[The Torch office, Smallville]
Pete typed furiously on his computer. He wanted to finish his column on study tips for the fall term exams. Then, he could concentrate on studying for his own American history exam.
"Can you believe it?" Chloe began, as she checked her email. "Uncle Sam shot Wallace Johnson out of the Caribbean sky! What are the odds of that?"
Pete grimaced. He had his own theories about the shocking end to Chelsea Saunders' killer. A Patriot missile had shredded the killer's small Cessna plane into metal scraps. With that 'mishap' – and Pete used the term loosely – the hidden hand behind the murder would forever remain a secret.
He knew the truth. Lionel had friends at the Pentagon. One of his friends must have orchestrated the naval 'accident'. The result: Wallace Johnson would take his knowledge of any Luthor involvement in murder to a watery, coral-encrusted grave in the Caribbean Sea.
"Lionel Luthor made it happen," Pete insisted. "He got Wallace blown out of the sky to cover up his connection to Chelsea's killing."
Chloe stood up, pretending to be a big-city lawyer. "Colourful theory, Counsellor Ross, but what facts do you have to prove it?"
Pete grinned. "We have allegations, Ms. Sullivan, that the hiring of a Wallace Jenkinson – one of the suspect's many aliases – didn't go through proper channels ... thus leap-frogging over the rigid screening process for Luthor Corp. security guards. He worked there for at least six months. Someone had to sign his cheques. If the Luthors are claiming that they couldn't possibly know that he was working for them, that's at least negligent. But I doubt they'd pass up an opportunity to use a patsy like Johnson. The guy's got nothing to lose."
"So?" Chloe challenged. "Guilt by association? That's hardly enough to prove a Luthor connection. Maybe it was some extremely unusual coincidence that Johnson did the Luthors a unexpected favour by giving them a perfect alibi."
Pete laughed out loud. "You don't believe that for a second!"
Chloe sat at her desk. "Of course not. And believe me, if I had solid evidence that Lionel ordered that heavy artillery hit on that renegade Ranger, I'd be at the Planet's newsroom right now."
"But we have no proof," Pete sighed, "which brings us back to square one: Lionel gets away with it."
Chloe picked up the front page of the Gotham Times. "Not necessarily, Pete. Lex wasn't completely exonerated. I mean, the grand jury found him guilty of obstruction of justice. His attorneys are taking it to appeal, but that's proof we're not the only one who think there's a conspiracy afoot. The Planet's suggesting that the US Attorney might even charge Luthor Corp. with a federal offense."
"Well, good luck to them," Pete replied. "Lionel's one big fish who's managed to wiggle his way out of many frying pans."
Chloe knew that the Ross family's relations with the Luthors seemed to border on polite hostility. It was none of her business, but she often wondered how Lionel had wronged the Ross family in the past. She decided to change the subject.
"Mr. Kent got a call from ADA Southerlyn," Chloe revealed.
"Oh yeah, Serena," Pete grinned. "She can subpoena me any day."
Chloe reprimanded Pete with a pinch on the arm. "Okay, ADA Southerlyn was a hot blonde. We get the picture! Anyway, she said Clark was leaving for Metropolis today."
Pete typed one last sentence. "Finished! No more columns for this year! And Clark's coming back home. This day couldn't get any better."
There was a loud knock on the Torch office door.
"Chloe?" It was Sheriff Miller, accompanied by two men in dark grey suits. Both of them had to be at least six feet tall, with matching haircuts. Apparently.
"You spoke too soon, Pete," Chloe mumbled. "Yes, Sheriff?"
The two men approached Chloe. "I'm Special Agent Ridge. This is Special Agent Fowler. We're with the Metropolis branch of the FBI."
"FBI?" Pete blurted.
"If you're here to raid my office again," Chloe groaned. "I'm afraid you've already taken my laptop and two weeks' worth of files. If you'd like old Torch archives from the disco era, feel free to get your groove on, agents."
The agents chuckled. "It's not a raid Miss Sullivan." A pair of sheriff's deputies carried in several cardboard boxes, with her files. And her laptop computer.
Chloe held up her laptop as if it was a long-lost relic. "My laptop!"
Pete sifted through the returned Torch files. "It's too bad these didn't help you guys."
"On the contrary," Agent Fowler replied. "Those files and Chloe's email pointed us in directions we wouldn't have thought of re: Luthor involvement in questionable business transactions. We followed the New York trial very closely."
"The U.S. government thanks you for your assistance," Agent Ridge. "In a post-9/11 world, not even Lionel Luthor is above careful observation. We hope this wasn't too much of an inconvenience."
Chloe was about to say something about freedom of the press, but Pete quickly intervened. "No problem, agents. Thanks for bringing our stuff back in one piece."
When the sheriff and the agents left, Pete packed away his binders and notebooks. "Hey, I've gotta run. I've got to study today."
Chloe had switched on the TV. Metropolis Channel 9 had a report about a funeral: the slain rookie NYPD cop, Mike Vanelli.
Pete frowned in disgust. "The Luthors should be held accountable for that cop's death, too!"
Chloe agreed with him. But Lionel had built an impenetrable wall of secrecy around him. It would take a federal investigation to lure Metropolis' infamous weasel out of his lair.
[Meeting Room Two, One Police Plaza, New York]
Lex Luthor took in a deep breath. He inhaled, and relished the free air. Red and gold tinsel decorated many of the surrounding buildings. A light dusting of snow covered the sidewalks. No longer a defendant and prisoner, Lex finally felt comfortable in his own skin. He would have preferred a complete exoneration, but he would deal with that lingering obstruction of justice count in due time.
He smiled. Richard Goldstein won a court victory. Innocent of murder. Innocent of conspiracy. He owed the attorney his gratitude. That was all he could offer, since Lionel had compensated the lawyer with a sizable salary. But Richard was moving on to bigger fish. Lionel wanted him to direct the malicious prosecution suit against the NYPD, the D.A.'s office and City Hall.
Richard is my father's man, Lex concluded. The trial had shown him that Lionel Luthor's interests sometimes worked against his own best interests. He had a nagging suspicion that his father would have been content with a guilty verdict, if it spared Luthor Corp. from further investigation.
Lex had no desire to indulge further doubts. He selected his own lead counsel. Someone who knew the inner workings of the New York justice system: its players, its influence-peddlers and power-brokers.
He suspected that the NYPD were ready to settle. Perhaps he could get them to admit fault in their investigations. That was unlikely, since the people of New York had rallied in support of their police. The funeral of Mike Vanelli hung over the Big Apple like a thick fog. The outraged citizens demanded justice, which meant that the police would be reluctant to make amends with the family who had employed a cop-killer.
Lex didn't recognize any of the officers in this department. It was the Major Case Squad, which was still investigating Luthor Corp.'s questionable trans-Atlantic shipments.
A tall, grey-haired man approached him. "Mr. Luthor, I'm Capt. Deakins of the Major Case Squad."
Lex put on his professional face. "Lex Luthor, it's a pleasure. I trust that the D.A.'s office received my letter?"
"I'm told that they have," Deakins replied. "And the investigation of Luthor Corp.'s shipping irregularities is D.A. Ron Carver's responsibility."
Lex nodded. "Good. It will be refreshing to deal with someone who doesn't have an axe to grind against the Luthors." He looked around the department. "And where is Mr. Carver now? I have pressing matters at Luthor Corp. Wall Street before I leave for Kansas. I don't have much time to spare."
Deakins checked his watch. "I'm guessing that he's stuck in deliberations at the courthouse. The Thorne racketeering case."
Lex seemed puzzled. "Rupert Thorne, Gotham City's underworld kingpin? I didn't think his turf extended to the Big Apple."
"It's the city that never sleeps," Deakins concluded. "Every low-life leech and hotshot gangster wants a piece of apple pie. What can you do, but press on."
Lex shrugged. "I guess."
Deakins directed him towards a seat. "D.A. Carver will be here shortly. I'll have my assistant bring you a coffee."
Det. Alexandra Eames, dressed in a navy blue skirt and jacket, arrived with a cup of coffee. "Oh ... my ... god, you're Lex Luthor!" Eames pretended to gush. "You, like, own the Metropolis Sharks!" She extended her hand. "I'm an Alex, too!"
"Hi, Alex," Lex grinned slightly. "I think you're the first person in this city who knows me from something other than the murder trial."
Eames looked behind her to check if Capt. Deakins had left. "You know, between you and me, I never believed for a second that you were involved. My boss does, but hey, what does he know ..."
"Thanks for the coffee, miss," Lex sipped his cup. He seemed nervous, as he checked his watch. "My counsel should be here. He must be caught in traffic."
When Eames closed the room door, she crossed the hall to another meeting room. The window blinds had been pulled shut. District Attorney Ron Carver, Deakins and Det. Goren were seated around the table. In the rear, police psychologist Dr. Emil Skoda leaned against a file cabinet.
"Uhh, miss, I'd like a coffee," Goren joked.
"Stuff it, Goren," Eames quipped. "I learned that his attorney is running late. But he could be here soon."
"Who's his new lead counsel?" Goren wondered.
Carver had insisted on one final meeting before Lex left the city. "Paul Robinette," he replied. "I take it that name rings a bell."
"Robinette?" Deakins was genuinely surprised. "He used to work for the D.A."
Carver nodded. "He was there with Ben Stone. He's crossed the other side of the fence since then. Who better than a former ADA to wrestle with the political labyrinth that is the Manhattan D.A.'s office? Robinette's no prima donna. If Lex has anointed him as his chief counsel, we're in for a battle royal."
