Lionel's question snapped Locke back to reality.
He suddenly realized that the man with the warm smile in front of him was one of the biggest financial backers of America's largest chamber of commerce.
The guy's odd charisma almost made Locke forget that fact.
Locke gave a wry smile.
He knew better than anyone that this so-called "tax reform" was just a decorative bargaining chip used by urban capital groups to win over agricultural state senators.
The big shots weren't even deliberately trying to wipe out small farms—
It's like when people pick mulberry leaves, they don't notice if a cocoon falls to the ground.
But…
Who could've guessed that those overlooked cocoons would end up becoming one of the culprits behind a global financial storm?
"Sorry, Mr. Locke," Lionel said with an apologetic smile, noticing Locke hadn't answered right away. "I was just curious."
"By all accounts, these policies should let family farms compete more freely in the market. But you guys don't seem too thrilled about it?"
"Mr. Lionel," Locke said after a brief pause, "you've been up in the ivory tower for too long."
Outside, the rustling wheat fields seemed to echo his words.
"Some blond kid once said—" Locke pointed toward the harvested wheat fields in the distance with a grin, "in a wild wheat patch, there are always a few stalks that don't make it to next year."
"They lose out to the ones taking up more land, rotting and molding away."
"In the end, they just become fertilizer for the others."
"That's just how it works, right?" Lionel said, his brow furrowing slightly. "The market naturally weeds out inefficient farms."
There it is, Locke thought with a sigh.
The first reaction of these business tycoons was always "market optimization and structural adjustment."
"Mr. Lionel, as a friend, I'd suggest you don't underestimate these 'decorative' butterflies used as bargaining chips," Locke said, shaking his head. "This isn't natural elimination. When big farms can leverage their scale and policy loopholes to grab more subsidies, it's a slaughter for small farms like ours!"
"It's not a fair fight!"
"We're stuck without market info or bargaining power—like showing up to a modern war with nothing but our bare hands."
"You're not wrong, Locke," Lionel said thoughtfully.
"Mr. Lionel," Jonathan chimed in, walking over with a coffee and handing it to the man deep in thought. "If I'm guessing right, the AFBF is still the one shelling out the most political donations, huh?"
He shrugged helplessly. "Our NFU proposal… probably rotting away on Capitol Hill again."
Taking the coffee, Lionel didn't respond right away.
But Locke could see the gears turning behind his glasses.
This titan of the Luther Group was reassessing the situation.
Lionel took a sip of the rich, bitter coffee, which seemed to sharpen his focus.
Damn, he thought. How did I miss this?
After all…
The Luther Group now had 30 to 40 percent of its business tied up in rural banks across agricultural states.
And right now, their pivot to tech and defense was only half-finished.
If small farmers started going bankrupt, the butterfly effect could be catastrophic.
"I'll take another look at some of those proposals," Lionel said, exhaling heavily. His eyes brightened as he set down his coffee cup and turned to Locke.
"Mr. Locke," he said, his voice carrying a rare sincerity, "my invitation stands forever. I genuinely hope we can build a grander empire together!"
"Pfft!"
On the other side of the room, Jonathan, who'd been staring out the window, couldn't hold it in and sprayed coffee all over the glass.
He turned to Lionel, incredulous, as if checking to see if the man was sober.
After all, when Locke was nineteen, he'd borrowed eight hundred bucks from Jonathan, saying he was gonna make it big.
After getting chewed out, the kid didn't back down—he secretly went to Martha and got another eight hundred.
And the result?
He ended up begging his way back to Smallville from Metropolis. If old Bob, the neighbor who'd struck it rich, hadn't spotted him on the highway near Gotham's city limits, the kid probably would've starved out there.
Ignoring Jonathan, who was wiping down the window but staring daggers at him, Locke was secretly thrilled.
Take notes, Dio! he thought. This is your old man's damn charm.
But all that aside, no matter how smug he felt, Locke was already thinking about how to turn this down.
He knew his own limits.
"Mr. Lionel," he said, shaking his head, "we're friends. The partner thing? That's a bit too far out of reach."
"?"
Locke's words caught Lionel off guard.
The pupils behind his gold-rimmed glasses widened slightly, as if he was seeing the man in work pants clearly for the first time.
"Sorry, Locke," Lionel said after a moment of silence, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I got a little carried away."
Noticing Lionel had dropped the "Mr." from his name, Locke caught the hint and extended his hand, meeting Lionel's in a firm grip.
"Easy there, Lionel," Locke said with a wink. "I don't wanna keep talking about antitrust laws over dinner."
"Well—"
"Folks!" Martha's voice cut through from the kitchen, carrying the sweet aroma of blueberry pie. "Come grab some pie!"
She stood in the doorway, her apron dusted with flour, the warm yellow light giving her a soft glow.
"Thanks," Lionel said, standing up. "Let's see what the Kent family's cooking is all about."
Who could've imagined this sharply dressed elite sitting down for lunch in a humble farmhouse kitchen?
"Hahaha!" Jonathan roared, slinging an arm around Lionel's shoulders. "Come on, brother! Martha's pie could make an angel give up heaven!"
His burly arm, brimming with unstoppable enthusiasm, nearly crumpled Lionel's tailored suit.
Watching the two head to the dining table, Locke sipped his now-cold coffee.
What is this? he thought. No dumplings, but we're serving pie now?
Locke chuckled to himself, glancing out the window.
Here's hoping those three kids come back happy and ready for some pie.
---
The rustling of leaves filled the air as unharvested oats swayed in the sun.
"Dio, why don't Mom, Dad, and Uncle Locke like the IRS?" Clark asked.
"'Cause they're vampires, Clark," Dio replied.
"Dad said the big cities are full of people like that. Back when he first went to the city, they drained him dry."
"Vampires?!" Clark's blue eyes widened in shock. "Like the ones in Vampire Hunter D we watched?"
Dio paused, a flicker of surprise in his red eyes.
He rubbed his chin for a moment, then grinned. "Well, time is money, and money is life. By that logic, those rich folks aren't much different from vampires."
"What?!" Clark yelped, glancing nervously at the bald kid beside him, his voice cracking. "What about Lex?!"
The sunlight glinted off Lex's shiny head, casting a comical spotlight.
Dio stared at the sight, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Lex? He's, like, half a vampire."
He lowered his voice, mimicking a movie narrator: "So, little bald guy, you wanna team up with me and be vampire hunters?"
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