All previous disclaimers apply.
Author's Note:
A BIG thank you to my lovely beta, SS4EVA: you do all the dirty work of making my scribble readable.
Also a shout out to my little buddy Omar, for introducing me to the world of comic books -- i'm sorry, graphic novels ;-) This chapter and the next are actually based on the Smallville comics, although I've made some alterations to suit my own storytelling needs.
To all those who have reviewed: a huge thanks. Your feedback - whether good, bad, or indifferent - is a huge compliment and keeps me writing. Enjoy!
Chapter 30
Leo slouched at the back of the elevator, smoothing out the creases in her two day old skirt at the back of the elevator, staring through dark sunglasses at the repressed and tense suits standing around her. Men, women – all aware that the boss' daughter, the "spoiled bitch" to a few of them, happened to be watching them.
As soon as she entered the lobby elevator, Leo was painfully aware of how all idle discussion around her abruptly stopped: no chatter about dinner plans or what happened on 'The Apprentice' last night or how benefit costs were increasing.
Just silence while they waited – prayed – for the elevator to reach their floor so they could scurry to the relative safety of their cubicles and offices.
Most of them fled when the car stopped on the 40th floor although Leo suspected that many of them probably didn't belong there.
Not that Leo particularly minded. She was quite content to ride the empty elevator up to the 89th floor, close her eyes, and let the wall support her as she braced herself for the upcoming meeting with her father.
When the elevator finally stopped on the 89th floor, Leo stepped out and marched toward the half-moon marble countertop that enclosed Rosealinde Greaver's desk. Her father's secretary looked up and forced a smile, her eyes showing the same hesitation that had been in her voice when she had called Leo earlier.
For all the scrutiny and accolades corporate executives received, it was really the secretaries that ran most of corporate America. Before anything major ever happened, the secretaries were always the first to know.
Leo read Rosealinde's obvious discomfort as a bad sign.
"Your father's been waiting for you," Rosealinde said without greeting, grimacing. "You should go right in."
Sometimes, Leo wondered why Rosealinde had taken this job. She was obviously terrified of her employer. Leo didn't know how she made it through the day. She suspected there were sedatives involved.
Walking up to the doors, Leo stared at the sound-proof frosted glass for a moment, wondering why she always felt the slightest amount of fear when these confrontations took place.
Does every child fear their father? No – the Kents dispelled that theory. Maybe it's something ingrained only into the very rich – to keep us in check, in our proper places, while our highly exalted fathers reign supreme from their thrones above us?
She tried to resurrect that empowering anger she had felt when she'd last stormed out of his office; after their last blowout. She failed. None of that delicious, energizing rage arose – only that sickly, childish fear.
She had not actually spoken to her father since last week. She had no idea what to expect or why he'd summoned her.
Sighing inwardly, she pushed open the doors and entered her father's sanctum.
She had counted over and over again through the years.
It took exactly seventy-five steps to reach her father's desk. Seventy-five steps through which each and every supplicant had to suffer silently and alone.
And her father always just sat there, on one of his phones, watching her with a hooded expression as she approached, before invariably turning away once she did get there, and ignoring her; forcing her to stand and wait for the invitation to sit while he finished his call.
One knew how high you rated by how many minutes he remained on the call.
For Leo, it usually hovered between two and three minutes.
"Leo, you made it."
As always when in her father's presence, Leo kept her expression as neutral as possible. "You sound surprised."
Looking up from his computer screen, Lionel smiled at his daughter ruefully. "Only because of your special talent for disappointing me." He noted the subtle twinge ghosting over Leo's face. "Do you find something amusing?"
"That's the first time you've called me reliable. So, to what do I owe the summons?"
Lionel frowned, tilting his head toward his daughter thoughtfully. "You're familiar with sector B of your fertilizer plant?"
"Of course," Leo replied carefully. "It's one of my most productive units."
"It's redundant. I want it closed. Immediately."
Only years of emotional repression prevented Leo from lashing out. Instead, she tightened her jaw, her skin flushing slightly. "That would mean slashing hundreds of jobs," Leo growled.
Lionel looked at her expectantly. "Your point?"
"My point?" Leo hissed. "Some might consider that a bad thing."
