Superman: Dawnbreaker (DC Icons #4)(21)
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 dirt 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?”