Part Twenty-Seven
That evening; Clark walked home to his apartment, earlier he had flown to a modest old-fashioned bakery on Hanover Street in Boston’s North End for the kind of coffee and homemade chocolate cannoli that Lois loved. The task had been a decidedly welcome diversion from his normal routine. Working as a features writer for the Merchant Street Examiner, a small neighborhood paper that was little more than a glorified coupon circular, was extremely tedious. The salary was a measly fraction of the one from the Daily Planet, but he was determined not to wipe out his savings or take any of the profits from the farm.
There was one small upside to this, for lack of a better word … exile. He was free to spend more time as Superman. By using the ancient underground tunnels throughout Metropolis, tracking his movements was close to impossible. Nevertheless that was a cold comfort for the fast-paced and appealing life he once enjoyed as a Daily Planet reporter.
A thought surfaced, not for the first time in the past few weeks; where was H.G. Wells? Surely he could be of some assistance to him, especially after all that Clark had done for Clark Jerome on his world. The least the Victorian writer could do was appear and help him out of this TresAx situation.
He turned a corner and sighed loudly, when he had first started doing rescues, it was easy; muggings, a few bank hold-ups and the occasional fender bender on the interstate. But as he expanded his patrols to include the rest of the country and then the planet he realized the disaster level and emotional intensity of the rescues had increased. The loss of life, the searing guilt of never being fast enough was sometimes more than he could bear.
For a while there, not being able to have a discussion about it had begun to take a toll on him. Oh sure, there were times when he spoke with Pete Ross, yet he felt it was wrong to drop all of this emotional load on his old friend, especially considering what his work day in MetroGen’s ER was like!
He was Earth’s super first responder; the Man of Steel, yet could he truly expect any human counselor to lend a hand in his unique situation?
An earthquake off the coast of Iceland was the final crushing straw to his emotional back. Not too many people think of Iceland as being in the ‘ring of fire’, but this is inaccurate. Most people think of the Pacific rim, but Iceland is rife with volcanic activity and it is a source of much instability.
The loss of life both human and animal was thankfully minimal, but Clark spent the weekend flying survivors to safety and clearing tons of wreckage. By the time internal disaster relief teams arrived he was as close to complete exhaustion as he had ever been.
At one particular rescue he had landed in front of a house that had caught fire when power lines had come down. They had ignited some trees which had fallen down and destroyed the house. Sadly, Clark had arrived too late to save the home, but fortunately the family had managed to escape without injury. A little towheaded girl no more than five had been looking at the heap of smoldering embers which only that morning had been her home, sobbing uncontrollably.
Tentatively, Clark picked up the child and held her while hot unabashed tears left tracks down his soot covered cheeks. The rest of the family gathered around him and the child in a comforting embrace.
A young woman, taking pictures of the tragedy took a photo of Superman and his new found friend whose name he later learned was Katya. The photographer immediately sent the picture to her newspaper in Reykjavik.
The wire services picked up on the heartrending image and soon it was displayed around the globe with the caption reading:
MAN OF STEEL, HEART OF GOLD
Without being asked, he had swiftly cleared the ashen heap of timbers, scorched brick and copper piping in preparation for the new home to be built. This simple act saved them hundreds if not thousands of dollars. It gave Clark a strong sense of satisfaction to know he had made a difference to Katya and her family. But again he pondered the thought; she had someone to talk to about her loss, who did he have?
Upon his return to Metropolis on Sunday night he found the light on the answering machine blinking wildly from the several messages that had been left behind. One was a telemarketer, two were from Daily Planet staffers, one was from Pete checking on him after he saw the photo. The second to last one revealed the anxious voice of Lois wanting to know how he was doing working for a small paper. The final one was from Uncle Wayne:
{Son, this is Wayne. Your aunt and I are right proud of what you did for that child in Iceland. Come over as soon as you can.} There was a brief pause as the older man cleared his throat. {Ah … the barn roof needs fixin’. Ah … I could sure use your ‘talents’ with a hammer.}
A tiny smile tugged at his lips. Wayne, in his own taciturn way wanted to make sure he was doing well.
