In the video, Fran, tied to a chair, tearfully confessed to the crimes he had committed.
"Repeatedly helping gangs sell out informants' information, sabotaging colleagues who had conflicts with me, framing obstacles to my promotion within the police department, threatening people into stealing all kinds of commercial secrets... The crimes he committed were enough to get him executed five or six times over."
At the end of the video, Fran also revealed his plans to control Clark.
"If Clark doesn't obey, I'll teach him a lesson. For example, I could get hold of a corpse and an unregistered gun, hide them in the barn, frame your father for murder, and send him to prison. Only then would I truly have leverage over your whole family."
A trembling voice came from the video as Fran confessed in terror.
Yet Clark could still hear the chillingly sinister calculations behind it.
Maybe his brother was right. He had been too naive, still clinging to wishful thinking.
"I was wrong about this."
After the video ended, Clark's expression darkened slightly as he admitted his mistake to his younger brother.
He looked seriously into David's eyes, his face full of concern.
"But you shouldn't have killed anyone, David.
"You haven't even finished high school, yet you could beat someone into a vegetative state without even blinking, torture confessions out of people, kill them, and dispose of their bodies.
"I'm really a little afraid."
Strictly speaking, his younger brother David was still underage, yet many of the things he had done were enough to make most adults shudder.
Compared to someone being killed, the future Superman Clark was more worried about David's condition in the future.
Concern from Clark +35... Template merged: 96%
"What did you think of those soldiers who killed people in the defensive war?"
David asked.
"Were they uncontrolled murderers with evil intentions?"
"Of course not."
Clark said. How could defending one's country be a crime?
"Then stop trying to interfere with me."
Leaving those words behind, David turned and walked away.
"I'm protecting this family from any outside trouble or harm!"
Watching his brother leave, Clark opened his mouth, but had nothing to say in rebuttal.
If his brother remained like this, he would not be worried. What he feared was that when certain things began to develop, if you did not care or stop them, then by the time the outcome was set in stone, you would no longer have the power to change it.
"Today, David crossed the line into killing, and he seemed to carry no psychological burden at all. It was like... like crushing a bug, just casually doing something trivial."
Clark could not help but worry, recalling the scenes Cassandra had seen when she foresaw the future.
If those scenes were real, then future David had clearly not limited his power to merely protecting this family.
Dark clouds blanketed the sky, and cold rain drifted down against the glass.
At the top floor of the Metropolis Environmental Center, in a building with bright, spotless windows,
a man in a suit and tie stood with his meticulously groomed hair slicked back. There was a fighter's resolve between his brows as he sternly watched the umbrella-carrying crowds below come and go.
"The view here is quite nice."
A friendly voice sounded. A brown-haired man in a black overcoat walked into the office and removed his leather gloves.
He wore a smile as warm as spring sunshine.
"Good morning, Mr. Rickman. Welcome."
Like a soldier preparing for a difficult battle, Paul slowly turned around, his voice serious yet polite.
"Director Paul called me here. Is there something I can contribute to the Environmental Protection Center?"
Rickman sat down across from the desk without ceremony. He shifted his body as if dissatisfied with the chair's lack of comfort, then looked up and smiled.
"I heard your company has been conducting investigations in Smallville and preparing to purchase several farms.
"Does your company have some plan in mind?"
Paul sat down in his own seat as well, looked directly into Rickman's eyes, and got straight to the point.
"My plan is to build a large factory, creating more jobs and tax revenue for our beloved Metropolis."
Rickman spread his hands.
Without a word, Paul took a bottle of water samples from a cabinet, set it on the desk, and stared at him.
"What is this?"
"A groundwater sample taken from the site of a factory you recently built. The various readings exceeding the limits inside are even worse than those from the factories under your name."
His gaze was sharp.
"Rickman Enterprises and the Environmental Protection Center have always maintained a good relationship, Paul."
Rickman did not even glance at it. Smiling, he pointed to a corner of the room.
"Did you know? That water dispenser in your office was actually sponsored by my company. I had dinner with several of your colleagues just two days ago."
"Not everyone can be bought with money.
"Tomorrow, my people and I will issue a Restraining Order to prevent your company from approaching that town."
He stood, defiance in his eyes, and braced both hands on the desk.
"Listen to me, and everyone benefits. Otherwise..."
Rickman stood as well. The smile faded from his face, and his eyes revealed a chilling coldness.
"I investigated the Pesticide Factory under your company's name. There seem to be an unusually large number of lawsuits from employees poisoned there, though you managed to suppress them all."
Paul took out a thick folder and confronted him without fear.
"I've contacted several people, and we've decided to sue you again.
"Mr. Rickman may become very busy from now on, with no time for anything else."
Rickman's expression suddenly grew darker. After several seconds, he abruptly smiled and shook his head as if helpless.
"You really found my weak spot, Paul."
He placed a hand on Paul's shoulder. His palm seemed to brush the back of Paul's neck casually, making physical contact with him.
Paul's pupils briefly lost focus, then returned to normal. When he looked again at the business elite before him, he suddenly felt immense closeness and admiration, along with overwhelming regret.
How could he have been so rude to Mr. Rickman, who had always donated things to the Environmental Protection Center?
"I'm sorry, sir. Just now, I..."
"It's all right, Director Paul."
Rickman smiled warmly and draped an arm around him as he led him to the window, speaking as though to an old friend.
"I greatly admire your fighting spirit, but I have never bought anyone with money."
"You're right, sir. I shouldn't have doubted your integrity."
"Look at the buildings outside. You have devoted so much passion to your work, protecting people's safe and environmentally friendly lives, but do you own even a single piece of land?"
"No, sir. My wife, children, and I are still renting an apartment for now."
As if remembering something painful, a trace of sorrow appeared between Paul's brows.
Rickman shook his head, his expression seeming to hold genuine pity.
"What meaning is there in living such a life?
"Think about it, Mr. Paul."
He patted the confused Paul on the shoulder and turned to leave.
After a while, in the first-floor lobby of the Metropolis Environmental Center, Rickman, carrying himself like a successful man, walked toward the entrance.
Bang!
A figure leaped down from above, crushing the taxi at the entrance flat and smashing into a pile of flesh.
"Taylor, I heard several stubborn farmers refuse to sell their land?"
He withdrew his cold gaze and took out his phone.
"Prepare the car. We're going to town. I'll have a talk with them."
Golden noon sunlight shone through the glass into the house.
David and Clark opened the door and returned home, yet they could not smell lunch at all.
The oppressive atmosphere was stifling.
"Dad, Mom, what's wrong?"
David walked into the house, surprised.
In the living room, their father Jonathan sat worriedly at the dining table, while their mother Martha stood angrily to one side. It seemed they had just had a huge argument for the first time in ages, and neither was speaking to the other.
Such a situation had rarely appeared in this warm little home over the past decade or so.
"What is that, Dad?"
Seeing his parents argue, Clark was confused and worried. He pointed to the several documents Jonathan was repeatedly examining.
"It's the contract your father signed to sell our farm and house."
At the mention of it, Martha could not suppress her anger. Her eyes reddened as she accused her husband.
"How could you do this without discussing it with me first? Who was it that once told me this land was our family heirloom? Who was it that said we would live here forever?"
"What?"
The two brothers were dumbfounded.
Everything had been fine that morning. They had only just returned from school at noon, yet in the blink of an eye, their house and land were gone?
David frowned, stepped closer, and asked for confirmation in disbelief.
"Father, did you really sell our Kent Farm and the Kent home?"
The update was a little late. I wrote an extra five hundred words. Please keep following.
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