The Kent Farm is Sold

Chapter 40: The Sold-Off Kent Farm

In the video, Fran, tied to a chair, confessed his past crimes through tears and snot.

"Frequently helping gangs by leaking informant data, secretly harming colleagues he had conflicts with, framing obstacles to his promotion in the police department, threatening people into stealing various trade secrets... The crimes he committed are enough to get him executed five or six times."

At the end, the video also revealed Fran's intention to control Clark.

"If Clark doesn't behave, I'll teach him a lesson—like planting a corpse and an illegal gun in the barn, framing your father for murder, and getting him thrown in prison. That's when I'd truly have leverage over your whole family."

A trembling voice came from the video as Fran confessed in fear.

But Clark could still hear the chilling, sinister scheming beneath it.

Maybe his brother was right—he was naively clinging to hope.

"I was wrong about this."

After the video finished, Clark's expression darkened slightly as he admitted his mistake to his brother.

Then he looked David squarely in the eyes, his face full of worry.

"But you shouldn't kill, brother.

You haven't even finished high school, yet you can beat someone into a vegetative state without blinking, torture confessions, kill, and dispose of bodies.

That really scares me."

Strictly speaking, his brother David was still a minor, yet many of his actions would send chills down the spines of most adults.

Compared to someone being killed, the future Superman Clark was more worried about David's future state.

Clark's concern +35...

Template fusion at 96%

"What do you think of the soldiers who killed people in the defense war?"

David asked.

"Are they uncontrollable, evil-minded murderers?"

"Of course not."

Clark replied—how could defending the country be a crime?

"Then stop meddling with me."

Tossing out that line, David turned and left.

"I'm protecting this family from any outside trouble or disruption!"

Watching his brother's retreating back, Clark opened his mouth but found no words to argue.

If his brother stayed like this, he wouldn't worry. But what scared him was that when things develop, if you don't pay attention or stop them, by the time the outcome is set, you'll be powerless to change it.

"Today, David crossed the line into killing, and he showed no psychological burden at all—like squashing a bug, just a trivial little thing."

Clark couldn't help feeling anxious, which reminded him of the future-predicting images Ms. Cassandra had shown him.

If those images were real, then the future David clearly wouldn't limit his power to just protecting this family.

Dark clouds hung over the sky, and cold raindrops pattered against the glass.

At the Metropolis Environmental Center, on the top floor of a building with bright, clean windows.

A man in a suit and tie, meticulously groomed with his hair combed back, bore a fighter's toughness in his brow. He stared solemnly at the crowd of people walking under umbrellas below.

"The view here is really nice."

A friendly voice came through as a brown-haired man in a black coat walked into the office, pulling off his leather gloves.

A smile that felt like a spring breeze hung on his face.

"Good morning, Mr. Rickman. Welcome."

Paul, like a warrior bracing for a tough battle, turned around slowly, his voice serious yet polite.

"Director Paul called me here—is there something I can contribute to the Environmental Center?"

Sitting down unceremoniously across the table, Rickman shifted in his seat as if finding it uncomfortable, then looked up with a smile. The billionaire worth hundreds of millions.

"I heard your company has been doing some surveys in Smallville, preparing to buy a few farms.

Does your company have any plans?"

Paul sat down in his own seat, looking the other man straight in the eye and getting straight to the point.

"My plan is to build a new large factory, creating some jobs and tax revenue for our dear Metropolis."

Rickman spread his hands.

Without a word, Paul took a water sample bottle from the cabinet, placed it on the table, and stared at him.

"What's this?"

"A groundwater sample drawn from the site of a factory you recently built. The excessive parameters in it are even worse than those from your own factories." His gaze was sharp.

"The relationship between Rickman Enterprises and the Environmental Center has always been well-maintained, Paul."

Rickman didn't even glance at him, smiling as he pointed to a corner of the room.

"You know that water dispenser in your office? My company sponsored it. I had dinner with a few of your colleagues just two days ago."

"Not everyone can be bought with money. Tomorrow, I'll have my people issue a Restraining Order to keep your company away from that town."

He stood up, an unyielding light in his eyes, both hands braced against the desk.

"Listen to me. It'll be good for everyone. Otherwise..."

Rickman rose as well, his smile vanishing, his gaze turning into something chilling and fearsome.

"I've looked into the Pesticide Factory under your company's name. The number of lawsuits from employees poisoned on the job seems unusually high, though you've managed to suppress them all."

Paul pulled out a thick folder, meeting him head-on without a trace of fear.

"I've already contacted several people and decided to reopen the case against you. From now on, Mr. Rickman, you might be too busy to meddle in other matters."

Rickman's eyes darkened sharply. After a few seconds, he suddenly laughed, shaking his head as if in helpless resignation.

"You've really hit me where it hurts, Paul."

He placed a hand on Paul's shoulder, his palm brushing against the back of his neck as if by accident, making physical contact.

Paul's pupils briefly went vacant before snapping back to normal. Looking at the business elite before him, he felt an overwhelming sense of closeness and admiration, followed by a surge of regret.

How could he have been so rude to Mr. Rickman, who had always donated to the Environmental Center?

"I'm sorry, sir. Just now, I..."

"It's fine, Director Paul."

Rickman's face wore a warm smile as he put an arm around Paul's shoulder and led him to the window, speaking as if to an old friend.

"I truly admire your fighting spirit, but I've never bought anyone with money."

"You're right, sir. I shouldn't have doubted your integrity."

"Look at all those buildings out there. You've poured so much passion into your work, ensuring people live safe and eco-friendly lives—but do you own any piece of this?"

"No, sir. My wife, kids, and I are still renting an apartment." As if reminded of a painful truth, a trace of sorrow crept into Paul's brow.

Rickman shook his head, his face showing what seemed like genuine pity.

"What's the point of living like that? Think about it, Mr. Paul."

He patted the bewildered Paul on the shoulder and turned to leave.

A moment later, at the first-floor lobby of the Metropolis Environmental Center, Rickman, exuding the air of a successful man, reached the entrance.

Bam!

A figure leaped down from upstairs, crashing into a taxi at the door and splattering into a mess of flesh and blood.

"Taylor, I hear some stubborn Farmers refuse to sell their land?"

He withdrew his cold gaze and pulled out his phone from his pocket.

"Get the car ready. We're heading to the town. I'll have a talk with them."

At noon, golden sunlight streamed through the glass into the house.

David and Clark opened the door and stepped inside, only to find no scent of lunch at all.

The atmosphere was suffocatingly heavy.

"Dad, Mom, what's wrong?"

Walking into the living room, David was taken aback.

In the living room, their father Jonathan sat gloomily at the dining table, while their mother Martha stood angrily to the side, as if they'd just had a rare, explosive argument. Neither was speaking to the other.

This was something the warm little family had hardly ever seen in over a decade.

"What's this, Dad?"

Seeing his parents fight, Clark was both puzzled and worried, pointing at the several documents Jonathan kept flipping through in his hands.

"It's the contract your father signed to sell our farm and house."

At the mention of it, Martha couldn't hold back her fury, her eyes reddening as she accused her husband.

"How could you not discuss it with me first? Who was it that told me this land was our family heirloom? Who said we'd live here forever?"

"What?"

The two brothers were stunned.

Everything had been fine this morning. They'd just come home from school at noon, and in the blink of an eye, their house and land were gone?

David frowned, stepping closer, hardly daring to believe it as he sought confirmation.

"Dad, did you really sell our Kent Farm and Kent Home?"

(A bit late on the update, wrote an extra five hundred words—please keep reading!)