Carver slowly stood up, considering the gravity of their next move. "If we're going to do this, we do this. No looking back." He looked towards Dr. Skoda. "Emil?"
Skoda reviewed his case files. "Lex Luthor's outlook is narcissistic. With the court victory, he must be flush with confidence. Or over-confidence, to be more accurate. But he's the sort of person who calculates every word he says, every action he does. If you're going to move, do it now. But tread carefully. This thing blows up – he'll take no prisoners."
Deakins approached Goren. "You think you can do it?"
Goren paced around the table. "You say he's over-confident about now. Like the world is in the palm of his hand? He's beaten the D.A. at his own game. He's got us by the you-know-what, thanks to the lawsuit. He's got the best defense attorney to back his play. His guard is probably dropped. Alright, I'm game." He headed for the exit.
Carver knew the risks. He had done everything he could to protect Lt. Van Buren, Lennie and Ed. The powerful police union would likely take up Det. Stabler's cause. But Goren was planning to test Lex's resolve.
To find a chink in the legendary Luthor armour.
He took Goren aside. "Look, I know you've heard about McCoy's run-in with Goldstein last night at O'Grady's."
"Lennie told me about it," Goren stated.
Carver grimaced. "I just want you to understand the severity of the situation. Lex Luthor stands to inherit a multi-billion-dollar empire. He has allies of his own in Albany. He's every bit as ruthless as Lionel, no matter how charming or considerate he might appear to be. If the Luthors win this lawsuit, they'll lay waste to many careers. We've got one shot to get Lex to fess up on Luthor Corp.'s chemical shipments. If you push him too far ... he'll tear you apart."
Goren adjusted the collar of his shirt and rotated his shoulders to loosen up. "What Goldstein said about Lennie and those guys ... I'd be glad to take on Lex. Just out of spite."
Carver paused for a moment, then nodded. "Do it. Break him – if you can."
Goren marched out of the room, picked up a novel and papers from his desk and strolled into the meeting room.
Across the table, Lex Luthor reviewed the Wall Street Journal.
"Checking up on Luthor Corp. stocks?" Goren inquired. "I suspect they've gone up since the verdict."
Lex continued reading. "Yes, they have. Excuse me, have we met?"
Goren nervously extended his hand. "Oh, sorry! I'm Det. Goren. I was just by to get your signatures. It's routine: some forms to release the stuff the NYPD seized from you upon your arrest."
"Oh, right," Lex quickly read the forms, then signed them. "I had a Rolex and gold fountain pen. Not to mention the keys to my Porsche."
Goren sat down across from him. "Porsche, eh. Sweet ride."
Lex finished signing the forms. "Yeah, it is. 2003 Porsche Boxter. Unfortunately, I can probably walk faster than it can go during rush hour in Manhattan."
Goren chuckled. "I hear you. That's why I stick to my transit pass ... no parking problems."
Lex smiled. Goren seemed like a nice guy. "You wouldn't by any chance know a Det. Briscoe or Green?"
"I do actually," Goren nodded. "They were the ones who booked you, right?"
"I wanted to apologize to – Briscoe, is it – for calling him an S.O.B.," Lex remarked. "It was in the heat of the moment. I was on a date. I know they were just doing their jobs."
"He'll be glad to hear that," Goren stated, then moved towards the exit. Lex spotted the novel that Goren had left on the table.
"Excuse me, detective," Lex said, "You left your novel." He examined the shiny cover. 'Clear and Present Danger'.
"Oh, thanks," Goren stumbled towards the table. "I love Tom Clancy. All those real-life geo-political intrigues." He tapped on the novel's cover. "This one especially."
"It's about the President's covert personal war against the drug cartels," Lex noted.
Goren seemed surprised. "So you've read it? What did you think?"
"One of its themes is the abuse of political power," Lex replied, "but I found myself sympathizing with the President. His buddy was killed. He wanted revenge. That's only human."
"Yes," Goren added, "but the problem was that he used his status and power to pursue a private war against the people who had killed his friend ..."
Lex checked his watch anxiously. Goren began to sweat. Time was against him. According to Carver, Robinette would have finished his closing arguments half an hour ago.
"I guess this fiction doesn't match up to some of the stories your father must have told you," Goren began.
Lex became defensive. "What does my father have to do with this?"
"He's been a defense contractor for the Pentagon and the CIA," Goren began. "I bet he had some juicy stories overseas."
Lex was uncomfortable with the subject of his father's past deeds. Or misdeeds. "Lionel Luthor's idea of flying the flag is funneling arms and materiel to any despot or strongman who's got Uncle Sam's blessing. 'America's interests are mine', he liked to say."
"You're saying Mr. Luthor's partners were less than savoury," Goren replied.
"What I'm saying," Lex continued, "is that my father's moral judgment tends to lapse whenever money is involved. Some of the things he's done ..."
He stopped himself, still reluctant to admit that the wealth he stood to inherit was far from clean. A good chunk of it was filthy: caked in the blood of South American revolutions, African coups d'etats and Iron Curtain assassinations. It would be different under my watch, Lex told himself.
It will be different.
"You're aware that the FedEx package found at your company's condo is the subject of an investigation," Goren stated. "High levels of chemicals en route to the eastern Mediterranean. I mean, apart, they're nothing. They could be used for fertilizer. But combined with other chemicals, well –"
He leaned closer to Lex. "Ka – BOOM!"
"I have no control over how those chemicals are used when they reach their final ports," Lex replied. "That's all those shipments are. Fertilizer."
Goren chuckled. "Fertilizer. Okay, okay. I'll buy that. After all, you're a fertilizer plant manger. In Smallville. That must have been annoying. Humiliating. To be yanked out of the Metropolis high life to make cow dung in that one-horse hick-town."
Lex didn't flinch. "I welcomed the opportunity to prove myself. I turned the plant around. I even arranged an employee buyout when my father threatened to shut it down."
Goren was now beside Lex. "Bet that got Lionel hot under the collar!"
Lex recalled his father's reaction at the news of the buyout. "He didn't expect that I had the resolve to stand up to him. I did."
"Resolve, eh," Goren remarked. "Is that what you call it? You don't strike me as a naïve guy. You're actually quite intelligent. A genius, even. When an employee comes up to you with news of discrepancies, did you not see an opportunity to take a stab at the old man? To show him up once more?"
Across the hall, Eames nervously tapped at her pen. Get out of there now, Goren, she thought. It's too dangerous.
"Should I get him out of there?" Deakins asked.
"No," Carver stated abruptly. "Let's ride this out."
In the meeting room, Lex stood up and paced around. Where is my lawyer?
"Chelsea told me she had noticed some irregularities," Lex began. "I offered to examine them and follow-up. She refused, and wanted to go to the ombudsman. Rumours started about plans to go to the press. I admit, I was nervous. But she was an employee of Luthor Corp. Answerable – ultimately – to me. She was supposed to be –"
"Loyal," Goren finished the sentence. "Because that's what you value most. Loyalty. And she betrayed you. This petite, blonde marketing cutie pie with the sparkling green eyes was going to splash your name across the New York papers and tarnish your name. Or, so you believed."
Lex collected his documents and closed his briefcase. "I regret what happened to Ms. Saunders, but she had no right to over-step the chain of command and break her confidentiality agreement. If she had only trusted me, I would have resolved the situation. She didn't, and now she's dead. On my watch. How do you think that makes me feel?" Lex began to walk towards the exit.
Now, I have you, Goren grinned. He casually strolled in front of Lex. And the exit route. "I understand. She betrayed you. You were her superior. She should have trusted you. She didn't – and she had to face the consequences. But you could have protected her. That's why you went to the condo that night, the night of her murder."
"I did not kill her!" Lex exclaimed. "She was livid. She told me that she was hell-bent on exposing the questionable shipments. Because it was wrong. If anyone was naïve, it was her! It was always black-and-white with her. The world we live in is not that simple. One man's pious crusader is another's dangerous zealot. I offered to help, and she refused. Why? Because – because I couldn't be trusted. What did I do to deserve such disloyalty ..." He sat on one of the chairs, trying to regain his composure.
Goren gently approached him. "And, why didn't she think you could be trusted? Because you were the boss? Or, the boss' son?"
Lex glared at him. "She said I couldn't be trusted ... because I was a Luthor. A Luthor! I'm not a clone of my father's. And I refuse to accept culpability for his Cold War activities, however proudly he wraps them in Old Glory. I don't get respect for being my own person. I get disdain for being a Luthor's son. Tell me, is that fair?"
Goren couldn't sense if Lex was rattled. It was a simmering anger.
A controlled, focused temper.
But emotion now clouded Lex's judgment. Would Lex snap, and reveal all he knew about his father's illegal transactions? The arms to Morocco, the potential WMD's en route to Albania ... all of it?
The cavalry can charge in any time, Goren hoped.
"Well, now's your chance to right your father's wrongs," Goren suggested.
Lex huffed. "By selling out my father? I don't approve of some of my father's business schemes, but I'm not about to plant a Judas kiss on a blood relation merely to soothe my guilt over Chelsea's death. My family issues are a private matter. I'll deal with them ... on my schedule. If you don't mind, I'll wait for my attorney to arrive."
Goren left, and cursed under his breath. Lex would not give them what they wanted. He would not openly betray his father.
