When Lois Lane descends the steps of her apartment building, she brings with her the smell of lavender. It is an old-fashioned smell-- not a sensory allusion one would associate with the most promising star in journalism in Metropolis. Her dark hair is stylishly layered, and the tweed suit she wears sets off her figure to perfection, but the car has been idling and Lex does not like to be kept waiting. There is no greeting for her as she slides into the limo, and Lex barely looks up from the business report he is scanning on his laptop.

The conversation is like a catechism, with the girl sitting stooped opposite him with her knees joined and feet primly together. His questions are terse and rapid-fire as they ease through the midday traffic towards the heart of the city.

'I see you are following the Yukon story for the Planet.'

'Yes, Perry had some contacts in Russia...'

'Is Kent with you on this one?'

'Yes, he is doing all the ground research.'

'Concentrate on the Abramokov angle...'

'But...'

'A word in Kent's ear should suffice. He was quite the bloodhound, as I recall.'

Her tone is sulky as she accedes, and he closes the conversation by turning back to his laptop.

He knows one day she will ask openly the question she formulates and rephrases internally every time she meets him. Why Clark Kent? He does not know whether her usefulness will outlast the answer to that question, but he is prepared to bide his time. For now, he takes his pretty girlfriend to lunch, and instructs his broker to buy as many shares of a particular oil company that may come on the market. He can safely bet that new evidence regarding the ethical misdemeanors of a rival billionaire is about to become known.