The burglars hadn’t been able to steal anything from the farm, but Clark knew something far more important had been lost.
All his life this place had been his escape.
His safe space.
But now he knew that was only an illusion.
The next day after school, Clark and Lana were sitting across from each other in their usual quiet room at the library. “Okay, now explain again what happened to your textbook?” Lana said, sliding her copy across the table. “You weren’t exactly clear about that on the phone.”
“Long story,” Clark said.
He hadn’t told Lana about the attempted burglary yet. He would eventually, of course, but first he needed to process it himself. Figure out if it was really just a simple robbery or if someone was targeting the Kents specifically.
And if so, why?
Lots of strange stuff had been happening in Smallville over the past several days, starting with the appearance of the man in brown, and Clark was beginning to wonder if it would get worse before it got better. He knew this: he no longer took his safety for granted in his hometown. Even on his own property. And there was no way he was going to just sit around waiting for the intruders to come back and try it again.
He was going to do something.
“I’ve got nothing else going on,” Lana said, waiting for the full story. “Why are you being so sketchy about a stupid physics textbook?”
“Forget the textbook for a second,” he told her. “Don’t you want to hear about my dinner with Bryan? I couldn’t really get into it at school with so many people around.”
She grinned and scooted her chair closer to the table. “Did you use the interview tactics I taught you?”
“Sort of.” Clark set his backpack on the floor and rolled up his sleeves. “He was pretty easy to talk to, though. I didn’t really need ‘tactics.’ ”
“Oh, you naive junior reporter,” Lana said. “This entire industry is built upon the proper execution of one’s tactics.”
Clark shook his head. “My main takeaway was this: I think you’re officially wrong about the Mankins Corporation. From everything Bryan was saying, his dad is a genuinely decent guy. He’s even opening a food bank and homeless shelter down here. For people from all over Kansas. And he’s doing it anonymously.”
Lana seemed genuinely taken aback. “That’s a Mankins project?” She folded her hands and looked at the table in front of her. “Interesting. I’d heard it was linked to some big church in Metropolis.”
“Apparently Bryan’s dad does all kinds of charitable work on the down low. So you know it’s not just a publicity play.”
Lana furrowed her brow. “When was the last time you heard of a major corporation ‘hiding’ its charitable work?”
Clark shrugged. “According to Bryan, his dad thinks publicity can undermine an actual cause.”
“Yeah, okay.” Lana leaned back in her chair.
She was quiet for a long stretch, just staring at Clark with a blank look on her face. He knew this version of Lana well. She was moving chess pieces around in her head. But this time, he was, too. He suddenly remembered where he’d seen the beat-up white pickup truck. That day the football players had brawled with the man dressed in all brown. Just before the guy had carjacked the SUV and driven it into the retaining wall, he’d attacked the pickup with his bare fists while the driver cowered at the wheel inside.
Could these two incidents be related somehow?
Or was it just a coincidence?
Lana leaned forward, slapping her palms against the table. “I have an idea!”
Clark knew this excitement, too. And it usually required him to do something he didn’t want to do.
“We go ask him,” she said.
Clark frowned. “Who?”
“Montgomery Mankins.”
“You’re kidding, right?” But Clark knew she wasn’t. Lana had that look in her eyes that he knew all too well. It was the same look she’d gotten when she decided to investigate what percentage of the school budget was spent on the football program. Clark tried to reason with her. “Look, Lana, I’m pretty sure we can’t just waltz into the Mankins corporate headquarters and interview the most powerful man in Smallville.”
“Why not?”
“Because…well, he’s probably busy, for one thing.” Clark shook his head, trying to come up with other reasons. “He’s not gonna grant two random high school kids an interview right there on the spot.”
Lana started packing up her backpack with a sly grin on her face. “Clark, I’m insulted,” she said. “It’s as if you’ve never seen your best friend in action.”
“I bet they don’t even let us in the front door.”
“Watch and learn, Mr. Kent.”
* * *
—
Not fifteen minutes later an executive assistant—a young, clean-cut guy in a gray suit—emerged from a back room. Wearing a fake plastic smile, he said, “Montgomery will see you now.”
“I stand corrected,” Clark whispered as he and Lana hoisted themselves off the plush couch in the waiting room.
Lana had a cocky grin. “You never get answers if you don’t ask questions.”
Clark and Lana followed the guy into a huge corner office with floor-to-ceiling glass walls. It overlooked all of downtown Smallville. Clark had never seen such an amazing view of his hometown. The office was relatively spare, with a small seating area off to the side and a massive wooden desk in the center. It was obvious this setup was only temporary, until the company moved into its new facility.
A large man stood up from his chair, smiling, and held out his hand. “Montgomery Mankins. Pleased to meet you both.”
Lana shook his hand first, saying, “I’m Lana Lang. And this is my associate, Clark Kent.”
Clark shook hands with the man, too, noting his flimsy grip. Clark had seen Montgomery Mankins on TV several times, giving interviews. And on billboards. And Clark had been at the speech the man gave at the grand reopening of the library. Up close like this, Clark recognized some of Bryan’s features in his father’s face.