The following afternoon Clark, found himself on the roof of the old barn, removing weathered old sections. During their lunchtime break, his aunt brought out turkey sandwiches on thick slices of homemade bread, lemonade and brown butter cookies. They sat on the porch, eating in comfortable silence. Suddenly in a firm, yet strong voice, his surrogate uncle spoke about his days serving in the military in Korea.
“Me and Jonathan were a couple of wet-behind-the-ears recruits, walking around town in our freshly pressed uniforms with shiny buttons. Heh, you’d have thought we was on parade. The fillies liked our looks too…” A quiet smile played over Wayne’s lips as a pleasant memory flitted through his mind.
“Yeah, we thought we were really somethin’ until one cold, wet night we found ourselves on patrol. It was mid-December and so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front o’ your face. Trying to keep warm, we was all bundled up in our greatcoats, mufflers and gloves. We even had black knit caps on, under our helmets you understand. It was god-awful cold and rainy. Suddenly, there we was, face down in the muck and mire, smack in the middle of a battle; we didn’t even have no foxhole to dive into. God, it was horrible; shells exploding, confusion, men screaming and dying, us firing our M-1s at an enemy we couldn’t even see. The smell of sweat, the mud and the gunpowder is somethin’ my mind ain’t never gonna forget. It was the worst experience either of us had ever been through...”
Clark remembered vaguely that his adopted father never spoke of his actual time in Korea, only that he and Wayne had enlisted, he listened in respectful silence. He watched the older man’s face, roughened by years of working under the rays of the Kansas sun take on an impressive appearance as if suddenly he was somewhere else in time. Wayne looked into the distance remembering.
A deep, cleansing sigh escaped Wayne’s lips, as if the breath expelled had been held internally for years until that day. “Anyways son, whenever you need to talk about the awful things that happens during a rescue … call me. If a man don’t open up to someone, sooner or later the memories are gonna break him down.”
With those words, Wayne took a small bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. Clark took that as an invitation to talk, which he did until his throat and the memories of past horrific rescues ran dry.
***
The afternoons spent in Smallville were what he needed, time away from rescues, Lana’s betrayal and sadly even from the desire to be working at the Daily Planet with a certain dark-eyed female reporter. Talking to Wayne had lifted a frightening burden from his heart, allowing him to move forward, but it still did not explain where H.G. Wells was.
***
At the top of the stairs, Clark pulled out his apartment keys and opened the door; he turned on the lights and discovered three people standing in the middle of his living room. He stood in the doorway, astounded; he must really have been deep in thought not to hear anyone’s heartbeat.
“It’s about time you showed up! H.G, Clark and I were ready to go looking for you!” The woman, wearing a long, cheap blonde wig and baggy clothes said in a strikingly familiar voice.
“Good to see you again Clark.” The man said as he removed his baseball cap, revealing the original Clark Jerome Kent. “Since Lois isn’t with you, I guess the secret hasn’t been revealed yet?”
“Bad idea,” said the blonde rolling her eyes.
“Really Mr. Kent, she is your greatest ally, in this or any universe.” H.G said rather dryly.
Clark still surprised said, “What … what are all of you doing here?”
“That’s easy, to protect your secret identity from Tempus.” Clark Jerome said.
H.G. cleared his throat, “Yes, and going forward to make things easier on all of us, the original Clark should go by the nickname of ‘CJ’ and his lovely wife as ‘Wanda’.”
Lois responded, “That’s Wanda, as in the character from my detective series..”
“Not as in Wanda Detroit, the famous Roaring Twenties torch singer?” Clark said the weariness of the day coming through in his voice. “This evening is full of surprises.”
The blonde said, “Wow! I didn’t think she was a real person here. Anyway, I never liked my middle name. Do I look like a ‘Joan’ to you?”
“Careful with the answer buddy,” said CJ with a chuckle. “She really does not like that name.”
“Oh boy, this has been a very long day.” Clark groaned as he ran a shaky hand though his hair.
H.G. waved to the couch, “Why don’t we take a seat, it has been a rather tiring day for all of us. We need to talk.”
‘Wanda’ walked over to the kitchen and began going through the takeout menus. “Good, while you boys get comfortable, I’ll make some tea and order a large pizza, extra cheese, pepperoni and sausage right?”