"We tried," Carver lamented, once Goren broke the news. "Lex is made of tougher stuff than we had thought." Lex knew something about that FedEx package. If he couldn't tie the Saunders killing to Lex, he was intent on targeting Lionel.
A tall, black man entered. "Am I interrupting something?" It was Paul Robinette, former ADA and current high-profile defense lawyer.
"Paul," Carver greeted the former ADA. "It's good to see you again."
"Likewise, Ron," Robinette replied. "But we'll have to set aside the pleasantries for later. Where's my client? You realize that anything he might have said without my presence is inadmissible in court."
Robinette, followed by Carver and Deakins, entered the other meeting room.
"You must be Mr. Robinette," Goren stated, as he extended his hand. "It's a pleasure."
Robinette looked disapprovingly at his famous client. "I would have preferred that you didn't speak to anyone before my arrival."
"Not to worry," Lex replied. "Mr. Goren and I were talking about political follies in high places."
Once all parties took their seats, Robinette pulled out a blue sheet.
"Mr. Carver," Robinette began, "You're familiar with a motion to sever?"
Carver quickly reviewed the document. "On what grounds?"
"Lex Luthor," Robinette began, "may be a senior member of Luthor Corp. on paper. But in practice, all real decision-making rests solely at Lionel's feet. With Lex Corp. formally registered as a legal entity, I believe we can make the argument that Lex shouldn't be held responsible for alleged decisions he'd never have the authority to make."
"We'll appeal," Carver pushed aside the motion dismissively.
"I don't think I've made myself clear," Lex stared directly into Carver's eyes. "This motion to sever means I'm also distancing myself from this vindictive lawsuit against the NYPD."
Carver whispered something into Capt. Deakins ear. Deakins cleared his throat. "Does this mean you are dropping the lawsuits against members of the 27th Precinct, including Lt. Van Buren and Detectives Briscoe and Green?"
"Yes," Robinette concluded. "We are also prepared to drop the police brutality civil suit against Elliot Stabler. I've advised my client that Stabler's predicament is sufficient warning to other rogue cops that such actions have consequences. In return, we expect the D.A.'s office not to appeal this motion to sever. If you're going to hang Lionel Luthor, you're going to have to find your own rope to do it."
Carver shook his head. He wasn't going to yield ground without a fight. "No. We won't appeal this motion – only if Lex Luthor also agrees to drop his suit against city hall and the D.A.'s office, too."
"That's non-negotiable," Robinette declared. "Lex will consider settling the lawsuit against two parties at the D.A.'s office: Arthur Branch and Jack McCoy. My client has already opted to omit Ms. Southerlyn from the suit. As for city hall, that's a matter my client will be debating with Mayor Bloomberg next week. Accept this motion as-is, or consider this the first salvo in a malicious prosecution suit that will expose all the dirty deals and broken promises buried in the D.A.'s office. In my time as an ADA, I've seen good people screwed over for political interests. I know how the D.A.'s office truly works."
Lex smiled as the D.A. and Capt. Deakins traded excited whispers. Checkmate, he mused.
"If Mr. Luthor tells us what happened on the night of Chelsea Saunders' murder," Deakins offered. "You have a deal."
Lex mumbled something to Robinette, then nodded. He began to recount those final hours of Chelsea's life. Lex had received a text message from her. She was going to courier her findings to the company ombudsman, who would be required to reveal it to the public. Lex had arrived at Versailles Condo to, once again, offer his assistance in bringing those findings to light.
"She refused," Lex explained. "She went on a juvenile rant about how Luthors can't be trusted to do the right thing. I merely informed her that breaking her confidentiality agreement would likely cost her career. She used some expletives to describe me, then told me to get out. So I did. I might have noticed a Mr. Jenkinson behind the security desk, but that's all. People pass through the main foyer every day. I was in New York to sign contracts. Day-to-day operations were left to subordinates."
"And still, you did nothing," Deakins countered, "even though you knew what your father could be capable of – should those findings surface in the media?"
"My father is many things," Lex stated, "but he's suffered a debilitating accident. He simply doesn't have the strength to orchestrate the things you're alleging. What our overseas partners do with those shipments is out of our control. And beyond my influence. I'm sorry, but I don't have the knowledge you're seeking. Mr. Robinette will provide you with a sworn affidavit attesting to my account of that night."
"This is your last olive branch," Robinette folded his files and stood up. "Lex, we're leaving. I walk out this door, Mr. Carver, and the status quo remains. Cops will lose their jobs. Arthur Branch won't have a leg to stand on. I consider Jack McCoy a good D.A. Perhaps even a just man. But my client was wronged. Someone has to be held accountable."
Before they could step out the door, Carver coughed.
"It's a deal. You'll have it in writing by noon."
Minutes later, Carver informed Branch and McCoy by phone about the terms. The police were off the hook. If Lex's goodwill continued, Robinette would likely wring a statement of regret out of Arthur Branch and the mayor's office. Everyone would save face, though humbled in public.
Carver referred to a sealed file. "I'm handing over a file to the US Attorney, who's considering federal enterprise corruption charges against Luthor Corp. With the motion to sever, the feds have only Lionel left to deal with. If they proceed with the charges, he can't hide behind the Kansas governor any longer."
Branch let out a frustrated sigh and sat in his leather chair. "Now, your chickens have come home to roost, Jack," he lamented after the conference call. "I'm left with egg on my face!"
"Look at it this way, Arthur," McCoy replied. "Lex gets his formal break with Luthor Corp., and we get a truce. We can still challenge Lex's appeal on the obstruction count, but the odds don't look good at this point. We only have one Luthor to grapple with now, and Lionel's got his own son pitted against him."
Branch grumbled to himself. "It looks like I'll have to kiss a whole lot of babies next term, now that I've been given the boot from the Luthor electoral gravy train."
[49th Street, midtown Manhattan]
Lex smiled broadly as he walked outside One Police Plaza. He felt satisfied that he obtained what he wanted. Lionel Luthor's future mistakes would be his alone. Chelsea Saunders may have been one of those mistakes, but Lex wasn't about to entertain such wild theories.
Leave it to zealots like Chloe Sullivan to hypothesize, he mused. The mere thought that Lionel had the power to order a missile strike to wipe Wallace Johnson from existence ...
It was absurd. It had to be.
Robinette waved a cab. "Lex, we'll talk again. I've got to return to the courthouse for another case. You are a free man. Enjoy your freedom."
Manhattan was now Lex's to explore. To conquer. He had faced his Waterloo, and survived.
He spent the next half hour walking through Manhattan. A brisk wind swirled the light snow along the pavement. Shoppers clung to their bags, as they crossed the streets. He picked up a coffee and paused at Rockefeller Center. The giant Christmas tree, with its bright decorations and baubles, dominated the main plaza. Workers had just completed the stage for next week's televised holiday special. About a dozen impossibly tall Rockettes practiced their dance routine on the stage. One of them spotted Lex, pointed him out to her friends, and waved. Lex waved back.
He didn't noticed that Serena Southerlyn had approached him.
"Enjoying the season's greetings, Lex?" Southerlyn inquired.
Lex turned around. "I've always found it hard to find that holiday cheer. But it is good to be a free man once again. To be in control of one's fate."
"I guess I should thank you for not naming me in your lawsuit," Southerlyn remarked.
"I'm told you were the voice of reason at the D.A.'s office," Lex mentioned. "If it had come to a guilty verdict, you were probably the only person who could have kept me off death row."
"Perhaps," Southerlyn remarked. "But Ron Carver offered you the keys to the kingdom. Did you realize that he was giving you an opportunity to end your Lionel feud for good? You could have walked out of Manhattan with the Luthor empire in your pocket."
"I know," Lex admitted. "but I'd rather leave New York with my integrity intact. The D.A. might think nothing about scuttling family bonds, but those bonds – whether I like it or hate it – have made me who I am. I am a Luthor. To deny that would make me an arrogant fool."
"Is that what you really believe, Lex," Southerlyn continued. "That your path is already laid out for you, that your genes dictate what's in store for you?"
"What I believe is, Counselor, that genes provide a glimpse of what's to come," Lex replied. "How that future unfolds is up to us." He noticed a tiny crucifix pendant around her neck. "But I guess your faith tells you that we are all made in the image of God."
Southerlyn laughed nervously at Lex's observation. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say that I'm practicing my religion."
"Yet, you still wear a cross around your neck," Lex continued. "That tells me that those values still matter to you. Everyone needs a foundation on which to base their lives."
"And what's your foundation, Lex?" Southerlyn inquired.
Lex grinned: "To be completely free, one must become a slave to laws."
"That's Cicero," Southerlyn answered. "You forget I'm a lawyer. And you didn't answer my question."
Lex finished his coffee and tossed the cup in the garbage. "That's the beauty of a free society. I can choose to answer the questions I want. I've enjoyed this conversation, Ms. Southerlyn, but I have work to do before I return to Metropolis. Enjoy the holidays." He began to walk towards the intersection.
"I hope you find what you're looking for," Southerlyn offered, as a gust of wind chilled the entire plaza.
Lex turned around at the crosswalk, intrigued by the comment. "And what would that be, Ms. Southerlyn?"
"Peace of mind," Southerlyn replied.
"Merry Christmas, Counsellor," Lex yelled above the rumble of traffic.
Across the street, he marveled at the stone and glass towers of downtown Manhattan. "God rest ye merry gentlemen," he mused. "Let nothing you dismay ..."
Lex felt cold, and it wasn't because of the wind. Ms. Southerlyn had said the same thing in his nightmare: that he could find peace. It worried him.
