The video played quietly on the laptop screen.
In the footage, Fran sat tied to a chair, trembling as he confessed one crime after another. His voice cracked with fear while tears ran down his face.
"I've helped gangsters sell information about undercover informants… I arranged accidents for colleagues who got in my way… I framed people competing with me for promotion in the department…"
His confession continued.
"I blackmailed businessmen for corporate secrets… I threatened witnesses… I destroyed evidence…"
One crime followed another.
Clark watched in silence.
By the end of the video, it was obvious that Fran's actions had gone far beyond corruption. His crimes alone would have been enough to earn several death sentences.
"If Clark refuses to obey," Fran continued in the recording with a trembling voice, "I'll deal with him."
His tone was filled with fear, but beneath that fear Clark could still hear the calculating cruelty that had always existed inside the man.
"I'll prepare some tricks… maybe a corpse… maybe an illegal firearm."
"I'll hide them inside their barn."
"Then I'll frame Jonathan Kent for murder."
"Once Clark's father is in prison… the entire family will be under my control."
The recording ended.
Clark stood there in silence for several seconds.
Cold realization spread through his chest.
Maybe David had been right.
Maybe he really had been naïve.
"I made a mistake."
Clark finally spoke.
His expression looked grim as he admitted the truth.
He lifted his head and looked directly at David, his eyes filled with worry.
"But you still shouldn't have killed him."
Clark's voice was serious.
"You haven't even finished high school yet. But you can cripple someone into a vegetative state, torture people for confessions, kill them, and dispose of the body without hesitation."
"I'm honestly scared."
Technically speaking, David wasn't even an adult yet.
Yet many of the things he had already done would make grown adults shiver in fear.
For Clark, the problem wasn't simply that someone had died.
What worried him most was David's future.
[Concern from Clark +35]
[Template integration: 96%]
"What do you think about soldiers who kill enemies during a defensive war?" David asked calmly.
Clark frowned slightly.
"Do you consider them uncontrollable murderers?" David continued.
"Of course not," Clark replied immediately. "Defending your country isn't a crime."
"Then stop lecturing me."
David turned around and walked toward the stairs.
"I'm protecting this family from threats."
Clark opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue.
But the words never came.
If David continued behaving this way forever, Clark might not worry so much. What frightened him was the possibility that one day something terrible would happen and he wouldn't be able to stop it.
By the time Clark realized the situation had gone too far, it might already be impossible to change the outcome.
"Today David crossed the line by killing someone," Clark thought quietly.
"And he carried no guilt at all."
To David, it seemed no different than crushing an insect underfoot.
The image reminded Clark of the visions Cassandra had once shown him—scenes from possible futures.
If those visions were real, then David's power would one day extend far beyond protecting their family.
…
Dark clouds filled the sky.
Cold rain tapped softly against the glass windows.
Inside the Metropolis Environmental Protection Center, the top floor office looked bright and spotless despite the gloomy weather outside.
A neatly dressed man stood beside the window.
His hair was slicked back carefully, and his suit was perfectly pressed. Beneath his calm appearance hid the steady resolve of someone used to fighting difficult battles.
He watched the people below walking through the rain with umbrellas.
"The view from here really is impressive."
A warm voice came from behind him.
A brown-haired man wearing a black coat stepped into the office. He removed his leather gloves slowly while smiling with practiced friendliness.
"Good morning, Mr. Rickman," the man at the window said politely as he turned around.
"Welcome."
His name was Paul.
Paul walked slowly toward the desk, his expression serious but respectful.
"Director Paul invited me here," Rickman said as he casually sat down in the chair across from the desk. He shifted slightly as if the seat wasn't comfortable enough.
Rickman was a wealthy businessman worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
"Is there something I can contribute to the Environmental Protection Center?"
Paul sat down as well.
"I've heard that your company has been conducting research in a small town called Smallville," Paul said directly.
"You're preparing to acquire several farms there."
Rickman spread his hands casually.
"My plan is simple," he said. "I want to build a large factory that will create jobs and tax revenue for our beloved city."
Paul didn't reply immediately.
Instead, he opened a cabinet behind him and removed a small bottle filled with water. He placed the sample on the desk.
"What's that?" Rickman asked with mild curiosity.
"Groundwater," Paul replied sharply.