Lionel smiled, a gleam in his eye. "Dear God, no! An unhappy town of cow-tippers?" he scoffed in mock horror. "Jobs are being lost everywhere. Smallville isn't immune to the vicissitudes of a changing economy."
Leo's face hardened, her icy blue eyes glaring. "In case you've forgotten, I don't work for you anymore."
Lionel shrugged, his thin smile never shifting. "Just offering some constructive criticism - as a concerned shareholder."
Leo expended a lot of energy keeping her face rigidly neutral. You're doing a hell of a lot more than that! While Leo still owned a managing share of Leocorp, her father owned a big enough chunk of it to make her life difficult. "You know damn well I've made that plant profitable. Sometimes, I think you like hurting people, just to stay in shape."
While her father kept his thin smile, something unreadable ghosted over his expression. "We all need the exercise," He replied blandly.
Still stinging from their last conversation, Lionel was eager to resume the offensive in their ongoing war – the only bond father and daughter still shared. He still despised himself for his past failings and missed opportunities – and resented the hell out of Leo for reminding him of them. He felt more comfortable falling back on his authoritarian role than exploring his "feelings" any day.
"And one way or another, I'll have to learn, won't I?" Leo said bitterly.
"Don't pout, sweetheart. It's beneath you," Lionel chided. "Smallville is just your training ground. It's where you're going to prove that you deserve to be a leader…and a Luthor."
"This childishness of yours is precisely why I keep you there," Lionel continued, "Consider this little company of yours as a set of training wheels: to teach you to make difficult decisions."
Leo nearly bit her tongue so hard she could taste the iron in the blood. Her father still thought she remained in Smallville because he banished her there. A lot of people did.
So why Smallville? Fair question. And everyone imagined they knew the answer. But like so many things in life, it never came down to just one thing…
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Balancing the wheel axles of the lead machinery over his head, Clark scanned the barn one more time. As he set the tractor back down, Clark scratched his head in genuine puzzlement. "Nope, not there either," he muttered to himself.
Leo smiled knowingly from behind him. "Looking for something?"
"Tractor keys," he grumbled. "Lost 'em again. I've scanned the barn twice with x-ray vision and I still can't find them."
Glancing over at the workbench, Leo sighed. "I suspect x-rays aren't necessary," she said dryly, dangling the said keys on her finger.
Clark blushed sheepishly. "Thanks." Grabbing the keys, he trotted up the stairs to the loft to put them away. "How'd you know where to look?"
A small smile tugged at her lips as she followed him up the steps. "Kents prefer the honesty of plain sight. You don't usually like to hide things."
Her smile slipped slightly. "Must be nice," she added softly.
Clark caught her tone immediately. He fixed a worried face at her. "Are you alright, Leo?"
She quickly schooled her features as she joined him in the loft. "Me? Always."
"Please," Clark snorted, rolling his eyes. "Not even I buy that."
Leo ambled up to the oversized window in his hayloft, looking out. With pastoral splendor blossoming outside, it really did look like paradise: a bucolic Kansas scene of endless fields beneath the setting sun; the mixture of indigo, rose, and gold, with little puffs of clouds glowing with pink highlights. A warm breeze wafted the scent of flowers into the barn. Almost enough to distract her from her worries.
Almost.
"Fair enough," she conceded. "I have a tough decision to make at the Plant. Something my father wants me to do." Momentarily letting her guard slip, her shoulders slumped slightly beneath what felt like the weight of the world. "He wants me to hurt people."
Clark frowned for a moment, fiddling with the telescope beside the window as he thought that over. He knew how much trouble her dad was giving her now that she was back to work again - no matter how hard she tried to hide it. "Just to prove your power over them?"
"Or his over me," she sighed.
Then Clark's face cracked open in his trademark megawatt grin. "I'm not worried," he said with absolute certainty. "You always find a way to do what you want, Leo."
She shot him a suspicious look. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."
"It is," he assured her, his puppy dog grin instantly lifting her mood. "Lucky for the world, you always try to do the right thing."
Not for the first time, Leo gaped at Clark in awe. "You really mean that…about me?" She whispered in astonishment.
Clark just shrugged, failing to see any wonder in that statement. "Sure. Don't you?"
Before she could answer, her cell phone chirped. She smiled apologetically to Clark before answering. "Yes…hey! How are you?" Leo's face suddenly charged with eagerness. "Really? Tell me."