“Yeah, and add some garlic knots. Lubrano’s make the best.” Her husband said.
She started running water into the kettle and said, “Lubrano’s is in this universe? Great. Their cheesecake is to die for! She added sheepishly, “Huh … not that I’m ordering any!”
Clark sat down across from CJ and H.G. Wells; it was still disconcerting to be talking to another version of himself. Still, he could not help but smile, only minutes ago he was hoping to see the famed time traveler, only to have him appear – with reinforcements. Suddenly he did not feel so lonely and in an odd way, defenseless.
“Ahem, Clark this is a critical juncture in your universe. In the previous timeline, Wanda or rather ‘Lois’ and I appeared and through a series of unfortunate events changed your life.”
“More like ‘upended’ it!” Lois said with a sigh as she put down the phone and joined the others in the living room. “The delivery guy will be here in about twenty minutes. I still feel horrible about what happened; even if it looks like H.G. was able to fix things.”
“Yes, yes. When Clark and I kept you … or rather the Lois of this universe, from traveling to the Congo all previous time lines were altered to a much better state for our friend here.”
“Tempus is going to be determined to expose Superman’s identity in any way possible.” CJ said.
“Why is that man so determined to ruin my life?”
“Because the continued existence of Superman and Lois Lane means their descendants will make Utopia a reality.” H.G said quietly. “Originally he was lashing out against that reality. But shortly after he arrived in this universe, one of the Time agents managed to destroy his dimensional transport which marooned him here. Now he is determined to make this Alt Earth his kingdom through economic and media domination.”
“When did he arrive here?” Clark asked.
“Perhaps a little more than six years ago.” H.G. replied.
“So being Daae’s henchman and then taking over DMG is his first step towards that domination?” Clark said.
H.G. responded, “Quite right. Imagine how the media shape the thinking of the populace? We are all writers and as such are perfectly aware of the damage which results from spreading irresponsible information.”
“So, it’s up to us to prevent Tempus from causing further harm?” CJ said.
“Yeah, but most important of all, we don’t want him destroying your chance of a real life with Lois. CJ and I were at Café Americana watching.” Her smile was warm and genuine, causing Clark to quietly ache for his Lois. “You two make quite an item. I can’t believe you haven’t told her yet.”
As if to punctuate this statement ‘Wanda’ removed the long blonde wig revealing short, curly brown hair. Clark’s jaw almost dropped, his Lois’s hair was long with the faintest of blonde highlights.
Witnessing this sudden change only added to the list of surprises this evening had to offer. The kettle whistled shrilly and she got up and started making everyone’s tea.
“Honey, now is not the time…” CJ said patiently.
“Yes, Mrs. Kent … I mean ‘Wanda’ … or should I call you Lois since Miss Lane isn’t here? Oh dear, now I’m getting confused!” H.G. groaned.
From where Clark sat Lois was Lois in this universe or any other. But to keep from getting confused he had to think and refer to her as ‘Wanda’. She started pouring water from the kettle into four cups, placing the tea bags in each and adding a teaspoon of honey from a small jar. Lois … Wanda moved through the apartment as if she was perfectly comfortable with the layout. Was his apartment so much like CJ’s old bachelor digs?
“Sorry, but ‘Clark’ here has to realize how much precious time he’s wasting by not telling her. She could be a big help, especially when he’s running out of the newsroom to perform a rescue. Lame excuses like Cheese of the Month club are just plain … well … cheesy!”
Clark rubbed the back of his neck, since becoming the man in the blue spandex suit, life had been incredibly busy; so much so that telling Lois what his ‘other job’ was had never come up.
He said without being able to look at ‘Wanda’ “There’s been no time. Besides due to this libel suit, Constance Hunter and the other Daily Planet lawyers want me to stay away from the building and its employees.”
“Huh uh.” Lois said as she plunked down a mug of tea in front of him. “I remember what that’s like!”
“Then you should also remember how The Daily Planet, reporting and this DMG story are important to Lois. Being seen with me will only taint her. She doesn’t deserve that. Look, I understand your concerns, they are valid and just, but this is a different world, we are different people and have led very different lives from the ones you and CJ had until you met at work. All of you please believe me, when the time is right, I will tell her.” The look in his eyes spoke volumes.