"It was collected near the site of a factory recently built by your company."
Paul's eyes became cold.
"The contamination levels in this sample exceed safety standards far beyond acceptable limits."
Rickman glanced at the bottle briefly but didn't seem concerned.
"Rickman Enterprises has always maintained a good relationship with the Environmental Protection Center," he said casually.
He pointed toward the corner of the room.
"Did you know the water dispenser in this office was donated by my company?"
Rickman smiled warmly.
"Just two nights ago I had dinner with several of your colleagues."
"Not everyone can be bought with money."
Paul stood up firmly and placed both hands on the desk.
"My team and I will issue a restraining order tomorrow preventing your company from approaching that town."
Rickman slowly rose to his feet as well.
The friendly smile disappeared from his face.
His eyes became frighteningly cold.
"Think carefully, Director Paul," he said quietly. "Everyone benefits if we cooperate."
"Otherwise…"
Paul interrupted him.
"I've been reviewing records from a pesticide factory owned by your company."
He pulled out a thick file folder.
"There were several poisoning incidents involving employees. Those cases were suppressed."
Paul looked straight at him without fear.
"I've already contacted several victims. We're preparing to reopen the investigation."
His voice remained calm.
"You might find yourself very busy soon, Mr. Rickman."
Rickman stared at him silently for several seconds.
Then he suddenly laughed.
"You've really cornered me, Director Paul."
He stepped forward and placed a hand on Paul's shoulder.
As he did, his palm briefly brushed the back of Paul's neck.
For a moment, Paul's pupils widened.
Then his expression returned to normal.
When he looked at Rickman again, admiration filled his eyes.
A wave of regret suddenly washed over him.
How could he have spoken so rudely to a man who had always supported the Environmental Protection Center?
"I'm sorry, sir," Paul said quickly. "I shouldn't have spoken like that."
"It's alright," Rickman replied warmly.
He wrapped an arm around Paul's shoulder and walked with him toward the window.
"I admire your fighting spirit," Rickman said gently. "But I've never bribed anyone."
"You're right," Paul agreed immediately. "I shouldn't have doubted your integrity."
Rickman gestured toward the city skyline outside.
"Look at those buildings."
"You dedicate so much passion to your work and protect people's safety and environmental health."
He paused.
"But tell me… do you own any of those places?"
Paul hesitated.
"No," he admitted quietly. "My wife and children are still renting an apartment."
Rickman sighed sympathetically.
"What kind of life is that?"
He patted Paul's shoulder.
"Think about it carefully, Director."
With that, Rickman turned and left the office.
A short time later, inside the lobby of the Environmental Protection Center, Rickman walked calmly toward the building entrance.
Bang!
A body suddenly crashed down from above.
The falling figure smashed directly onto a taxi outside the door, turning into a mangled pile of flesh.
Rickman glanced at the corpse briefly before looking away without emotion.
He took out his phone.
"Tyler," he said calmly.
"I heard there are several stubborn farmers refusing to sell their land."
His voice remained cold.
"Prepare a car. We're going to that town."
"I'll speak with them personally."
…
Golden sunlight streamed through the windows at noon.
When David and Clark opened the front door and walked inside, the house felt strangely quiet.
There was no smell of lunch cooking.
The atmosphere felt heavy.
"Dad? Mom?"
David looked around with confusion.
In the living room, Jonathan sat at the dining table with a gloomy expression. Martha stood nearby with anger written across her face.
It looked like they had just finished arguing.
Neither of them spoke.
During the past ten years, scenes like this had almost never happened in the Kent household.
"What's going on?" Clark asked worriedly.
He noticed several documents clutched in Jonathan's hands.
"What are those, Dad?"
"That," Martha said angrily before Jonathan could answer, "is the contract your father signed to sell our farm and house."
Her eyes were red with frustration.
"How could you make a decision like that without even discussing it with me?"
She looked at Jonathan with disbelief.
"You were the one who always said this land was our family's inheritance."
"You said we would live here forever."
"What?"
Clark and David both froze.
Everything had been perfectly normal that morning.
They had only gone to school for a few hours.
Yet somehow, by the time they returned home at noon, their house and farm had already been sold.
David frowned and stepped forward.
"Father," he said slowly.
"Did you really sell the Kent farm and our house?"
....
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