That he would never be at peace.
[McDaniel's Gas and General Store, Smallville, Kansas]
The sedan pulled up to the gas bar. The Metropolis – Smallville commute seemed faster than usual. It had been raining; pools of water were everywhere. Luckily, the reported snowfall only clipped the northern corner of the state.
"Break time, guys," Munch remarked. "My treat. I take it junk food is acceptable."
"Works for me," Clark replied, as he stepped out of the car to stretch his legs. While Fin Tutuola leaned against the car to review the late edition of the Ledger, Clark strolled along the patch of grassland beside the store. He was finally out of New York's concrete cocoon. Away from the media. He felt relieved that both he and Lex were free – in a manner of speaking.
Then it hit him.
A wave of nausea rippled through his body. As he collapsed onto the road, he managed to glimpse a sparkle of green amid the shrubs. A large piece of green meteor rock was half-buried in the soil, at the shrub roots. He was so close to keeping his secret out of the NYPD's files ... and now this. Clark struggled to get up, but his energy was slowly draining away.
Tutuola noticed that Clark had fallen and ran towards him. "Yo, Clark, you alright?" he asked. "Munch! Get over here! Clark's not looking so well."
Munch dropped his armful of chips and chocolate bars and knelt beside Clark. Det. Munch would surely spot the green meteor rock nestled beside the nearby shrubs. The detectives slowly helped Clark to his feet and guided him into the car seat.
Clark felt his strength return, but he needed an alibi. An excuse. Anything.
Now – before Munch figured it out.
Clark coughed. "It must be ... the chicken we ate on the plane."
Munch's seemed suspicious. "I had dinner on the flight, and I feel fine."
"That's 'cause you got the steakette," Tutuola replied. "I gotta admit, I'm not feeling at the top of my game after that soggy chicken creole."
Clark saw his opportunity. "Yeah. With all that turbulence mid-flight and the bad chicken, it just got to me."
Munch relented. "Maybe you better lay off the junk food. I'll get you some water instead." Clark thought that would be the end of it, but he didn't expect Tutuola to spot the green meteor rock.
Tutuola had spotted the rock half-buried beneath the shrub. "Hey, John, isn't that one of those green meteor rocks you've been telling me about?"
He reached out to grab it. Clark panicked. He could simply speed-run away, but that would tell the detectives that he had something to hide. If Tutuola brought that rock into the car, he could die before he ever reached the farmhouse.
Munch, who had just exited the store, lunged at his partner and almost tackled him to the ground. "Do not touch that, Fin! I've read those rocks have toxic properties! They've got nutcases in Belle Reve and psychos in the state pen who've lost their marbles because of those rocks!"
Tutuola backed away. "Alright, okay! They're just meteor rocks! It's not like I'm gonna turn into the Hulk by picking it up."
Munch took off his sunglasses and peered at the shiny green rocks. He glanced at Clark, who still seemed slightly ill. The chicken, eh, he wondered. When he returned to the car, he looked over his shoulder at Clark. "You sure you're okay, Kent? We could go to the hospital."
"Oh no, that's alright," Clark replied. "Some Rolaids, and I'll be good as new."
"Don't say we didn't warn you," Tutuola added, as he turned on the ignition. "If you puke your guts out on the upholstery, it's coming out of your allowance."
At a variety store along Smallville's main street, Chloe paid the 50 cents for the Daily Planet. The headline declared yet another twist to the Luthor scandal in the Empire State:
'WAYNE RALLIES BEHIND EMBATTLED NY D.A.: Gotham City industrialist lauds federal charges as "just"'
Chloe was somewhat familiar with the Wayne – Luthor rivalry. The tycoons had skirmished before, but this was no longer a spat. Now it would be an open war. Mr. Wayne seemed to be a corporate lightweight, but he was known to be politically savvy. Perhaps a strategic alliance served Wayne's needs ... and saved McCoy's career?
She wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. It hadn't snowed, but the wind was definitely picking up. Lana and Mr. Kent had planned a 'Welcome Home' party for Clark at the Talon. Clark's flight had landed at Metropolis International about two hours ago, but there was still no sign of the man of the hour.
Lana had thought of inviting Lex to the party, but that would have brought him into contact with Mr. Kent. Lex saved them the trouble of an awkward situation: he was apparently still in New York City and would not return to Smallville until late that night. The Talon's staffers were busily hanging tinsel, balloons and decorations on the walls. Pete, Lana, Mr. Kent and the well-wishers were already there.
Chloe didn't want to admit it, but she was worried about Clark. She believed that, as a friend, she should keep a stiff upper lip – especially around Mr. Kent, who had busied himself with farm projects. She couldn't imagine how painful it must have been for Clark's father to watch his son grilled on the witness stand like a common criminal. And with Mrs. Kent working on behalf of Lionel's legal team, Mr. Kent was left alone to keep the home fires burning.
Hurry home, Clark, Chloe thought to herself as she winced at the gusts of wind whipping around her face. I miss you.
A sedan stopped two blocks away. Chloe paused. Are the feds tailing me?
When Tutuola turned onto the main street, Munch had spotted the familiar wisps of blonde hair. "Pull over there, Fin."
"Why here, Munch?" Tutuola wondered. "The Talon's just down the street." Munch nodded towards the blonde girl.
"I have a feeling Clark won't mind walking a few blocks," Munch grinned. Slightly.
Clark seemed to nod a 'thank you' to the detective, then sprinted towards Chloe. Munch and Tutuola got out of the car for a moment.
"Clark Kent?" Chloe looked surprised, as Clark paused a few feet away. "You're back."
She wanted to kick herself. She had planned a long speech about how right Clark was in defending his faith in a friend – even if that pal was Lex Luthor. But now was not the time to debate the validity of Clark's trust in Lex. You're back, she grumbled to herself. Not exactly the warm greeting Clark should have expected. He deserved more from me.
Clark stepped towards Chloe, and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her tightly, as if he hadn't seen her in years. For one brief moment, Chloe was at a loss for words. There was no need for them. That hug told her everything she wanted to know.
He missed her.
In the distance, Tutuola smirked. "John Munch, sometimes you amaze me. Who'd have figured you had a soft spot for Archie and Betty over there! Don't tell me you're getting soft?"
"I have a knack for picking moments," Munch admitted. Maybe he did sympathize with the anguish the Kent kid was going through. And maybe the detective could identify with the inquisitive Miss Sullivan more than he realized. But he would never say that out loud. He was a detective with the Special Victims Unit.
Being "soft" wasn't part of his vocabulary, and he stressed that point by masking his face once more with his sunglasses.
"This town's on the highway to hell," Munch insisted, even as Clark and Chloe chatted excitedly about the past few weeks. "A toxic web of deception and willful ignorance binds this entire county – and Lex Luthor, Clark Kent and those frickin' green rocks are at the epicentre of it. Lionel Luthor might think he has leverage around here, but I used to work in Baltimore ... a stone's throw away from Langley and my CIA contacts. You heard it here first, Fin, if I find so much as a hay-straw's shred of evidence of Luthor subterfuge, I'm going to sweep through Smallville's dirty closet of secrets like Mr. Clean on steroids!"
Tutuola laughed at his partner's paranoid rant. "Sure, you will. But not tonight." They had to return to the ranks of New York's thin blue line. And there was no place like home.
Clark and Chloe waved goodbye, as the detectives drove away.
"I guess we'll never see them again," Chloe mused, still beaming with joy at her friend's return.
"I guess not," Clark replied. "I hope not." He wanted to believe that, but he could never be sure if Det. Munch believed his food poisoning alibi or not. Chloe had told him that Lex was distancing himself from Lionel's lawsuit against New York's cops and lawyers. But was that the end of it? Clark sensed that next year had more surprises in store for their town.
Those concerns would have to wait for another day, because he was greeted with a big "Surprise!" when he entered the Talon. Jonathan bolted away from the gathering crowd, raced towards his son and gave him a bear hug. A tear had sprinkled his face.
"I'm home, Dad," Clark smiled. "And I'm not leaving anytime soon."
Pete and the other well-wishers welcomed back their friend, but Clark seemed distracted. His mom was still in New York, his friend Lex was still wrapping up loose ends in Wall Street ... and the relentless Big Apple press made him out to be less than honest.
He set aside his feelings again, as one of the Talon's staffers wheeled out a large Black Forest cake, drizzled with an icing message: 'Welcome Back, Clark!'
Then everything seemed to stop.
Lana Lang weaved through the crowd. "Clark!" Before he could say a word, she began to ramble. "When we heard you were going to be sequestered, we were all taken aback. I mean, you were cut off from all of us ... Mr. Kent couldn't even say hi to you on the phone ... Lex was beaten in Sing Sing ... that cop was killed, then the navy blew Wallace Johnson straight to Mars ... and the tabloids were saying such vicious things about you, and –"
Clark held both of her hands. "None of that matters now. I told the truth. Lex is free. I'm back home with my friends and family. And ... I am really glad to see you."
Lana jumped into his arms and embraced him warmly. "Merry Christmas, Clark Kent," she gushed. "The holidays would never be the same without you."
Chloe saw them and smiled politely, as the party-goers waited in line for a piece of cake.
"Whatcha thinking about, Chloe?" Pete inquired mischievously, He knew Chloe had certain feelings for his best friend, and he didn't hesitate to tease her.
"Nothing, Pete," Chloe stated matter-of-factly. She savoured her slice of cake and grinned.
He hugged me first.