Another pause. Clark looked on as Leo's eyes started to dance. "I'll leave for Metropolis now." Click.
Clark frowned anxiously. "What was that about?"
Leo offered her idea of a nod, barely a movement at all. Her fair complexion made almost any expression something only the perceptive could notice. "I've got an old friend doing some research on the Kryptonian cave hieroglyphs for me. He says he's made a breakthrough in devising a mathematical key to systemic translation."
He? The muscles in Clark's jaw rippled. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"You may be able to read it, but it would be better if we had a systemic translation of the symbols of our own," Leo explained patiently. "Don't worry; he has no idea where the glyphs came from." Leo suppressed a smirk, working so hard to keep her face barren that her cheeks became stiff and her eye muscles actually hurt. That isn't really what he's worried about.
Her self-confidence got a boost from Clark's obvious jealousy. "I better get started if I want to get to Metropolis before dark."
"Yeah, okay," Clark conceded sullenly.
However, his expression brightened slightly when he added, "And don't forget your birthday party tomorrow."
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"Old friend" was something of an understatement. Through years of prep school, Kenny Braverman was Leo's only friend. Others claimed to be, of course, but for the children of the elite, it was second nature to confuse networking with friendship. Kenny was a scholarship kid and could always be trusted. Leo had even taken his virginity, giving the awkward young man some pity sex before prep school graduation.
He was always so sweet and harmless.
Unfortunately, he went a little "mad scientist" after school, losing himself in his mathematical research – and falling on hard times ever since. Leo had hoped that decrypting the Kryptonian glyphs would give him the confidence to get back on his feet again.
Pulling up to his seedy residence motel, Leo admitted to herself that even she had underestimated how far he had fallen. She eyed the rundown neighborhood suspiciously, eying the homeless man curled under a thin blanket against the wall of a boarded up storefront. Setting the alarm on her Porsche, she proceeded to Kenny's building.
Inside the front door, a desk clerk sat behind a window of bulletproof plastic, watching a tiny television. Sounds of battle from some miniature war wafted through the plastic, where angled slots served as a speaker. The clerk seemed to be either intimately involved in his program or asleep.
He didn't look up as Leo entered.
People probably came at all hours of the day and night anyway – it didn't look like a high security type of place to Leo. More like a place where people lived on their way down to the streets. People who couldn't make the rent on a monthly apartment, but could scrape up the money for a week at a time, and continued to do so as weeks rolled into months and months into years.
Past the desk clerk there was a staircase and an elevator cage. The elevator looked as if it had been built in the twenties and last serviced around the same time.
Leo chose the stairs.
They creaked as she trudged up the stairs to Kenny's apartment. She doubted the desk clerk could hear over the fusillade erupting from his little TV. The stairwell smelled as if it hadn't been cleaned in fifty years. She turned her nose up at the faint whiff of urine and sweat in the hallways.
When she reached Kenny's dingy doorstep, she knocked softly, causing the cheap cordwood door to swing slightly open. Leo frowned. Nudging the door open, Leo cautiously entered, surveying the cramped and cluttered studio apartment. "Kenny?"
Noting the figure seated in the couch with his back to the door, Leo peered over his shoulder. "Ke…OH GOD!" Leo shrieked.
She recognized him instantly. A little heavier with thicker stubble perhaps, but definitely him. Her old friend, Kenny Braverman – with a jewel-encrusted dagger sticking out of his chest, his shirt soaked in blood.
Quickly pulling herself together, Leo placed two fingers beneath his neck. No pulse.
She whipped out her cell phone.
"911 Emergency Response. What is your emergency?"
"I-it's my friend," Leo began. "He's been…"
That was when she first noticed it – a printed email lying on Kenny's coffee table, addressed from Leo to Kenny:
You've stolen from me for the last time.
Your research belongs to me. How dare you try to capitalize on it for your own gain. You will return the documents you've stolen or I will take them…
Leo picked it up, fingers trembling slightly. I didn't write this!
"Ma'am? Your emergency?" the tinny voice in her cell phone beckoned.
Leo picked up a whole sheaf of printed letters addressed from her to Kenny. She skimmed a few words from each as she thumbed through them: You're a thief and a liar…Your treachery has cost me millions…I'll kill you before I pay another dime…
I didn't write any of these!