A curiously happy Lois Lane-Kent sat next to her husband at the table, took his hand and said, “Farmboy, this Clark is a keeper, he knows how important opening up is!”
“Ah well, now that that is settled, let us discuss what we can do to assist poor Clark.” H.G. said with a sigh.
For the next ten minutes they discussed possible plans until the pizza arrived. The conversation drifted for a time as CJ and ‘Wanda’ told Clark about what had transpired in their universe since his departure three months ago their time.
“It is imperative for you to continue using the underground passages Clark. I have no doubt Tempus will keep an eye on this building, the newspaper and S.T.A.R. Labs.”
“What about Lois’ apartment? It is one of the places Superman frequents.”
Wells shook his head, “I must insist on curtailing all visits to Miss Lane as Superman for the foreseeable future, only Clark Kent should be seen going there.”
The thought of Lois being watched by the minions of Tempus was disturbing, what if they made some move against her?
CJ laid a consoling hand on Clark’s arm, “I know what’s going through your mind. We will be moving back and forth between your universe and ours to keep an eye on both of you. Tempus won’t cause Lois any grief unless he absolutely has to and so far, she hasn’t given him a reason.”
“Honey, maybe you should do a few rescues while Clark Kent is working the Bullpen. It won’t fool Tempus, but it should keep him off balance while bolstering the idea that Superman and Clark Kent are two separate people.” ‘Wanda’ commented.
“Ah, Mrs. Kent,” H.G. said thoughtfully, “Both you and your husband must be very careful. As we know from bitter experience, Tempus is his most deadly when he is off balance.”
Once dinner was finished the Kents and H.G. Wells bade Clark farewell and departed for the night … through two different dimensional doors.
As the lights faded from the dimensional transports closing, Clark shook his head, smiled and mused, “Nothing is impossible.”
***
Hours later, Clark was still awake thinking about the events of that evening when the phone rang. Thinking it was a wrong number, he quickly picked up the receiver and said sharply, “Whoever this is don’t you have a respect for a man’s right to sleep? It must be 2:00am!”
A familiar, yet welcomed breathless voice came over the line, “Oh I’m sorry Clark, but this great news couldn’t wait! We have enough evidence to prove Jasper Templar manipulated Armand Guerin! What Todd and his associate told you about the tax fraud was true and they were simply planning on firing them. But when they found out – how I don’t know – that they had gone to you with the story they wanted to discredit them and you at the same time. That no-good Senator Braxton was as much a part of the plot as Guerin was. Best of all, we have an eye witness willing to testify against both of them!”
Suddenly fully awake Clark sat up straight. “What? When did all this happen?”
“Under normal circumstances I would ask you to come over and talk, but I just got home from work and I’m dog tired.” Clark could hear the shrill meow of Lady Plushbottom demanding her dinner, he couldn’t help but smile as Lois shushed the insistent feline. “Meet me at the Daily Planet tomorrow morning at 7:30. Perry, James and Constance Hunter will be there as well, so don’t make a detour to drop off a video or anything else. Got it?”
He couldn't keep a goofy grin off his face, “Whatever you say Lois.”
“Good!” He could hear her draw in a tired breath; the adrenaline rush was beginning to wind down. “I need to get some sleep, today … yesterday was really long and today isn’t looking to be any shorter. See you soon…”
“Lois?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for believing in me.”
The smile in her voice was unmistakable. “That’s what partners … and best friends do for each other, good-night Clark.”
When the receiver was back in its place, Clark lay down on the pillows and for the first time in weeks, enjoyed a deep, restful sleep.
***
With a tiny hint of apprehension and excitement, Clark entered the revolving doors of the Daily Planet’s lobby. He tried to head straight for the elevator when a guard, new to the Daily Planet, stopped him. Clark introduced himself and explained that he was expected.
“Nice to have you back Mr. Kent. But the suits upstairs say you have to wait down here until someone comes to escort you.”
Before Clark could utter a word, Sid the newsstand vendor came out and in his bluff manner said. “Vic, I’ll take Clark upstairs. You go back to your post.”
