Chapter 29: Live an honest life from now on, Luthor
Under the bright sun.
By the quiet lake near the forest, last night's party revelry left behind only a mess.
Bang!
A hand suddenly broke through the thick ice, emerging from the lake like a zombie hand from a terrifying legend.
Its skin was ice-blue, like a corpse frozen to death by ice and snow.
A figure crawled out of the lake and stumbled onto the riverbank.
Dripping wet and shivering, he looked like any normal person who had fallen into the bone-chilling lake and climbed out, except for the abnormality of having lain in the lake all night.
Sean sat on the ground, shivering, ice crystals clinging to his eyebrows, and used a discarded lighter to start a bonfire.
He held out his frozen hands to warm them by the fire.
But the flames, which contained astonishing heat, were absorbed from a distance, and the freshly lit firewood turned into a pile of ice.
The intense cold emanating from his body dissipated, and the ice-blue color of his skin faded.
As if he had become a living person again, Sean looked at his hands in disbelief, his slightly frozen mind slowly starting to turn. Something incredible seemed to have happened to him.
He clenched his fist, feeling better than ever, frighteningly strong.
Having recovered his health, he prepared to go home, but as soon as he walked out of the woods, that extreme cold struck again.
With ice crystals forming on his eyebrows, Sean trembled and waved to passing cars for help.
Hiss.
"Kid, what's wrong with you?"
The car stopped, and an uncle got out. He kindly went to help Sean, and his body stiffened.
The next moment, the heat from his body was drained away like a tide, turning him into a statue of ice. He crashed straight onto the hard road, shattering into a pile of bloody ice shards.
Sean's cold condition improved, and at the same time, his strength increased. He reached out and easily lifted the car as if it were a plastic toy.
He instantly realized something and looked in the direction of a certain part of the town. Like a greedy gold prospector who had just found a nugget of gold and then saw a mountain of gold, his eyes blazed with unprecedented excitement and fervor, and he couldn't help but swallow.
That place was—a thermal power station!
...
Crackle.
The thick wool curtains were drawn, blocking the sunlight outside.
Flames burned quietly in the fireplace.
Luthor took a sip of whiskey. His throat burned, but his face remained impassive.
He browsed through old news articles on his computer, as he usually did when working, and also read posts from town residents on the forum.
Stacks of dollars were placed on the table beside him.
Click.
The door was opened by a servant.
A middle-aged man in a trench coat walked in, his eyes occasionally flashing with shrewdness, and his hair slightly thinning, giving him an air of sharp competence.
He held a manila envelope in his hand, tapping his thigh leisurely.
"Mr. Luthor, have you prepared the money I requested?"
"Roger Nixon, if I recall correctly."
Luthor slowly stood up, poured a glass of transparent brown liquid into his wine glass, and handed it to him with a smile.
"A reporter from the Metropolis Inquirer? You said you had something you wanted to show me."
"This photo alone caused our sales to skyrocket."
Nixon took out a newspaper from the manila envelope.
In the center of the newspaper was a conspicuously printed photograph: Lex Luthor, holding a pistol outside a bank, having just robbed it and fled.
"That's all in the past."
Luthor chuckled. "I assume Mr. Nixon, as a reporter, is aware of the latest developments regarding the bank robbery."
"That's how news is; it quickly becomes outdated. It's difficult to keep your articles on the front page constantly."
Nixon shook his head.
"Mr. Luthor, have you ever dug potatoes?"
Without waiting for Luthor's reply, Nixon gazed into Luthor's eyes, as if he had already firmly grasped the situation, and said with a smug smile.
"I imagine a rich young master like yourself, born with a silver spoon in your mouth, wouldn't know that when you dig up one potato, it often brings up a whole bunch."
Nixon held up the document bag and handed it over, pretending to sigh.
"This is so thick, it's almost like a stack of bills. All your criminal records from when you were underage. Truly astonishing."
"It seems the reporter wasn't lying to me over the phone after all. He really does know about my wild youth."
Taking the file and flipping through it, Luthor's voice deepened, a smile spreading across his face.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Nixon."
"Thank me?" Nixon was confused. Thank him for what? For blackmail?
"These are all destroyed electronic records, sealed archives. How did you find them, Mr. Reporter?"
He walked back to his desk, slowly sat down, and then asked.
"I can imagine your father must have spent quite a lot of money to cover up these files.
I don't have as much money as your father, but thankfully, it didn't cost much to bribe a guard in an archive room where the shelves were covered in dust."
Nixon scoffed, thanking the bored guard who liked to browse through files and had sent him a windfall.
"Just imagine the impact these things would have if they were published.
The heir to the Luthor Group, who was just found to be wronged, actually had a history of misdeeds since he was young. Robbing a bank wouldn't even be considered a big deal."
"In my experience as a reporter, people just love plot twists upon plot twists."
He put down his wine glass, shrugged, and subtly glanced at the brand-new hundred thousand dollars on the desk, still smelling of fresh ink. He spoke eloquently.
"I'm sure this will cause some impact on the Luthor Group's stock price!"
"Mr. Nixon, this money is yours."
Luthor, unhurried and smiling, took out a black cloth bag from under the desk.
"Mr. Luthor, you're also providing the bag?"
Nixon was a bit surprised as he put the stacks of money on the desk into the bag.
"You must be feeling pretty good right now."
Watching him pack the money he extorted from him, Luthor wasn't in a hurry.
"Beating the famous Luthor father and son, it does feel good."
After packing the money, he threw down a parting remark that sounded like an adult lecturing a child, and turned to leave, his hand reaching for the doorknob.
"This is the only copy I'm giving you. Live honestly from now on, Lex Luthor."
"If you walk out that door right now, I guarantee you'll instantly vanish from this world."
Luthor put down his wine glass and said with a chilling smile.
"What are you going to do? Kill me for this money?"
Nixon turned around and retorted dismissively.
"Blackmailing the heir of a billionaire? You thought I wouldn't be prepared?"
If he didn't return on time, his email would automatically send reports to all major newspapers, and was a hundred thousand dollars worth killing for Luthor?
He wasn't greedy; he only asked for a small amount.
"No, you'll live just fine.
But there will be no evidence of your existence in this world anymore." He shook his head.
"What are you talking about?"
"Your driver's license, passport, bank accounts, even tax records, all wiped clean."
Continuing to browse the news on his computer, Luthor's tone was casual, as if discussing a trivial matter.
"One phone call, and there's no evidence you ever lived."
"Mr. Luthor, are you trying to scare me?"
"Call your bank and see if your account is still there."
Luthor looked up at him, as if regarding someone who doubted a fundamental truth, like the sun rising every day.
"If your phone number still exists."
He pulled out his phone, trying to make a call, but Nixon's repeated attempts failed.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, his face turned panicked, and his voice became strained and high-pitched.
"How did you do that?"
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