THE END
Pete typed furiously on his computer. He wanted to finish his column on study tips for the fall term exams. Then, he could concentrate on studying for his own American history exam.
"Can you believe it?" Chloe began, as she checked her email. "Uncle Sam shot Wallace Johnson out of the Caribbean sky! What are the odds of that?"
Pete grimaced. He had his own theories about the shocking end to Chelsea Saunders' killer. A Patriot missile had shredded the killer's small Cessna plane into metal scraps. With that 'mishap' – and Pete used the term loosely – the hidden hand behind the murder would forever remain a secret.
He knew the truth. Lionel had friends at the Pentagon. One of his friends must have orchestrated the naval 'accident'. The result: Wallace Johnson would take his knowledge of any Luthor involvement in murder to a watery, coral-encrusted grave in the Caribbean Sea.
"Lionel Luthor made it happen," Pete insisted. "He got Wallace blown out of the sky to cover up his connection to Chelsea's killing."
Chloe stood up, pretending to be a big-city lawyer. "Colourful theory, Counsellor Ross, but what facts do you have to prove it?"
Pete grinned. "We have allegations, Ms. Sullivan, that the hiring of a Wallace Jenkinson – one of the suspect's many aliases – didn't go through proper channels ... thus leap-frogging over the rigid screening process for Luthor Corp. security guards. He worked there for at least six months. Someone had to sign his cheques. If the Luthors are claiming that they couldn't possibly know that he was working for them, that's at least negligent. But I doubt they'd pass up an opportunity to use a patsy like Johnson. The guy's got nothing to lose."
"So?" Chloe challenged. "Guilt by association? That's hardly enough to prove a Luthor connection. Maybe it was some extremely unusual coincidence that Johnson did the Luthors a unexpected favour by giving them a perfect alibi."
Pete laughed out loud. "You don't believe that for a second!"
Chloe sat at her desk. "Of course not. And believe me, if I had solid evidence that Lionel ordered that heavy artillery hit on that renegade Ranger, I'd be at the Planet's newsroom right now."
"But we have no proof," Pete sighed, "which brings us back to square one: Lionel gets away with it."
Chloe picked up the front page of the Gotham Times. "Not necessarily, Pete. Lex wasn't completely exonerated. I mean, the grand jury found him guilty of obstruction of justice. His attorneys are taking it to appeal, but that's proof we're not the only one who think there's a conspiracy afoot. The Planet's suggesting that the US Attorney might even charge Luthor Corp. with a federal offense."
"Well, good luck to them," Pete replied. "Lionel's one big fish who's managed to wiggle his way out of many frying pans."
Chloe knew that the Ross family's relations with the Luthors seemed to border on polite hostility. It was none of her business, but she often wondered how Lionel had wronged the Ross family in the past. She decided to change the subject.
"Mr. Kent got a call from ADA Southerlyn," Chloe revealed.
"Oh yeah, Serena," Pete grinned. "She can subpoena me any day."
Chloe reprimanded Pete with a pinch on the arm. "Okay, ADA Southerlyn was a hot blonde. We get the picture! Anyway, she said Clark was leaving for Metropolis today."
Pete typed one last sentence. "Finished! No more columns for this year! And Clark's coming back home. This day couldn't get any better."
There was a loud knock on the Torch office door.
"Chloe?" It was Sheriff Miller, accompanied by two men in dark grey suits. Both of them had to be at least six feet tall, with matching haircuts. Apparently.
"You spoke too soon, Pete," Chloe mumbled. "Yes, Sheriff?"
The two men approached Chloe. "I'm Special Agent Ridge. This is Special Agent Fowler. We're with the Metropolis branch of the FBI."
"FBI?" Pete blurted.
"If you're here to raid my office again," Chloe groaned. "I'm afraid you've already taken my laptop and two weeks' worth of files. If you'd like old Torch archives from the disco era, feel free to get your groove on, agents."
The agents chuckled. "It's not a raid Miss Sullivan." A pair of sheriff's deputies carried in several cardboard boxes, with her files. And her laptop computer.
Chloe held up her laptop as if it was a long-lost relic. "My laptop!"
Pete sifted through the returned Torch files. "It's too bad these didn't help you guys."
"On the contrary," Agent Fowler replied. "Those files and Chloe's email pointed us in directions we wouldn't have thought of re: Luthor involvement in questionable business transactions. We followed the New York trial very closely."
"The U.S. government thanks you for your assistance," Agent Ridge. "In a post-9/11 world, not even Lionel Luthor is above careful observation. We hope this wasn't too much of an inconvenience."
Chloe was about to say something about freedom of the press, but Pete quickly intervened. "No problem, agents. Thanks for bringing our stuff back in one piece."
When the sheriff and the agents left, Pete packed away his binders and notebooks. "Hey, I've gotta run. I've got to study today."
Chloe had switched on the TV. Metropolis Channel 9 had a report about a funeral: the slain rookie NYPD cop, Mike Vanelli.
Pete frowned in disgust. "The Luthors should be held accountable for that cop's death, too!"
Chloe agreed with him. But Lionel had built an impenetrable wall of secrecy around him. It would take a federal investigation to lure Metropolis' infamous weasel out of his lair.
[Meeting Room Two, One Police Plaza, New York]
Lex Luthor took in a deep breath. He inhaled, and relished the free air. Red and gold tinsel decorated many of the surrounding buildings. A light dusting of snow covered the sidewalks. No longer a defendant and prisoner, Lex finally felt comfortable in his own skin. He would have preferred a complete exoneration, but he would deal with that lingering obstruction of justice count in due time.
He smiled. Richard Goldstein won a court victory. Innocent of murder. Innocent of conspiracy. He owed the attorney his gratitude. That was all he could offer, since Lionel had compensated the lawyer with a sizable salary. But Richard was moving on to bigger fish. Lionel wanted him to direct the malicious prosecution suit against the NYPD, the D.A.'s office and City Hall.
Richard is my father's man, Lex concluded. The trial had shown him that Lionel Luthor's interests sometimes worked against his own best interests. He had a nagging suspicion that his father would have been content with a guilty verdict, if it spared Luthor Corp. from further investigation.
Lex had no desire to indulge further doubts. He selected his own lead counsel. Someone who knew the inner workings of the New York justice system: its players, its influence-peddlers and power-brokers.
He suspected that the NYPD were ready to settle. Perhaps he could get them to admit fault in their investigations. That was unlikely, since the people of New York had rallied in support of their police. The funeral of Mike Vanelli hung over the Big Apple like a thick fog. The outraged citizens demanded justice, which meant that the police would be reluctant to make amends with the family who had employed a cop-killer.
Lex didn't recognize any of the officers in this department. It was the Major Case Squad, which was still investigating Luthor Corp.'s questionable trans-Atlantic shipments.
A tall, grey-haired man approached him. "Mr. Luthor, I'm Capt. Deakins of the Major Case Squad."
Lex put on his professional face. "Lex Luthor, it's a pleasure. I trust that the D.A.'s office received my letter?"
"I'm told that they have," Deakins replied. "And the investigation of Luthor Corp.'s shipping irregularities is D.A. Ron Carver's responsibility."
Lex nodded. "Good. It will be refreshing to deal with someone who doesn't have an axe to grind against the Luthors." He looked around the department. "And where is Mr. Carver now? I have pressing matters at Luthor Corp. Wall Street before I leave for Kansas. I don't have much time to spare."
Deakins checked his watch. "I'm guessing that he's stuck in deliberations at the courthouse. The Thorne racketeering case."
Lex seemed puzzled. "Rupert Thorne, Gotham City's underworld kingpin? I didn't think his turf extended to the Big Apple."
"It's the city that never sleeps," Deakins concluded. "Every low-life leech and hotshot gangster wants a piece of apple pie. What can you do, but press on."
Lex shrugged. "I guess."
Deakins directed him towards a seat. "D.A. Carver will be here shortly. I'll have my assistant bring you a coffee."
Det. Alexandra Eames, dressed in a navy blue skirt and jacket, arrived with a cup of coffee. "Oh ... my ... god, you're Lex Luthor!" Eames pretended to gush. "You, like, own the Metropolis Sharks!" She extended her hand. "I'm an Alex, too!"
"Hi, Alex," Lex grinned slightly. "I think you're the first person in this city who knows me from something other than the murder trial."
Eames looked behind her to check if Capt. Deakins had left. "You know, between you and me, I never believed for a second that you were involved. My boss does, but hey, what does he know ..."
"Thanks for the coffee, miss," Lex sipped his cup. He seemed nervous, as he checked his watch. "My counsel should be here. He must be caught in traffic."
When Eames closed the room door, she crossed the hall to another meeting room. The window blinds had been pulled shut. District Attorney Ron Carver, Deakins and Det. Goren were seated around the table. In the rear, police psychologist Dr. Emil Skoda leaned against a file cabinet.
"Uhh, miss, I'd like a coffee," Goren joked.
"Stuff it, Goren," Eames quipped. "I learned that his attorney is running late. But he could be here soon."
"Who's his new lead counsel?" Goren wondered.
Carver had insisted on one final meeting before Lex left the city. "Paul Robinette," he replied. "I take it that name rings a bell."
"Robinette?" Deakins was genuinely surprised. "He used to work for the D.A."
Carver nodded. "He was there with Ben Stone. He's crossed the other side of the fence since then. Who better than a former ADA to wrestle with the political labyrinth that is the Manhattan D.A.'s office? Robinette's no prima donna. If Lex has anointed him as his chief counsel, we're in for a battle royal."