The man started to argue with him but thought better of it. Sid was a permanent fixture to the building and legend had it that he and Cleat Johnson, the paper’s most rewarded globetrotting reporter, were once drinking buddies. He knew many of the movers and shakers in the Metropolis publishing world, even James Olsen respected him. If anyone could thumb his nose at the Board of Directors of the Daily Planet and get away with it, it was him.
Mollified, the guard stepped back and said, “Oh, no worries Sid.” He looked at Clark and stuck out his hand for him to shake. “Sorry, you understand.”
He took the offered hand and shook it gratefully, “It’s okay, you have a job to do.”
Sid came over, clapped his hand on Clark’s back and propelled him towards the elevator, “Come on Kent, can’t keep the brass waitin’.”
Minutes later Clark was walking down the ramp towards his desk, which was surrounded by Perry, James Olsen, and Constance Hunter. Lois Lane was nowhere to be found. The young publisher was decked out in a dark suit, one more suited for the boardrooms of Wall Street than the Daily Planet. The expression he wore was also dark and tightly focused, something important was indeed about to happen.
“Sid, thanks for bring him upstairs. Glad to have you back in the bullpen where you belong!” James Olsen said as he handed him his ID badge. Sid again waved at Clark before he went back downstairs.
Perry grinned with a smile that was all brightness to James’ darkness.
“Clark! Great! The bullpen is almost back to normal, now if Lois would just get in here!”
“Thanks Chief, Lois told me to get here and be prompt about it. What going on?” Clark asked as he drew close to the little group and touched the desk’s smooth wooden surface. It seemed almost unbelievable that last night he despaired of ever entering the building again, much less sitting down at his old desk.
Constance Hunter was the one who answered his query, “Oh, we have something very special brewing for the ‘gentlemen’ of TresAx and their high-priced lawyer, Sebastian Kell.” As if to emphasize that point she took a loud sip of coffee. She was wearing one of her poorly cut pants suits with a lacy blouse and scarf that was strongly reminiscent of the early eighties. Standing next to James they made a very strange contrast of ‘geek’ and ‘chic’.
A door opened and Lois, holding a chocolate doughnut, shot out of the conference room. “Clark! Great you’re here! Come inside, we and our confidential source have a lot of work to do.”
Somewhat taken aback Clark said, “Confidential source? Since when does No-Knees Nolan or Bobby Bigmouth set foot in the bullpen?”
A beautiful woman with mischievous green eyes, shoulder length red hair and a rather tired expression came out of the conference room. “I don’t know those sources and from their names I don’t want to. No, I’m going to help you guys take on TresAx and get a little revenge in the bargain.”
Lois rolled her eyes with disgust. “Clark Kent, let me officially introduce you to my former college roommate … Linda King.”
Clark looked at Lois as if she had two heads and then spoke very slowly, “Lois, since when does a key reporter from the Metropolis Star help The Daily Planet?”
Perry broke in, “Ah, Ms. King no longer works for the Star so there will be no conflict of interest.”
Still wearing an expression of surprise he said to his partner “Let me get this straight. Your greatest rival in the newspaper business is helping us with a case?”
“That’s correct, my name will be right next to yours and Lois’s.” The woman said with a smirk.
His partner’s eyes narrowed, but to her credit she did not respond to the quip. “Come on Clark, we have a ton of research to finish and then we start writing. Perry and James want the first part of this series to hit the stands by five o’clock tomorrow.” She playfully took him by the tie and began dragging him into the conference room.
He whispered under his breath while walking into the conference room, “H.G. was right, nothing is impossible.”
Linda’s voice was heard to say, “Oh Clark, does Lois still have trouble with her grammar? In college I always had to help her …”
The door closed before Lois’s terse reply could be heard.
James smirked, the rivalry between Lane and King was well known within the Metropolis newspaper community. He wondered if those members of the Fourth Estate would consider the two women working together to be a tremendous hoax. He turned to Perry and said, “Now’s the time to put the second phase of this operation into effect. Ms. Hunter and I have an important meeting with Armand Guerin of TresAx and his lawyer.”
Perry responded with a wolfish grin, “Give ‘em Hell. I only wish I could be there to see the expressions on Kell’s smug face when you deliver the news.