"Ma'am, do you have an emergency to report or not?"
Her mouth went dry. "No, I'm sorry…I made a mistake." Hanging up, Leo hastily collected all of the false letters and ducked out of the building.
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Seated across from Leo in her study, Clark stared back at her in slack-jawed disbelief. "You stole evidence from a crime scene?"
"I needed a head start!" Leo protested.
"But you're innocent," Clark insisted. "Why not just turn yourself in and clear your name?"
A bitter smile ghosted around the corners of Leo's mouth. "If there's one thing my father's taught me, it's that the justice system is easily manipulated." She gestured towards the forged hate letters and the empty jeweled sheath that once housed the knife in Kenny's chest. "Especially for someone with the means to create such clever forgeries and the audacity to steal the murder weapon from my own home." She slumped helplessly in her seat across from Clark, watching the flames dance in her fireplace.
Clark couldn't see her eyes beneath her hooded eyelids, but there was something terrible in the lines around her mouth. It was as if the skin of her face was stretched too tight.
Leo closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Clearly, this entire ordeal had worn her out. But then, Clark reflected, any effort is exhausting when a person is carrying a big burden to begin with – and Leo has definitely been carrying a burden, even before this. But whatever was bothering her, she refused to share it with him.
Still, he couldn't let Leo ruin her life over this. He slid a consoling hand over hers. "Leo, I'm sorry about Kenny, but is it possible his death is affecting your judgment?" He planted himself on the love seat beside her, sliding a supportive arm around her. "I mean, running from the police, stealing evidence…"
"Maybe," Leo conceded, drawing comfort from his touch. "I don't have many people I'm close to, Clark. Kenny was one of the very few people I could trust."
She looked back up at Clark again, her expression hardening. "That's why I have to find his killer."
Suddenly, Leo's study exploded – shattered glass and wooden splinters showering the room. Black clad commandos crashed through the cathedral windows, two more through the skylight, and an entire squad burst through the doors of the study simultaneously. Red laser gun sights swarmed towards Leo and Clark.
Clark instinctively stepped in front of Leo, ready for all comers…
"HANDS IN THE AIR! NOW!!!!"
Clark eyed the masked gunmen for a split second before complying. He still had his secret to protect. But if they do anything to hurt Leo, all bets are off…
"Easy Clark," Leo said in a thin, colorless voice. "I believe they're here for me," she observed mildly.
After the men cuffed her, two of the commandos lead her roughly to the door. "Cleopatra Luthor, you're under arrest…"
"No kidding," she mumbled sarcastically. As they lead her away, she called out over her shoulder, "Do whatever they say, Clark. It'll be okay." Bad enough I'm in this mess. No sense letting Clark do something stupid on my account.
Clark watched helplessly as the officers lead Leo away. He clenched his jaw in frustration, eyeing the two officers that lingered behind with him. What good are my powers if I can't even protect the woman I love? Eyeing the two officers that lingered behind with him. "Where are they taking her?" he demanded.
The masked SWAT officer sneered at him. "Not your problem kid."
Then I'm making it my problem. In a burst of super-speed, he lightly tapped each officer on the head in the blink of an eye, knocking both of them unconscious.
After checking both officers to ensure they were okay, Clark jogged in the direction the police had taken Leo at human speed. Racing through the foyer, Clark spotted them leading Leo into a black paddy wagon labeled "FBI."
Clark's brow creased in confusion. Not regular police?
Those thoughts cleared when an armed guard wrenched a shackled Leo into the wagon.
Something didn't seem right about this. "LEO!" he called out, jogging towards the van, determined to protect her.
Another armed officer stepped in front of him, leveling his weapon at Clark.
Peering over her shoulder, Leo frowned pointedly at him. "Go home, Clark! I can handle…"
An officer clubbed her over the head with the butt of his weapon. "Shut up!" he barked, carelessly tossing Leo into the wagon.
Clark's face contorted in horror. "NO!!"
A staccato burst of gunfire erupted as a hail of bullets slammed into Clark's body.
"Clark!" Leo croaked, her eyes widened. However, she relaxed when she saw Clark slump to the ground. At least he had the good sense to play dead, she thought with relief. I should remember to compliment his acting later; he really has gotten better at it.
