The fallout from the attempted heist at the Luthor mansion hit Smallville High like a physical shock. The "Star Quarterback" wasn't just injured or benched—he was behind bars. The news of Whitney Fordman's arrest for attempted robbery and assault circulated in hushed, jagged whispers, leaving a wake of shattered reputations and broken glass.
For Lana Lang, the world had become a series of cold, empty spaces.
…
The fluorescent lights of the county juvenile detention center were a harsh contrast to the soft glow of the Fordman's porch where Lana and Whitney had spent so many summer nights.
Lana sat behind the reinforced glass, her hands trembling as she looked at Whitney. He looked diminished, his face bruised from the "tactical intervention" he remembered, but his eyes were the worst part—they were hollow, a blank slate where his ambition used to be.
"I don't know why I did it, Lana," Whitney whispered through the intercom, his voice cracking. "It's like... there's a hole in my head where the reason used to be. I just remember the dark, and then the sirens."
Lana pressed her palm against the glass. "We'll get you a lawyer, Whitney. Lex said—"
"Lex?" Whitney scoffed, a flash of his old temper sparking. "Lex is the reason I'm in here. His 'security' did this to me. Stay away from him, Lana. Please."
Lana walked out of the facility into the biting Smallville wind, feeling the weight of a life she no longer recognized. Her parents were ghosts, her boyfriend was a prisoner, and the Aunt who raised her was selling the only piece of history Lana had left: the movie theater where her parents first met.
…
Lana didn't go to Clark. She didn't go to the police. She drove straight to the Luthor mansion.
She found Lex in the library, surrounded by tall shelves containing hundreds of books about ancient history and philosophy. He looked pale, a ghost of the man who had hosted the heroes' dinner only weeks before. He was staring at a broken piece of 15th-century plate armor, his fingers tracing the dent where Whitney had supposedly been thrown by a "concussion grenade."
"Lana," Lex said, his voice soft but wary. "I assume you're here to advocate for the man who tried to rob me."
"I'm here because I'm tired of things falling apart, Lex," Lana said, her voice steadier than she felt. She stepped into the light, her eyes bright with a desperate kind of fire. "The Talon is being sold. It's going to be turned into a parking lot or a strip mall. It's the last thing my parents loved."
Lex turned, his interest piqued. "And you want me to buy it for you out of the goodness of my heart? A souvenir for a grieving daughter?"
"No," Lana said, reaching into her bag. She pulled out a thick, professionally bound folder and set it on the glass table between them. "I want you to invest. This is a complete business plan for The Talon. A cafe and community hub. I've projected the overhead, the local market saturation, and the three-year growth plan."
Lex arched a brow, genuinely surprised. He picked up the folder and began to flip through the pages.
"I've spent the last forty-eight hours researching Smallville's demographic shifts," Lana continued, her voice gaining strength. "We have a town full of teenagers with nowhere to go and a LuthorCorp workforce that needs high-speed access and caffeine. I'm not asking for a favor, Lex. I'm offering you a 12% return on investment within eighteen months."
Lex closed the folder and looked at her. He didn't see a grieving cheerleader anymore. He saw a woman trying to build a fortress out of her own grief.
"This is remarkably thorough, Lana," Lex admitted. "But a business plan is just paper. You're asking me to partner with the girlfriend of a man who is currently in a state-run cell for attacking my home. The PR optics alone are a nightmare."
"Then change the optics," Lana countered. "Make the Talon a symbol of Smallville's resilience. Show the town that you care about its history more than its property value. If you don't fund this, the Talon becomes a parking lot, and you become the man who paved over my parents' memory. If you do fund this, you're a visionary."
Lex stood up, pacing the perimeter of the glass room. "I don't make emotional investments, Lana. I make calculated ones. You want the Talon? I want 90% ownership and final approval on all branding. And I want a revised marketing strategy on my desk by Monday that focuses on the LuthorCorp demographic."
Lana didn't hesitate. She extended her hand. "Deal."
As they shook hands, the deal was sealed: Lana had her distraction, Lex had his listening post, and Whitney Fordman was officially a footnote in the history of the girl he loved.