Carver slowly stood up, considering the gravity of their next move. "If we're going to do this, we do this. No looking back." He looked towards Dr. Skoda. "Emil?"
Skoda reviewed his case files. "Lex Luthor's outlook is narcissistic. With the court victory, he must be flush with confidence. Or over-confidence, to be more accurate. But he's the sort of person who calculates every word he says, every action he does. If you're going to move, do it now. But tread carefully. This thing blows up – he'll take no prisoners."
Deakins approached Goren. "You think you can do it?"
Goren paced around the table. "You say he's over-confident about now. Like the world is in the palm of his hand? He's beaten the D.A. at his own game. He's got us by the you-know-what, thanks to the lawsuit. He's got the best defense attorney to back his play. His guard is probably dropped. Alright, I'm game." He headed for the exit.
Carver knew the risks. He had done everything he could to protect Lt. Van Buren, Lennie and Ed. The powerful police union would likely take up Det. Stabler's cause. But Goren was planning to test Lex's resolve.
To find a chink in the legendary Luthor armour.
He took Goren aside. "Look, I know you've heard about McCoy's run-in with Goldstein last night at O'Grady's."
"Lennie told me about it," Goren stated.
Carver grimaced. "I just want you to understand the severity of the situation. Lex Luthor stands to inherit a multi-billion-dollar empire. He has allies of his own in Albany. He's every bit as ruthless as Lionel, no matter how charming or considerate he might appear to be. If the Luthors win this lawsuit, they'll lay waste to many careers. We've got one shot to get Lex to fess up on Luthor Corp.'s chemical shipments. If you push him too far ... he'll tear you apart."
Goren adjusted the collar of his shirt and rotated his shoulders to loosen up. "What Goldstein said about Lennie and those guys ... I'd be glad to take on Lex. Just out of spite."
Carver paused for a moment, then nodded. "Do it. Break him – if you can."
Goren marched out of the room, picked up a novel and papers from his desk and strolled into the meeting room.
Across the table, Lex Luthor reviewed the Wall Street Journal.
"Checking up on Luthor Corp. stocks?" Goren inquired. "I suspect they've gone up since the verdict."
Lex continued reading. "Yes, they have. Excuse me, have we met?"
Goren nervously extended his hand. "Oh, sorry! I'm Det. Goren. I was just by to get your signatures. It's routine: some forms to release the stuff the NYPD seized from you upon your arrest."
"Oh, right," Lex quickly read the forms, then signed them. "I had a Rolex and gold fountain pen. Not to mention the keys to my Porsche."
Goren sat down across from him. "Porsche, eh. Sweet ride."
Lex finished signing the forms. "Yeah, it is. 2003 Porsche Boxter. Unfortunately, I can probably walk faster than it can go during rush hour in Manhattan."
Goren chuckled. "I hear you. That's why I stick to my transit pass ... no parking problems."
Lex smiled. Goren seemed like a nice guy. "You wouldn't by any chance know a Det. Briscoe or Green?"
"I do actually," Goren nodded. "They were the ones who booked you, right?"
"I wanted to apologize to – Briscoe, is it – for calling him an S.O.B.," Lex remarked. "It was in the heat of the moment. I was on a date. I know they were just doing their jobs."
"He'll be glad to hear that," Goren stated, then moved towards the exit. Lex spotted the novel that Goren had left on the table.
"Excuse me, detective," Lex said, "You left your novel." He examined the shiny cover. 'Clear and Present Danger'.
"Oh, thanks," Goren stumbled towards the table. "I love Tom Clancy. All those real-life geo-political intrigues." He tapped on the novel's cover. "This one especially."
"It's about the President's covert personal war against the drug cartels," Lex noted.
Goren seemed surprised. "So you've read it? What did you think?"
"One of its themes is the abuse of political power," Lex replied, "but I found myself sympathizing with the President. His buddy was killed. He wanted revenge. That's only human."
"Yes," Goren added, "but the problem was that he used his status and power to pursue a private war against the people who had killed his friend ..."
Lex checked his watch anxiously. Goren began to sweat. Time was against him. According to Carver, Robinette would have finished his closing arguments half an hour ago.
"I guess this fiction doesn't match up to some of the stories your father must have told you," Goren began.
Lex became defensive. "What does my father have to do with this?"
"He's been a defense contractor for the Pentagon and the CIA," Goren began. "I bet he had some juicy stories overseas."
Lex was uncomfortable with the subject of his father's past deeds. Or misdeeds. "Lionel Luthor's idea of flying the flag is funneling arms and materiel to any despot or strongman who's got Uncle Sam's blessing. 'America's interests are mine', he liked to say."
"You're saying Mr. Luthor's partners were less than savoury," Goren replied.
"What I'm saying," Lex continued, "is that my father's moral judgment tends to lapse whenever money is involved. Some of the things he's done ..."
He stopped himself, still reluctant to admit that the wealth he stood to inherit was far from clean. A good chunk of it was filthy: caked in the blood of South American revolutions, African coups d'etats and Iron Curtain assassinations. It would be different under my watch, Lex told himself.
It will be different.
"You're aware that the FedEx package found at your company's condo is the subject of an investigation," Goren stated. "High levels of chemicals en route to the eastern Mediterranean. I mean, apart, they're nothing. They could be used for fertilizer. But combined with other chemicals, well –"
He leaned closer to Lex. "Ka – BOOM!"
"I have no control over how those chemicals are used when they reach their final ports," Lex replied. "That's all those shipments are. Fertilizer."
Goren chuckled. "Fertilizer. Okay, okay. I'll buy that. After all, you're a fertilizer plant manger. In Smallville. That must have been annoying. Humiliating. To be yanked out of the Metropolis high life to make cow dung in that one-horse hick-town."
Lex didn't flinch. "I welcomed the opportunity to prove myself. I turned the plant around. I even arranged an employee buyout when my father threatened to shut it down."
Goren was now beside Lex. "Bet that got Lionel hot under the collar!"
Lex recalled his father's reaction at the news of the buyout. "He didn't expect that I had the resolve to stand up to him. I did."
"Resolve, eh," Goren remarked. "Is that what you call it? You don't strike me as a naïve guy. You're actually quite intelligent. A genius, even. When an employee comes up to you with news of discrepancies, did you not see an opportunity to take a stab at the old man? To show him up once more?"
Across the hall, Eames nervously tapped at her pen. Get out of there now, Goren, she thought. It's too dangerous.
"Should I get him out of there?" Deakins asked.
"No," Carver stated abruptly. "Let's ride this out."
In the meeting room, Lex stood up and paced around. Where is my lawyer?
"Chelsea told me she had noticed some irregularities," Lex began. "I offered to examine them and follow-up. She refused, and wanted to go to the ombudsman. Rumours started about plans to go to the press. I admit, I was nervous. But she was an employee of Luthor Corp. Answerable – ultimately – to me. She was supposed to be –"
"Loyal," Goren finished the sentence. "Because that's what you value most. Loyalty. And she betrayed you. This petite, blonde marketing cutie pie with the sparkling green eyes was going to splash your name across the New York papers and tarnish your name. Or, so you believed."
Lex collected his documents and closed his briefcase. "I regret what happened to Ms. Saunders, but she had no right to over-step the chain of command and break her confidentiality agreement. If she had only trusted me, I would have resolved the situation. She didn't, and now she's dead. On my watch. How do you think that makes me feel?" Lex began to walk towards the exit.
Now, I have you, Goren grinned. He casually strolled in front of Lex. And the exit route. "I understand. She betrayed you. You were her superior. She should have trusted you. She didn't – and she had to face the consequences. But you could have protected her. That's why you went to the condo that night, the night of her murder."
"I did not kill her!" Lex exclaimed. "She was livid. She told me that she was hell-bent on exposing the questionable shipments. Because it was wrong. If anyone was naïve, it was her! It was always black-and-white with her. The world we live in is not that simple. One man's pious crusader is another's dangerous zealot. I offered to help, and she refused. Why? Because – because I couldn't be trusted. What did I do to deserve such disloyalty ..." He sat on one of the chairs, trying to regain his composure.
Goren gently approached him. "And, why didn't she think you could be trusted? Because you were the boss? Or, the boss' son?"
Lex glared at him. "She said I couldn't be trusted ... because I was a Luthor. A Luthor! I'm not a clone of my father's. And I refuse to accept culpability for his Cold War activities, however proudly he wraps them in Old Glory. I don't get respect for being my own person. I get disdain for being a Luthor's son. Tell me, is that fair?"
Goren couldn't sense if Lex was rattled. It was a simmering anger.
A controlled, focused temper.
But emotion now clouded Lex's judgment. Would Lex snap, and reveal all he knew about his father's illegal transactions? The arms to Morocco, the potential WMD's en route to Albania ... all of it?
The cavalry can charge in any time, Goren hoped.
"Well, now's your chance to right your father's wrongs," Goren suggested.
Lex huffed. "By selling out my father? I don't approve of some of my father's business schemes, but I'm not about to plant a Judas kiss on a blood relation merely to soothe my guilt over Chelsea's death. My family issues are a private matter. I'll deal with them ... on my schedule. If you don't mind, I'll wait for my attorney to arrive."
Goren left, and cursed under his breath. Lex would not give them what they wanted. He would not openly betray his father.
