Scared Me to Death—Turns Out It Was Just the Internal Revenue Service

Autumn morning mist shrouded Kent Farm, and the golden wheat stubble glimmered faintly beneath the rising sun.

Logan was gone.

Just as suddenly as he had arrived, the battle-hardened warrior had slipped away at some unknown time.

When Locke discovered it, all that remained on the living room sofa were a few crumpled American bills.

"This is Kansas Hotspot."

"Here are the latest developments regarding the Smallville School Bus Drowning Incident!"

The female anchor's voice from the television made Jonathan, who was frying bacon, freeze with his spatula in hand. He turned off the heat, walked into the living room, wiped his hands, and stared fixedly at the screen.

"Yesterday, another thirty-seven parents joined the protest, demanding that the government immediately—"

The camera swept across the angry crowd. Furious parents held up signs—

Our children are not fish bait!

Those bright red words were especially glaring.

On the steps before Town Hall, several suited officials were sweating as they explained something.

"People of the town! Listen to me!"

"The state legislature has urgently allocated eight hundred thousand dollars, and the first construction crews arrived this morning—"

"We'll repair the roads. We'll repair the bridge."

As soon as the words fell, the camera switched again—

To the broken bridge supports.

More than twenty workers in hard hats were putting up barricades.

A man in gold-rimmed glasses was saying something to the reporters. The name tag on his chest reflected the sunlight so brightly that only the tiny words "Lionel" could barely be made out.

"I just saw old Bob." Jonathan tucked the bacon from the pan into a sandwich, his eyes still glued to the television as he said eagerly, "That old guy's sign was practically poking the mayor in the face."

"Say, if I went to protest too, do you think I'd get on TV?"

Martha rolled her eyes at him, her knitting needles never stopping. "At your age, and you still love showing off?"

"Hehe."

"How can you say that?" Jonathan grinned, a nostalgic look appearing on his face. "Back when Locke was in school, if I hadn't always been making a scene as a parent, how could he possibly—"

"Jonathan!"

Locke's face darkened, and the coffee mug in his hand let out an overwhelmed cracking sound.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop."

Jonathan raised both hands in surrender, though his eyes still gleamed with teasing amusement.

"Dad!"

Clark blinked his blue eyes curiously. "Keep going! I want to know about Uncle Locke too."

Dad's younger days?

Dio pretended to flip through his physics textbook.

But his red eyes kept darting toward Jonathan. Clearly, he wanted to hear the story too.

Locke shook his head helplessly and directly changed the subject.

"Let's not talk about that. Jonathan, Martha, regarding Clark this time—"

He did not finish, but his meaning was already obvious.

The school bus incident had caused such a huge stir. Would Clark's unusual behavior attract the attention of someone with ulterior motives?

Jonathan hesitated for a moment.

"Locke, if it comes down to it..." He took a deep breath. "We'll take Clark and leave."

"What about the farm?" Locke frowned.

"You'll take it over, right, brother?" Jonathan gave a bitter smile.

"Is that so?" Locke pondered for a while before nodding. "Then when the time comes, take Dio with you too. I'll stay behind to handle the farm's affairs and sell it when the time is right. In maybe a year or two, I'll come join you."

The room immediately fell silent.

Clark lowered his head, his fingers tightly clutching the hem of his shirt.

He only felt that everything was his fault. If he had not impulsively saved those people—

"It's alright." Martha forced a smile and gently ruffled Clark's curly hair. "Jonathan, don't be so pessimistic. No one has come knocking yet. Doesn't that mean that incident was just an accident—"

"Ding~"

The doorbell suddenly rang.

Everyone froze.

Knock, knock, knock!

"Hello!"

An unfamiliar male voice came from outside, its cheerful tone strangely unsettling.

Locke motioned for Jonathan and Martha to stay quiet, then slowly walked toward the door.

When he opened it, a man in a suit stood beneath the porch.

Rainwater dripped from the eaves, splashing tiny droplets beside the man's polished leather shoes.

His slicked-back hair was impeccably neat, and the badge on his chest gleamed brightly.

"Internal Revenue Service?" Locke sighed in relief.

He had already been prepared to knock out the investigator and flee with the family.

So it was just the Internal Revenue Service.

"Internal Revenue Service?" Jonathan also sighed in relief when he heard that.

So it was just the Internal Revenue Service.

"Hello, are you Mr. Jonathan Kent?"

The man nodded and smiled as he removed his sunglasses. Curious, he asked, "You seem to be in a good mood?"

"I'm Jonathan Kent."

"He's the owner of the neighboring farm, Locke Kent."

Hearing the voice from inside, the man squeezed his way into the house.

He looked around at the people in the room and was surprised to find that all of them looked deeply relieved.

God.

The man sniffed, and his opinion of Locke and Jonathan shot straight up.

These people definitely were not ordinary farmers!

They were farmers with conscience! Farmers with education!

Just look at them—when they saw him arrive, they looked so relieved.

They were clearly eager to contribute to America's national defense!

God knew how many farmers had given him attitude lately.

Even though their recent policies had improved—

Those ignorant farmers not only failed to appreciate it, but were full of complaints.

A few days ago, he had nearly been beaten out by someone. He had been so angry that he had almost written a report requesting a tax enforcement unit be transferred over.

"Allow me to introduce myself." He pulled a document from his briefcase. "Internal Revenue Service investigator, Kristen Ford."

"Oh, right, I remember now."

"You must be Mr. Locke, correct? No wonder I couldn't find you just now."

Kristen smiled brightly.

There was no trace at all of how he had flown into a rage outside Locke Farm just moments ago because he could not find anyone.

"So the two of you are?"

"Brothers," Jonathan answered without hesitation.

"Haha, look at my memory. You're both Kents."

Kristen smiled and found a chair to sit on, placing his briefcase on his knees.

He had just opened his mouth when—

A chill ran through his entire body.

What was that?

Kristen froze. Two little heads, one blond and one black-haired, were peeking over the back of the sofa, staring straight at him.

The red-eyed one scrutinized him as though he were a frog on a dissection table, while the blue-eyed one gleamed with excessive curiosity.

"Haha. And these two young gentlemen are?"

Kristen's hand trembled involuntarily, and his briefcase slipped to the floor.

"My son." Jonathan put an arm around Clark's shoulders.

"My son." Locke rubbed Dio's blond hair.

"What... lively young men!"

Kristen awkwardly picked up his briefcase. "I'm sure they'll both become excellent farm operators in the future—"

He forcibly changed the subject and glanced at the protest footage still playing on the television.

"Since you two have been following the news, I assume you can guess the purpose of my visit?"

Jonathan shook his head blankly. "We've been busy harvesting lately—"

"I understand, I understand!" Kristen interrupted excitedly, shaking a stack of colorful brochures from his bag. "Usually, you take the initiative to go into town and pay your taxes, so I came personally this time to bring you tremendous news!"

"Gentlemen, take a look."

"Starting this year, the Federal Agriculture Improvement and Reform Act and the Taxpayer Relief Act will go into effect."