But that still didn't explain why these officers had shot him so readily – police only used deadly force as a last resort. Not to mention the complications that'll arise when they scoop up Clark's body and find out he's not dead…
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Her hands still cuffed behind her, Leo glowered at the bare walls of her cramped interrogation room as though they were conspiring against her. Finally, a pair of men in worn, baggy suits entered the room. One of them – a squat, swarthy guy with a uni-brow and built like a brick - remained standing behind her silently next to the door. The other was a husky man with a receding hairline who reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee.
"Cleopatra Luthor," he announced scornfully, flipping through a packet of papers. "Welcome. My name is Nick Sargent."
"Your men shot my friend," Leo said coldly.
Sargent slapped the folder he was holding on the table. "You've got bigger problems to worry about, miss."
"I know my rights," Leo sneered. "I don't say a word until I speak with my attorney."
Without warning, Sargent slapped her with the back of his hand, knocking her off her chair.
Head swimming, cheeks stinging, her gut clenched in fear….No, Luthors don't feel fear.
Channeling her confusion and fear into rage, she glared up at him. "What happened to good cop / bad cop?" Leo taunted. "The FBI's gotten lazy. You'll be lucky to find work guarding a Taco Bell when I'm through with you."
"FBI?" Sargent sneered, his eyes glittering menacingly. "Hell, they're just errand boys. We're military intelligence."
"Isn't that an oxymoron?" Leo seethed, careful not to betray her curiosity. What's going on?
Sargent smirked maliciously. "Very funny, Cleo. But know this: we play by old-fashioned rules…"
Striking like a cobra, his hand grabbed her throat, choking her. He pulled her close; she felt the spray of spittle fleck on her face, the stink of menthol cigarettes and tuna sandwich on his breath. "…and if you don't tell me why you murdered one of our agents, you'll find out just how medieval we can be."
Gasping for air, Leo choked hoarsely, "I…don't …know what you're talking 'bout…"
When Sargent finally released her, she collapsed to the floor, coughing as she sucked in air.
Looking down on her, Sargent frowned at her seriously. "Kenneth Braverman was one of our operatives!" he snarled. "Why did you kill him?"
Leo shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "This is ridiculous…"
Swooping down on her again, he grabbed her by the blouse and slammed her against the wall, ripping her blouse and bouncing her head off the hard surface. "This afternoon, you emptied your Swiss bank account…."
"W-wait…What?!"
"…Then you murdered a government agent. He discovered your plan, DIDN'T HE??!!" Sargent screamed, shaking her, bouncing her head off the wall again, and nearly knocking her unconscious. "WHAT'S THE MONEY FOR? TERRORISM? ESPIONAGE? TELL ME!!!"
Battered as a rag doll, her hands wrestled uselessly against her restraints. She tried to flail her arms and legs with all of the desperate strength she could summon, but it did no good against her steel manacles and the man's iron grip. "Are you going to kill me?" she asked in a low voice.
Sargent's face twisted into an ugly smile. "No, Cleo. At least, not until you tell us what we want to know."
A peaceful expression washed over Leo's face, her body going limp. "Then there's nothing to stop me."
Sargent frowned, relaxing his grip slightly. "Stop you from what…"
Leo suddenly twisted her head until she snagged his right ear with her mouth and bit down – HARD.
"AAAOOOUUUHGGAAA!!!!" Reflexively, Sargent shoved Leo away.
She flew across the small room, crashing against the near wall – with a portion of his ear still trapped between her teeth.As she hit, a blinding stab of pain shot out from her left knee. Sliding down from her impact point against the wall, she tumbled into a tangled heap of limbs and steel restraints.
"You crazy bitch!!" Sargent bellowed.
Nearly gagging on the spongy ear fragment in her mouth, she spat it out on the floor with relish. "That was for Clark," she hissed defiantly.
"Hold her."
Another set of iron hands grabbed her from behind, forcibly standing her up…
Sargent stepped forward and punched her in the gut, burying his fist wrist-deep in Leo's stomach. Her breath escaped in a loud wheeze and she collapsed, unable to stand up.
A blinding fist crashed into her face, her eyes flashed – and everything went black.
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To be continued.