***
Before Constance and James stepped off the high speed elevator that brought them to the fiftieth floor of Commerce Tower, which housed the executive offices of TresAx, she spoke quietly to her boss, “Complex business negotiations are not new to you, but this one is filled with legal sinkholes. As we discussed earlier, please allow me to be the lead?”
James gave her a hard look and then said, “Okay Ms. Hunter, but remember what’s at stake if you drop the ball.” He was curious, but he was paying her to do a job and if part of that job required him to do as she said, then as a good manager, he would do what she required. It was her show, after all. He had to trust that he had made the proper choice in her as his representative so he nodded his reply.
A bespectacled, short young woman coolly introduced herself as Ms. Bell, Mr. Guerin’s administrative assistant. She led them down a wide corridor; the thickly carpeted floor absorbed all sounds of their footsteps. On either side were offices, enclosed by bright glass providing the casual observer the impression that TresAx’s operations were completely transparent and above board.
Finally the trio arrived at the main conference room, all decorated in chrome finishes and gray and black leather chairs around a long glass topped table. The tone of the room was perfectly designed to intimidate or impress visitors. There were no doubts that in the case of the Daily Planet representatives, Guerin and his fellow board members intentions were the former.
There were only two occupants in the room, Armand Guerin a slightly overweight man with salt and pepper hair who stood a head shorter than his companion, the elegantly turned out Sebastian Kell.
“Mr. Olsen, Ms. Hunter, so glad to see you here.” He paused a beat for emphasis. “From your request, am I to assume that you wish to settle this case out of court? You better be serious, especially at 8:00 in the morning.” Armand Guerin said.
“You wanted to take this meeting offline in order to talk about a retraction in that rag you call a newspaper?” Sebastian Kell added with a smirk.
Constance sensed James bristling, but he kept his composure, he hadn’t gotten to the top of the business world at such a young age by wearing volatile emotions on his sleeves. Still, Constance placed a warning hand on that sleeve and stood there facing Kell and Guerin with quiet confidence.
Kell scrutinized her. She was no fashion plate like so many other female corporate lawyers in his acquaintance. Her suit was serviceable, but rather on the plain side and did absolutely nothing for her figure. She wore oversized ugly glasses, little or no make-up and ‘old lady’ penny loafers instead of heels.
When the silence became too much Kell, indicated a couple of chairs and all of them sat at the conference table.
Constance made a show of pulling colored file folders from her briefcase, a battered affair that looked like something she used in college, and neatly arranged them on the table in front of her.
The appearance of poise on the part of Constance Hunter began to grate on Kell’s nerves. He knew her reputation and everything he had heard indicated that she should not be a concern. That was why he was becoming concerned; she should be shaking in her loafers. What could be the source of this confidence? What could they have found? Guerin and TresAx’s Board of Directors had assured his firm that this would be an open and shut case, but it was beginning to look like something was wrong, horribly wrong. He would have to try to bluff his way through by intimidation, his favorite technique and one that he used effectively. “We should open this meeting to discuss the wording of the front page retraction and the size of the settlement to which my client is entitled?” Sebastian Kell said.
Guerin said, “It should be sizable, especially considering the amount of public humiliation TresAx has suffered from Kent’s article. Todd Sylvester was a trusted employee; his lies have damaged our reputation both in this country and in France.”
In reply, Constance calmly straightened the stack of files in front of her, basically ignoring Kell’s question and Guerin’s statement. Her apparent unconcern started to shake Kell’s confidence. He could feel the perspiration soaking his fine white twill shirt at the armpits and he was thankful for the dark suit coat he was wearing because it hid the fact.
Constance was playing a psychological game with Kell. She hoped that her show of confidence in the face of his attack would put him off of his game somewhat. She would have been surprised had she known just how effective her ploy was.
Still silent, she opened the first white file on the stack and calmly perused the contents, slowly flipping through several pages before she said, without even looking up from the pages, “What would be the size of the settlement that your client would demand?”
“I think my client would be satisfied with $15,000,000.”
Without looking up, Constance closed the top folder and calmly moving it aside opened the second one this one was colored deep blue. She asked, “Oh … $15,000,000, are you sure that would be enough?”