Aside from having a fancy office, he wasn’t what you’d expect from the CEO of a major corporation. He wasn’t wearing an expensive-looking suit or a Rolex. He didn’t have slicked-back hair or designer glasses. Montgomery Mankins looked more like an English professor than a financial bigwig. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a brown button-down sweater. His hair was long and unruly and almost entirely gray. His small wire-framed glasses seemed like they might slide off his nose at any moment.
What struck Clark most was the man’s air of supreme confidence.
“Welcome!” he said, motioning for Clark and Lana to sit in the two chairs on the other side of his desk. “Sorry I don’t have a lot of time this afternoon, but we’ll do our best.”
“We appreciate you giving us any time at all,” Lana told him as she and Clark settled into the chairs. “I’m sure you’re a busy man, Mr. Mankins.”
“Call me Montgomery, please.” He sat and reached into his right-hand desk drawer, pulling out a checkbook. “Before we get started here…Clark, I understand you’ve met my boys.”
Clark nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, I need to thank you for being so gracious after their little debacle. Bryan told me you and your father rushed to help them. I know there weren’t any property damages per se, but I’d like to offer some compensation just the same.”
“No, thank you, sir,” Clark interjected. “My father won’t take a penny, trust me.”
The man closed his checkbook and leaned back in his chair. “Now, you’re sure about this?”
“They landed in an empty, muddy field.” Mentioning the field made Clark flash back to the attempted robbery. The white pickup careening across the farm, toward the road. The man on the d
irt bike waving around the bat.
Montgomery shifted in his chair. “In that case, let’s get on with your questions, shall we?”
Lana riffled through her notepad. “As we all know,” she said, looking up at Montgomery, “your corporation has done a lot of great things for Smallville. The economy is stronger, our town’s infrastructure is vastly improved—”
“Well, not everything we’ve done is so great,” Montgomery interrupted. He leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands in front of him. “For instance, purchasing local land from generational farmers…Sometimes I worry we’re stripping this community of its very identity.”
“Huh,” Lana said, flipping to the next page of her pad. “That’s what I was going to ask about next.”
Clark was surprised. He’d been expecting some kind of political nonanswer. But here the guy was, pointing out his company’s flaws before Lana could even bring them up.
“We also have to take into account the rising rents here in town,” Montgomery went on. “I’m afraid this is an unfortunate by-product of a surging local economy. And what about the high wages we offer for fieldworker positions? It’s great for a certain population, yes, but it certainly makes it harder for small farms to find and afford good help.”
Lana was frantically scribbling in her notebook now, wearing her best poker face. But Clark knew she was as impressed by Montgomery as he was. She looked up. “Is that why you donate so much to local causes? To sort of square your net effect?”
As Montgomery answered, Clark found himself bombarded by all the sounds around him. The subtle creaking of Montgomery’s chair as the man changed position. The scratch of Lana’s pen across the page. Someone in the office next door speaking quietly on the phone, calling the person on the other line “sweetheart.” Her kid, maybe. The cranking sound of someone’s parking brake. A woman out on the sidewalk saying in an irritated voice, “But there is no more Project Dawn, okay? Not here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.” And a man saying back, “Please, ma’am, it’s a matter of life and death. I need to find him now.”
Clark sat up in his chair, and as soon as he did, his super-hearing cut out. He tried to concentrate, to learn more about this “life and death” situation, but the only voice he could hear now was Lana’s.
“And what about supporting the protests over the rights of undocumented workers?” she asked.
Montgomery adjusted his glasses. “This company and I universally condemn any form of bigotry. And I’m confident Smallville will do the same when it comes time to vote.” Montgomery pushed back his chair and stood up. “Now I’m afraid we’re out of time. Please email my assistant any additional questions you might have.” He held out a business card.
Lana took it and stood up, too, slipping the card into the front pocket of her jeans.
“Last thing,” Clark said. “Do you know anything about a…Project Dawn?”
Clark watched Montgomery’s eyes grow wide as he stood frozen for several awkward seconds. Then his smile returned, and he shook his head. “Can’t say I do.” He extended his hand to Clark. “But like I said, email any more questions. I’ll try to respond within a few days.”
Clark shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for your time.”
After shaking Lana’s hand, too, Montgomery hit a button on his desk, and the executive assistant came back into the room to show Clark and Lana out. Just before they went through the double doors, Clark glanced back and saw Montgomery still standing near his desk, smiling and waving at them.
* * *
—
“Well, that was an odd goodbye,” Lana said in a low voice as they headed back through the lobby and toward the exit.
Clark nodded. “Tell me about it.”
“What the hell is Project Dawn, anyway?” she asked.
“No clue. I overheard someone say it on the way into the building, and I was curious.”
“I have to say, overall I was pretty impressed. Of course, people like him don’t get where they are without being able to turn on the charm—” Lana stopped in her tracks and grabbed Clark by the wrist. “Shit, it’s him,” she said in a much quieter voice.