"We tried," Carver lamented, once Goren broke the news. "Lex is made of tougher stuff than we had thought." Lex knew something about that FedEx package. If he couldn't tie the Saunders killing to Lex, he was intent on targeting Lionel.
A tall, black man entered. "Am I interrupting something?" It was Paul Robinette, former ADA and current high-profile defense lawyer.
"Paul," Carver greeted the former ADA. "It's good to see you again."
"Likewise, Ron," Robinette replied. "But we'll have to set aside the pleasantries for later. Where's my client? You realize that anything he might have said without my presence is inadmissible in court."
Robinette, followed by Carver and Deakins, entered the other meeting room.
"You must be Mr. Robinette," Goren stated, as he extended his hand. "It's a pleasure."
Robinette looked disapprovingly at his famous client. "I would have preferred that you didn't speak to anyone before my arrival."
"Not to worry," Lex replied. "Mr. Goren and I were talking about political follies in high places."
Once all parties took their seats, Robinette pulled out a blue sheet.
"Mr. Carver," Robinette began, "You're familiar with a motion to sever?"
Carver quickly reviewed the document. "On what grounds?"
"Lex Luthor," Robinette began, "may be a senior member of Luthor Corp. on paper. But in practice, all real decision-making rests solely at Lionel's feet. With Lex Corp. formally registered as a legal entity, I believe we can make the argument that Lex shouldn't be held responsible for alleged decisions he'd never have the authority to make."
"We'll appeal," Carver pushed aside the motion dismissively.
"I don't think I've made myself clear," Lex stared directly into Carver's eyes. "This motion to sever means I'm also distancing myself from this vindictive lawsuit against the NYPD."
Carver whispered something into Capt. Deakins ear. Deakins cleared his throat. "Does this mean you are dropping the lawsuits against members of the 27th Precinct, including Lt. Van Buren and Detectives Briscoe and Green?"
"Yes," Robinette concluded. "We are also prepared to drop the police brutality civil suit against Elliot Stabler. I've advised my client that Stabler's predicament is sufficient warning to other rogue cops that such actions have consequences. In return, we expect the D.A.'s office not to appeal this motion to sever. If you're going to hang Lionel Luthor, you're going to have to find your own rope to do it."
Carver shook his head. He wasn't going to yield ground without a fight. "No. We won't appeal this motion – only if Lex Luthor also agrees to drop his suit against city hall and the D.A.'s office, too."
"That's non-negotiable," Robinette declared. "Lex will consider settling the lawsuit against two parties at the D.A.'s office: Arthur Branch and Jack McCoy. My client has already opted to omit Ms. Southerlyn from the suit. As for city hall, that's a matter my client will be debating with Mayor Bloomberg next week. Accept this motion as-is, or consider this the first salvo in a malicious prosecution suit that will expose all the dirty deals and broken promises buried in the D.A.'s office. In my time as an ADA, I've seen good people screwed over for political interests. I know how the D.A.'s office truly works."
Lex smiled as the D.A. and Capt. Deakins traded excited whispers. Checkmate, he mused.
"If Mr. Luthor tells us what happened on the night of Chelsea Saunders' murder," Deakins offered. "You have a deal."
Lex mumbled something to Robinette, then nodded. He began to recount those final hours of Chelsea's life. Lex had received a text message from her. She was going to courier her findings to the company ombudsman, who would be required to reveal it to the public. Lex had arrived at Versailles Condo to, once again, offer his assistance in bringing those findings to light.
"She refused," Lex explained. "She went on a juvenile rant about how Luthors can't be trusted to do the right thing. I merely informed her that breaking her confidentiality agreement would likely cost her career. She used some expletives to describe me, then told me to get out. So I did. I might have noticed a Mr. Jenkinson behind the security desk, but that's all. People pass through the main foyer every day. I was in New York to sign contracts. Day-to-day operations were left to subordinates."
"And still, you did nothing," Deakins countered, "even though you knew what your father could be capable of – should those findings surface in the media?"
"My father is many things," Lex stated, "but he's suffered a debilitating accident. He simply doesn't have the strength to orchestrate the things you're alleging. What our overseas partners do with those shipments is out of our control. And beyond my influence. I'm sorry, but I don't have the knowledge you're seeking. Mr. Robinette will provide you with a sworn affidavit attesting to my account of that night."
"This is your last olive branch," Robinette folded his files and stood up. "Lex, we're leaving. I walk out this door, Mr. Carver, and the status quo remains. Cops will lose their jobs. Arthur Branch won't have a leg to stand on. I consider Jack McCoy a good D.A. Perhaps even a just man. But my client was wronged. Someone has to be held accountable."
Before they could step out the door, Carver coughed.
"It's a deal. You'll have it in writing by noon."
Minutes later, Carver informed Branch and McCoy by phone about the terms. The police were off the hook. If Lex's goodwill continued, Robinette would likely wring a statement of regret out of Arthur Branch and the mayor's office. Everyone would save face, though humbled in public.
Carver referred to a sealed file. "I'm handing over a file to the US Attorney, who's considering federal enterprise corruption charges against Luthor Corp. With the motion to sever, the feds have only Lionel left to deal with. If they proceed with the charges, he can't hide behind the Kansas governor any longer."
Branch let out a frustrated sigh and sat in his leather chair. "Now, your chickens have come home to roost, Jack," he lamented after the conference call. "I'm left with egg on my face!"
"Look at it this way, Arthur," McCoy replied. "Lex gets his formal break with Luthor Corp., and we get a truce. We can still challenge Lex's appeal on the obstruction count, but the odds don't look good at this point. We only have one Luthor to grapple with now, and Lionel's got his own son pitted against him."
Branch grumbled to himself. "It looks like I'll have to kiss a whole lot of babies next term, now that I've been given the boot from the Luthor electoral gravy train."
[49th Street, midtown Manhattan]
Lex smiled broadly as he walked outside One Police Plaza. He felt satisfied that he obtained what he wanted. Lionel Luthor's future mistakes would be his alone. Chelsea Saunders may have been one of those mistakes, but Lex wasn't about to entertain such wild theories.
Leave it to zealots like Chloe Sullivan to hypothesize, he mused. The mere thought that Lionel had the power to order a missile strike to wipe Wallace Johnson from existence ...
It was absurd. It had to be.
Robinette waved a cab. "Lex, we'll talk again. I've got to return to the courthouse for another case. You are a free man. Enjoy your freedom."
Manhattan was now Lex's to explore. To conquer. He had faced his Waterloo, and survived.
He spent the next half hour walking through Manhattan. A brisk wind swirled the light snow along the pavement. Shoppers clung to their bags, as they crossed the streets. He picked up a coffee and paused at Rockefeller Center. The giant Christmas tree, with its bright decorations and baubles, dominated the main plaza. Workers had just completed the stage for next week's televised holiday special. About a dozen impossibly tall Rockettes practiced their dance routine on the stage. One of them spotted Lex, pointed him out to her friends, and waved. Lex waved back.
He didn't noticed that Serena Southerlyn had approached him.
"Enjoying the season's greetings, Lex?" Southerlyn inquired.
Lex turned around. "I've always found it hard to find that holiday cheer. But it is good to be a free man once again. To be in control of one's fate."
"I guess I should thank you for not naming me in your lawsuit," Southerlyn remarked.
"I'm told you were the voice of reason at the D.A.'s office," Lex mentioned. "If it had come to a guilty verdict, you were probably the only person who could have kept me off death row."
"Perhaps," Southerlyn remarked. "But Ron Carver offered you the keys to the kingdom. Did you realize that he was giving you an opportunity to end your Lionel feud for good? You could have walked out of Manhattan with the Luthor empire in your pocket."
"I know," Lex admitted. "but I'd rather leave New York with my integrity intact. The D.A. might think nothing about scuttling family bonds, but those bonds – whether I like it or hate it – have made me who I am. I am a Luthor. To deny that would make me an arrogant fool."
"Is that what you really believe, Lex," Southerlyn continued. "That your path is already laid out for you, that your genes dictate what's in store for you?"
"What I believe is, Counselor, that genes provide a glimpse of what's to come," Lex replied. "How that future unfolds is up to us." He noticed a tiny crucifix pendant around her neck. "But I guess your faith tells you that we are all made in the image of God."
Southerlyn laughed nervously at Lex's observation. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say that I'm practicing my religion."
"Yet, you still wear a cross around your neck," Lex continued. "That tells me that those values still matter to you. Everyone needs a foundation on which to base their lives."
"And what's your foundation, Lex?" Southerlyn inquired.
Lex grinned: "To be completely free, one must become a slave to laws."
"That's Cicero," Southerlyn answered. "You forget I'm a lawyer. And you didn't answer my question."
Lex finished his coffee and tossed the cup in the garbage. "That's the beauty of a free society. I can choose to answer the questions I want. I've enjoyed this conversation, Ms. Southerlyn, but I have work to do before I return to Metropolis. Enjoy the holidays." He began to walk towards the intersection.
"I hope you find what you're looking for," Southerlyn offered, as a gust of wind chilled the entire plaza.
Lex turned around at the crosswalk, intrigued by the comment. "And what would that be, Ms. Southerlyn?"
"Peace of mind," Southerlyn replied.
"Merry Christmas, Counsellor," Lex yelled above the rumble of traffic.
Across the street, he marveled at the stone and glass towers of downtown Manhattan. "God rest ye merry gentlemen," he mused. "Let nothing you dismay ..."
Lex felt cold, and it wasn't because of the wind. Ms. Southerlyn had said the same thing in his nightmare: that he could find peace. It worried him.