Kell couldn’t believe his ears. Was she offering more than the inflated figure of $15,000,000? This much cash had to be from Olsen’s pockets. His research assistant Ruth had assured him the Daily Planet did not have such a depth of resources at their disposal. He decided to play it coy, “The court could award us more if we actually went to court, but for an out of court settlement, that should be adequate.”
Constance finally looked up and said, “But $15,000,000 wouldn’t even come close to being enough.”
Kell was taken aback and blurted out, “Enough for what?”
Before she answered, Constance moved the second folder aside and opened the third colored in blood red as she said, “Let me propose a hypothetical scenario. Okay?”
Wary, Kell asked, “Hypothetical?”
“Yes, hypothetical. Hypothetically speaking, how would $15,000,000 benefit TresAx when in Federal Court it would be forced to pay the tidy sum of,” she pulled a piece of paper from the folder and read from it, “in round figures, $65,000,000 in back taxes? Hypothetically, of course.”
“What are you talking about? I thought you were here to discuss the settlement of our case.”
“No, Mr. Kell, we are here to make sure this company is very publicly embarrassed and then hauled into Federal Court and forced to pay the tidy sum of ...” She made a show of consulting her notes, “Sixty five million three hundred fifty-one thousand ninety-one dollars…” she closed the folder and set it aside as she finished, “and seventy-five cents in back taxes.”
Panic was evident in his voice as Guerin spluttered out, “What?! Where does a loser like you get the nerve to tell us how much back taxes we owe?” He leaned over the table his face grown red.” Mr. Kell has informed me you have never won a case in trial.” Guerin snapped.
Constance ignored this comment and again looked into the red file and finally said. “I understand there are e-mails floating around your company’s computers detailing the history of conversations between yourself, Pierce Arthur, Daryl Yates and lest we forget Senator Ian Braxton. He was the one who provided cover for all of this. Hmmm, I wonder what’s going to happen with his bid for the White House. We are still speaking hypothetically, of course.”
James, was looking at her with an expression of surprise and not a little horror. He was about to blurt something out, but a sideways glance from Constance silenced him.
“That fool Braxton is not our concern. He must mount his own legal defense. Our concern in this meeting is for the company TresAx. Now, where did you get this information?” Guerin asked while pointing at the files.
Her gaze continued to rest on Guerin when she sighed almost as if she were scolding them, “My source is not important at the moment, the fact is that the e-mails exist. Once we are in court you fine gentlemen will be required to allow every e-mail in the building to be presented … those and a good many others. There’s no doubt that Mr. Kell, although not wanting to go to trial, will make certain the jury selection will be in TresAx’ favor. Those jurors might not appreciate the intricacies of international tax law, but I assure you they will understand withholding damaging evidence.”
Sebastian looked daggers at Guerin, this conversation was out of his control and he was determined to prevent it from going any further, “Who are those men?”
Constance answered her voice quiet and even, “Oh, I see your client did not inform you. They are the IRS agents who managed TresAx’s case. Since we have these fascinating e-mails and their names, consider carefully Mr. Kell how much supplementary incriminating evidence the Daily Planet has at its fingertips? Such as who really owns your client’s company and why he wants this newspaper legally silenced? ”
Guerin’s expression was unreadable, while his lawyer’s face was taut, “Ms. Hunter and Mr. Olsen, may I contact you tomorrow?”
James said smoothly, “Of course Mr. Kell. Make sure it’s before 1:00 pm because that’s when the Daily Planet starts printing the evening edition. Care to guess what the front page headlines will be?”
Guerin practically jumped out of his chair. “Don’t print anything! We will deny it!” He leaned over the table and shoved the stack of files back at Constance. “Take this load of garbage with you!” He looked at James and said with a sneer. “Why are you letting this woman run a meeting you called for? What do you care if the Daily Planet sinks from a libel suit? Your computer firm is on the cutting edge of the electronic superhighway and making a boatload of money! Why protect such an anachronism? In twenty years nobody will be reading newspapers, the internet will replace them!”
The young man’s answer was succinct, “All that may be true. First, for a ‘loser’ Ms. Hunter is doing a marvelous job putting you into your place, which is what I pay her to do; legally protecting the interests of the Daily Planet. Second, after working at the Daily Planet for a while, I’ve discovered a respect and love for newspaper publishing. The traditions need to be protected and cherished. Someday all news will be on the internet and if that’s the case, the Daily Planet will be there to report it. As for this ridiculous libel suit TresAx is throwing at us? My paper didn’t start this fight, but we will finish it with enough ammunition to send the entire Board of Directors and the CEO packing to the latest white collar jail, oh excuse me … detention center.” James grinned, was enjoying this game.