Clark stopped, too. “Who?”
“The guy from the coffee shop.” Her gaze slid meaningfully toward the front door.
Clark saw a tall, muscular guy heading for the exit in a hurry, like he was late for a meeting or something. Clark recognized him immediately. “Wait, that’s who was hitting on you?”
She grinned. “Cute, right?”
“That’s Corey Mankins, Lana. Montgomery’s older son.”
Lana turned to Clark. “So he’s cute and rich?”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “And according to Bryan, he’s also a punk.”
Lana ignored this comment, saying, “Let’s follow him.”
“What?” Clark didn’t understand what was happening. “Why?”
But Lana was already pulling him through the lobby.
Once they were outside, Clark saw Corey walking across the street toward an old commercial building with several FOR LEASE signs posted in the storefront windows. The building he entered was in bad shape. It was as if the surging Smallville economy had missed a spot. Few of the storefronts still had company banners above the doors or OPEN signs. The door Corey went through displayed a small sign with a generic-looking sunrise logo and a company name: WESCO SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH INDUSTRIES.
Lana looked to Clark.
He didn’t know what she expected to find in a place like this. But then again, he was sort of curious about Bryan’s brother, too. For a very different reason. He motioned across the street. “After you.”
They crossed and Lana opened the door and they went inside.
This Wesco company clearly wasn’t anticipating any new clients. The front lobby of the small commercial space was empty aside from a dusty plastic plant hanging in a corner of the room. The reception desk was stacked with uneven piles of takeout menus, coupons, flyers, and other solicitations that had probably been slipped under the front door over the past several months.
Corey stood leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. “Can I help you?” After focusing on Lana a few more seconds, he uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall. “Wait,” he said. “Do I know you?”
Lana smiled. “You may have bought my coffee the other day.”
“Oh, that’s right. Cool. You’re…”
“Lana.”
“Lana. Cool. I’m Corey.” He glanced over his shoulder at an open door just inside a hallway. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m working on a news story for school, and I saw you outside, and…I don’t know. I thought I’d come say hi.” Lana tilted her head and looked up at Corey.
Clark felt like she was dangerously close to batting her eyelashes. He stepped up beside her, telling Corey, “You know me, too.”
Corey looked Clark up and down. “You’re that Kent kid. From the farm.” He turned to Lana. “You two know each other?”
Lana shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Wait, you’re not, like…”
Lana laughed and shook her head. “Not even close. We’re just friends.”
Clark bristled at how dismissive Lana had sounded. What did she mean, “not even close”?
“Man, small world,” Corey said. He walked over to the open door and gently pulled it closed while saying over his shoulder to Lana, “Anyway, if you wanna hang out or something, we should go back to the coffee shop. This place isn’t great for socializing.” He motioned around the empty room.
Lana took out her notepad and pen. “The story I’m doing is on your dad’s company. Would it be okay if I just interviewed you real quick? I promise it’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Wait, you want to interview me?” Corey looked anxious. “So you’re, lik
e, a reporter?”
Lana shook her head. “Not a real one. It’s just for class. My teacher assigned an article about charities, and I know how much your family gives back.”
“They’re definitely not wasting their money on decor,” Clark said under his breath as he looked around the room.
“This place has nothing to do with my dad’s business,” Corey said, sounding a little irritated. “It’s my friend’s research firm.” He turned back to Lana. “Anyway, we can talk philanthropy if you want.”
“You sure?” Lana said. “I know you’re probably impossibly busy.”
Clark was impressed by how seamlessly Lana had transformed herself into a ditz. It always struck him how often her interviews involved some form of acting.
Corey looked toward the hall again, then back at Lana. “Fine, we can do it here. But only if you give me your number this time. In case, you know, I think of something later that I forgot to tell you.”
“Of course,” Lana said in an overly excited voice.
“Cool. Hang on.” Corey hurried into the hall, past the door he’d pulled closed.
As soon as he was out of sight, Clark turned to Lana and said, “I think Ditzy Lana’s working. Make sure you ask him the Dawn Project question, too. I think there’s something there.”
She shushed him.
Just then Corey returned with two metal folding chairs. “Sorry,” he told Clark. “Only have these two.”
“No, you guys go ahead,” Clark said. “I’ll just…do my own thing.”
“Don’t touch anything,” Corey snapped. “Like I said, this isn’t my office. And my friend’s super particular about his things.”
Clark linked his hands behind his back while looking around the room. “You have my word.”
Corey placed the chairs side by side on the opposite side of the room from Clark, and he and Lana sat down, awkwardly close, and began talking.
Now it was time for Clark to get some answers of his own.
He’d noticed how concerned Corey had been with the door he’d closed in the hall. What was he hiding? Clark inched toward it nonchalantly, occasionally glancing back at Lana and Corey to make sure they were still caught up in their conversation. When Clark made it to the wall nearest the closed door, he stared at it intently, trying to get his X-ray vision to punch through.
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