That he would never be at peace.
[McDaniel's Gas and General Store, Smallville, Kansas]
The sedan pulled up to the gas bar. The Metropolis – Smallville commute seemed faster than usual. It had been raining; pools of water were everywhere. Luckily, the reported snowfall only clipped the northern corner of the state.
"Break time, guys," Munch remarked. "My treat. I take it junk food is acceptable."
"Works for me," Clark replied, as he stepped out of the car to stretch his legs. While Fin Tutuola leaned against the car to review the late edition of the Ledger, Clark strolled along the patch of grassland beside the store. He was finally out of New York's concrete cocoon. Away from the media. He felt relieved that both he and Lex were free – in a manner of speaking.
Then it hit him.
A wave of nausea rippled through his body. As he collapsed onto the road, he managed to glimpse a sparkle of green amid the shrubs. A large piece of green meteor rock was half-buried in the soil, at the shrub roots. He was so close to keeping his secret out of the NYPD's files ... and now this. Clark struggled to get up, but his energy was slowly draining away.
Tutuola noticed that Clark had fallen and ran towards him. "Yo, Clark, you alright?" he asked. "Munch! Get over here! Clark's not looking so well."
Munch dropped his armful of chips and chocolate bars and knelt beside Clark. Det. Munch would surely spot the green meteor rock nestled beside the nearby shrubs. The detectives slowly helped Clark to his feet and guided him into the car seat.
Clark felt his strength return, but he needed an alibi. An excuse. Anything.
Now – before Munch figured it out.
Clark coughed. "It must be ... the chicken we ate on the plane."
Munch's seemed suspicious. "I had dinner on the flight, and I feel fine."
"That's 'cause you got the steakette," Tutuola replied. "I gotta admit, I'm not feeling at the top of my game after that soggy chicken creole."
Clark saw his opportunity. "Yeah. With all that turbulence mid-flight and the bad chicken, it just got to me."
Munch relented. "Maybe you better lay off the junk food. I'll get you some water instead." Clark thought that would be the end of it, but he didn't expect Tutuola to spot the green meteor rock.
Tutuola had spotted the rock half-buried beneath the shrub. "Hey, John, isn't that one of those green meteor rocks you've been telling me about?"
He reached out to grab it. Clark panicked. He could simply speed-run away, but that would tell the detectives that he had something to hide. If Tutuola brought that rock into the car, he could die before he ever reached the farmhouse.
Munch, who had just exited the store, lunged at his partner and almost tackled him to the ground. "Do not touch that, Fin! I've read those rocks have toxic properties! They've got nutcases in Belle Reve and psychos in the state pen who've lost their marbles because of those rocks!"
Tutuola backed away. "Alright, okay! They're just meteor rocks! It's not like I'm gonna turn into the Hulk by picking it up."
Munch took off his sunglasses and peered at the shiny green rocks. He glanced at Clark, who still seemed slightly ill. The chicken, eh, he wondered. When he returned to the car, he looked over his shoulder at Clark. "You sure you're okay, Kent? We could go to the hospital."
"Oh no, that's alright," Clark replied. "Some Rolaids, and I'll be good as new."
"Don't say we didn't warn you," Tutuola added, as he turned on the ignition. "If you puke your guts out on the upholstery, it's coming out of your allowance."
At a variety store along Smallville's main street, Chloe paid the 50 cents for the Daily Planet. The headline declared yet another twist to the Luthor scandal in the Empire State:
'WAYNE RALLIES BEHIND EMBATTLED NY D.A.: Gotham City industrialist lauds federal charges as "just"'
Chloe was somewhat familiar with the Wayne – Luthor rivalry. The tycoons had skirmished before, but this was no longer a spat. Now it would be an open war. Mr. Wayne seemed to be a corporate lightweight, but he was known to be politically savvy. Perhaps a strategic alliance served Wayne's needs ... and saved McCoy's career?
She wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. It hadn't snowed, but the wind was definitely picking up. Lana and Mr. Kent had planned a 'Welcome Home' party for Clark at the Talon. Clark's flight had landed at Metropolis International about two hours ago, but there was still no sign of the man of the hour.
Lana had thought of inviting Lex to the party, but that would have brought him into contact with Mr. Kent. Lex saved them the trouble of an awkward situation: he was apparently still in New York City and would not return to Smallville until late that night. The Talon's staffers were busily hanging tinsel, balloons and decorations on the walls. Pete, Lana, Mr. Kent and the well-wishers were already there.
Chloe didn't want to admit it, but she was worried about Clark. She believed that, as a friend, she should keep a stiff upper lip – especially around Mr. Kent, who had busied himself with farm projects. She couldn't imagine how painful it must have been for Clark's father to watch his son grilled on the witness stand like a common criminal. And with Mrs. Kent working on behalf of Lionel's legal team, Mr. Kent was left alone to keep the home fires burning.
Hurry home, Clark, Chloe thought to herself as she winced at the gusts of wind whipping around her face. I miss you.
A sedan stopped two blocks away. Chloe paused. Are the feds tailing me?
When Tutuola turned onto the main street, Munch had spotted the familiar wisps of blonde hair. "Pull over there, Fin."
"Why here, Munch?" Tutuola wondered. "The Talon's just down the street." Munch nodded towards the blonde girl.
"I have a feeling Clark won't mind walking a few blocks," Munch grinned. Slightly.
Clark seemed to nod a 'thank you' to the detective, then sprinted towards Chloe. Munch and Tutuola got out of the car for a moment.
"Clark Kent?" Chloe looked surprised, as Clark paused a few feet away. "You're back."
She wanted to kick herself. She had planned a long speech about how right Clark was in defending his faith in a friend – even if that pal was Lex Luthor. But now was not the time to debate the validity of Clark's trust in Lex. You're back, she grumbled to herself. Not exactly the warm greeting Clark should have expected. He deserved more from me.
Clark stepped towards Chloe, and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her tightly, as if he hadn't seen her in years. For one brief moment, Chloe was at a loss for words. There was no need for them. That hug told her everything she wanted to know.
He missed her.
In the distance, Tutuola smirked. "John Munch, sometimes you amaze me. Who'd have figured you had a soft spot for Archie and Betty over there! Don't tell me you're getting soft?"
"I have a knack for picking moments," Munch admitted. Maybe he did sympathize with the anguish the Kent kid was going through. And maybe the detective could identify with the inquisitive Miss Sullivan more than he realized. But he would never say that out loud. He was a detective with the Special Victims Unit.
Being "soft" wasn't part of his vocabulary, and he stressed that point by masking his face once more with his sunglasses.
"This town's on the highway to hell," Munch insisted, even as Clark and Chloe chatted excitedly about the past few weeks. "A toxic web of deception and willful ignorance binds this entire county – and Lex Luthor, Clark Kent and those frickin' green rocks are at the epicentre of it. Lionel Luthor might think he has leverage around here, but I used to work in Baltimore ... a stone's throw away from Langley and my CIA contacts. You heard it here first, Fin, if I find so much as a hay-straw's shred of evidence of Luthor subterfuge, I'm going to sweep through Smallville's dirty closet of secrets like Mr. Clean on steroids!"
Tutuola laughed at his partner's paranoid rant. "Sure, you will. But not tonight." They had to return to the ranks of New York's thin blue line. And there was no place like home.
Clark and Chloe waved goodbye, as the detectives drove away.
"I guess we'll never see them again," Chloe mused, still beaming with joy at her friend's return.
"I guess not," Clark replied. "I hope not." He wanted to believe that, but he could never be sure if Det. Munch believed his food poisoning alibi or not. Chloe had told him that Lex was distancing himself from Lionel's lawsuit against New York's cops and lawyers. But was that the end of it? Clark sensed that next year had more surprises in store for their town.
Those concerns would have to wait for another day, because he was greeted with a big "Surprise!" when he entered the Talon. Jonathan bolted away from the gathering crowd, raced towards his son and gave him a bear hug. A tear had sprinkled his face.
"I'm home, Dad," Clark smiled. "And I'm not leaving anytime soon."
Pete and the other well-wishers welcomed back their friend, but Clark seemed distracted. His mom was still in New York, his friend Lex was still wrapping up loose ends in Wall Street ... and the relentless Big Apple press made him out to be less than honest.
He set aside his feelings again, as one of the Talon's staffers wheeled out a large Black Forest cake, drizzled with an icing message: 'Welcome Back, Clark!'
Then everything seemed to stop.
Lana Lang weaved through the crowd. "Clark!" Before he could say a word, she began to ramble. "When we heard you were going to be sequestered, we were all taken aback. I mean, you were cut off from all of us ... Mr. Kent couldn't even say hi to you on the phone ... Lex was beaten in Sing Sing ... that cop was killed, then the navy blew Wallace Johnson straight to Mars ... and the tabloids were saying such vicious things about you, and –"
Clark held both of her hands. "None of that matters now. I told the truth. Lex is free. I'm back home with my friends and family. And ... I am really glad to see you."
Lana jumped into his arms and embraced him warmly. "Merry Christmas, Clark Kent," she gushed. "The holidays would never be the same without you."
Chloe saw them and smiled politely, as the party-goers waited in line for a piece of cake.
"Whatcha thinking about, Chloe?" Pete inquired mischievously, He knew Chloe had certain feelings for his best friend, and he didn't hesitate to tease her.
"Nothing, Pete," Chloe stated matter-of-factly. She savoured her slice of cake and grinned.
He hugged me first.
THE END