The fight seemed to have escaped Armand Guerin; he shook his head in disbelief. “Please … please don’t print the story.”
“You smart boys should have thought of that before you sent this fancy dressed pit bull after us. Oh, just as a point of interest, Clark Kent is back on the staff working with his partner to write a story I have no doubt will net them a Pulitzer nomination.”
James picked up the files and handed them to Constance. They stood, signaling that the meeting, such as it was, had come to an end.
As they walked towards the door, Constance turned, stopped and said. “Mr. Guerin, a bit of free advice? Give Todd Sylvester and his associate their jobs back as well as very tidy settlement. Otherwise, lawyers – excellent ones not ‘losers’ like me – will be falling all over themselves to take on their case.”
With those words ringing in the air, James Olsen opened the glass door for Constance and they departed.
For a moment neither man said a word, than Sebastian gathered his things, stood up and walked towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Guerin snapped.
“To confer with my partners about this latest development and have my paralegal, Ruth, help me with some additional research. You gave me the impression Olsen and Hunter were bringing a peashooter to this meeting, they brought a legal bazooka which might very well land you and a lot of other people in jail.”
“Okay, but you better get back here. We have to talk about what to say to these people by 1:00 tomorrow.”
Kell went out the door without answering his client.
Guerin grabbed the phone and his fingers savagely hit the buttons as if he were punching James Olsen in the face.
An unfamiliar voice came over the line, <<You have reached the office of Gregory Daae. How may I be of assistance?>>
***
As they walked out of the building, James asked, “Where did you get such a specific figure for what they owe?”
Her reply made him laugh, “I made it up.”
When he calmed down, he asked, “Why?”
With a sly expression, she replied, “It makes them think that we have even more specific information than we really do. They will be panicky and driving their staff crazy trying to confirm that figure. If what they come up with differs they will probably think that their staff has missed something and demand that they redo their calculations. They will be so distracted and worried that they will have no option, but to drop the libel suit because they can’t risk going to court while we have such specific information. I would expect a call sometime well before your one o’clock deadline informing you that they are dropping the suit.”
Looking her right in the eyes, James said, “I always prided myself on knowing who the right person was for a job. You just proved that I haven’t been wrong. Taking on those guys worked up my appetite. Lunch?”
Constance nodded appreciatively, “Great I’m famished!”
***
During an excellent lunch at a local bistro, James did not mention the case to Constance. When they were back in his limousine he said, “We shouldn’t have used that line about the e-mails. They are the property of TresAx and since you obtained that information illegally they will be inadmissible in court.”
“True, but sometimes something smaller has to be sacrificed in order to gain something greater. Besides, right now they have greater worries then those e-mails. As you said earlier, we needed TresAx to put an end to their libel suit. I would assume no matter what they say you are going ahead with the article series on TresAx?”
“Of course! With Linda King’s deposition and her appearance in court – if this goes that far – I have every confidence we will win this case.”
“Good. Because once Lois and Clark finish the articles on TresAx, there is the little matter of facing down DMG. We both know that Guerin and company are guppies compared to that tank of sharks.”
“DMG is another matter entirely and I won’t get into the water with them until we have more than just Linda King’s testimony. After all she was Preston Carpenter’s girlfriend for years. That intimate relationship can be a help and a burden all at once. A sharp lawyer like Sebastian Kell could turn her testimony into a case of a woman scorned. We need someone else to back up that part of her story.”
The two rode in silence for a while when James said, “By the way, that was impressive legal footwork. Kell didn’t know what hit him.”
“Thank you,” With a perfectly straight face she continued,
“Compliments are very nice, nonetheless I expect to see a decent bump in my salary after this is over.”
James nodded in agreement. “Hell Constance, when the presses finish rolling out the last story in the series everybody on the staff that’s involved in this case is gonna get a raise and a fat bonus!
Last edited by Morgana; 12/02/16 12:00 AM.
