their subsidiaries fell into other hands. But Luthor House was such as small operation. And a money-losing one at that. Luthor lawyers did visit the offices prior to the takeover to reclaim certain files, but overlooked the computers. This wasn't Luthor Corp.'s European headquarters in London and ranked low on the radar.
Dutch authorities gambled on that oversight. Rotterdam employees had only arrived for work when scores of detectives, uniformed officers and a pair of U.S. Treasury agents swarmed Luthor House. A Rotterdam director tried to protest, but the Interpol warrant soon silenced him. They seized everything. Voice messages. Computers. Some of the Rotterdam management received subpoenas. Even the garbage in and around the building became police evidence. A successful raid, the treasury agents smiled. Lionel Luthor may have overlooked Luthor House and its ties to the arms scandal. They would not.
[Gotham City]
Clark looked at the mirror. Black tie. Too bad Chloe wasn't here to see me. Or Lana? I'm so confused. They're good friends, yet I can't help wondering what if. 'Will you, Lana Lang take Clark to be your lawfully wedded ..."
He shook his head. No more daydreaming. Get a grip, Clark told himself.
"Will that suffice?" Alfred inquired.
"This is good. How much to rent for the day?"
Alfred looked amused. "The tuxedo is yours to keep."
Clark again tried to protest, but Alfred had already paid for it. "Compliments of Wayne Corp.'s expense account."
A half hour later, they were before the marble steps of Wayne Corp. headquarters. Bruce – already dressed for a party -- bolted from the entrance and entered the limo.
"A pleasure you could join us, Mr. Bond," Bruce joked.
"Mr. Kent looks fine," Alfred answered then scowled at the young Wayne. "Would you please adjust your tie, Master Bruce? This isn't a rave, you know." Bruce quickly complied
Clark laughed. He enjoyed the company of Bruce and Alfred. But underneath Bruce's jovial exterior was something not so welcoming. He noticed it that first time in Gotham. Bruce had an intensity that could explode at any time. After two assassination attempts, he must be on edge. But he seems always on edge. Clark set aside the thought for the moment.
"Now I'm going to show you a party!" Bruce exclaimed. The Gotham Memorial Hospital annual gala. Everyone would be there.
"I suggest you check your inhibitions at the door," Alfred quipped.
Whoa, Clark thought, must be some party.
[Gotham Hilton]
Michel had just checked in. He, too, was now in a tuxedo. He browsed through the Gotham Times. 'Charity gala expected to raise millions' He put on his sunglasses. Sure it was a Hollywood stereotype, but, hey, it looked damn good in black tie. I love a party, he grinned.
Clark stepped out of the limousine. Wayne Manor never ceased to amaze him. Granite, ivy, immaculate gardens. Camelot. Alfred gathered his bags.
"Alfred, it's ok. I can take my own bags."
"Don't be absurd. Your room is on the second floor down the hall and to your left. Your lunch awaits you in the dining hall."
Clark was uncomfortable being waited on, but the grumble in his stomach told him to go on and get his lunch. Apparently, Alfred had knocked over a Subway outlet, because the table was filled with every imaginable cold cut, bakery fresh bread, spreads, pickles and juices.
Alfred returned half an hour later. "I see you have quite an appetite." Clark wiped some mustard from his cheek. "Thanks, Alfred."
Alfred noticed that Clark was about to say something. "Anything else, Mr. Kent. More juice, perhaps."
"How is Bruce doing? I mean – he's been through a lot this summer ..."
Bruce was so close to coming to terms with his parents' deaths, Alfred thought. His project would be finished soon. Alfred had some reservations about it, but as the months progressed he saw that Bruce seemed, well, focused. At peace. But would that peace last?
"He's fine," Alfred replied. I wish I knew for sure.
[Daily Planet newsroom]
Chloe scanned the latest headlines on dailyplanet.com. 'ATTORNEY GENERAL FRUSTRATED AT SLOW PACE OF LUTHOR COURT BATTLE' 'INTERPOL EXPANDS INVESTIGATION'
Will this never end, she wondered. She read the Interpol story. A parallel court battle had just started in London. Luthor Corp. and its European partners were hoping to keep the authorities out of their files. With the International Court prosecuting war criminals from the Bosnian conflict, the last thing they wanted was an arms scandal linking them to genocide.
She clicked the archive link. '2000: Luthor House absorbed into Rotterdam Enterprises' It didn't seem relevant to her. Luthor House was a tiny exporting branch of Luthor Corp. Europe. They dealt in coffee, fresh produce and other foodstuffs: trading between South America and the continent. According to the article, it had failed to turn a profit for three straight years. Luthor Sr. wanted to cut his losses, she thought.
[Amsterdam, Holland -- 8:58 AM local time]
Luthor House, however, was of great interest to Interpol. A stream of Dutch police cars screamed around the corner, blocking all intersections around the 19th century building. Although the building belonged to Rotterdam Enterprises, they had only completed the move six months ago. Most of the equipment: computers, phones, etc. were originally Luthor Corp.'s, but were acquired as part of the takeover. Normally, Luthor Corp. would send sweeper teams to purge all computer files and shred documents whenever their subsidiaries fell into other hands. But Luthor House was such as small operation. And a money-losing one at that. Luthor lawyers did visit the offices prior to the takeover to reclaim certain files, but overlooked the computers. This wasn't Luthor Corp.'s European headquarters in London and ranked low on the radar.
Dutch authorities gambled on that oversight. Rotterdam employees had only arrived for work when scores of detectives, uniformed officers and a pair of U.S. Treasury agents swarmed Luthor House. A Rotterdam director tried to protest, but the Interpol warrant soon silenced him. They seized everything. Voice messages. Computers. Some of the Rotterdam management received subpoenas. Even the garbage in and around the building became police evidence. A successful raid, the treasury agents smiled. Lionel Luthor may have overlooked Luthor House and its ties to the arms scandal. They would not.
[Gotham City]
Clark looked at the mirror. Black tie. Too bad Chloe wasn't here to see me. Or Lana? I'm so confused. They're good friends, yet I can't help wondering what if. 'Will you, Lana Lang take Clark to be your lawfully wedded ..."
He shook his head. No more daydreaming. Get a grip, Clark told himself.
"Will that suffice?" Alfred inquired.
"This is good. How much to rent for the day?"
Alfred looked amused. "The tuxedo is yours to keep."
Clark again tried to protest, but Alfred had already paid for it. "Compliments of Wayne Corp.'s expense account."
A half hour later, they were before the marble steps of Wayne Corp. headquarters. Bruce – already dressed for a party -- bolted from the entrance and entered the limo.
"A pleasure you could join us, Mr. Bond," Bruce joked.
"Mr. Kent looks fine," Alfred answered then scowled at the young Wayne. "Would you please adjust your tie, Master Bruce? This isn't a rave, you know." Bruce quickly complied
Clark laughed. He enjoyed the company of Bruce and Alfred. But underneath Bruce's jovial exterior was something not so welcoming. He noticed it that first time in Gotham. Bruce had an intensity that could explode at any time. After two assassination attempts, he must be on edge. But he seems always on edge. Clark set aside the thought for the moment.
"Now I'm going to show you a party!" Bruce exclaimed. The Gotham Memorial Hospital annual gala. Everyone would be there.
"I suggest you check your inhibitions at the door," Alfred quipped.
Whoa, Clark thought, must be some party.
[Gotham Hilton]
Michel had just checked in. He, too, was now in a tuxedo. He browsed through the Gotham Times. 'Charity gala expected to raise millions' He put on his sunglasses. Sure it was a Hollywood stereotype, but, hey, it looked damn good in black tie. I love a party, he grinned.