"No, no. I have no idea why Tiffany would have been inside the theater," Gary Wilder assured them, less than two hours later. "But, to be fair, she hasn't been the same since her mother passed away last year. It almost doesn't surprise me that Tiff pulled a stunt like that - going inside the Majestic as it was about to be demolished."
"That's a little harsh, don't you think, Mr. Wilder?" Clark asked, aghast at how casually the man spoke of his step-daughter's possibly suicidal actions.
Gary Wilder shrugged. "Perhaps it might seem so to you. I can't really blame you for feeling that way. I suppose I might see it from your viewpoint if I didn't know Tiff personally. But, you see, I do know her. Quite well, I assure you. I first met Tiffany when she was eight, almost nine. Her father was long out of the picture and her mother and I started dating. Tiff would always act out for attention. This latest stunt...it's nothing more than a cry for attention."
"Mr. Wilder, how would you describe your relationship with Tiffany?" Lois asked.
He steepled his fingers in thought. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. She can be a bit...difficult, sometimes. We haven't always had the best of relationships. Nothing out of the ordinary for a step-father, step-daughter relationship though. She's always resented me, I think, on some level. I think she hates the fact that I 'replaced' her loser father. I've always done my best to win her over, but it hasn't been enough, I fear." Here he sighed for emphasis.
"And since her mother died? How would you say she's been? How has your relationship changed with Tiffany?" Clark asked.
Gary sighed again. "She shut down after Fiona died. I barely ever hear from her, and only if I pursue it. It's been...exhausting. She seems to forget that she's not the only one who lost someone they loved that day. I lost my wife."
"I see," Clark nodding, jotting down a note.
As Lois asked another question, Gary shifted his attention to her. Clark used the opportunity to sweep the man's tight little office with his super sight. Bills were mostly what he found. Overdue bills. Lots of them. Most were addressed to the Majestic Theater. Some appeared to be personal bills. A few pictures in frames, scattered around the office. All of Fiona Bronson-Wilder, or of Gary with her. None featured Tiffany, not even as a figure in the background. Clark frowned. This was not a case of a loving step-father at all, no matter how difficult he claimed Tiffany could be.
Nothing was to be seen on the man's computer. A twisting, amorphous shape bounced around the machine's screen, keeping whatever he might have been working on hidden from prying eyes. The message light on Gary's phone was cold and dead, indicating no voicemails - not that Clark could get to them, even if there had been. And then, as Clark's eyes whisked over the desk again, a paper he'd missed on the first scan. A legal document from Sheldon Bender.
Lex Luthor's attorney, Clark recalled. An all-around slime-ball.
He surreptitiously zoomed him on the paper and his brows raised slightly.
A life insurance policy.
He couldn't see the details though. He thought about lowering his glasses enough to x-ray through the binder that was sitting atop the letter, but at that moment, Lois got up from her seat. He had no choice but to stand as well and extend a hand to the former owner of the Majestic Theater.
"Thank you for your time," Clark heard himself say as Gary took his outstretched hand.
Gary didn't respond, other than a grunt of acknowledgement.
***
"Well, he was less than helpful," Lois declared as they left the building and stepped, blinking, back into the bright sunlight of the midmorning.
"I don't know, Lois," Clark replied.
"All we got was that he's not exactly father – or step-father - of the year, the way he was going on about Tiffany's personality," Lois argued.
"We'll see what Tiffany herself has to say about things, if we can," Clark said confidently, following Lois as she made her way down the sidewalk. "In the meantime, I checked out his office a bit, while you were questioning him at the end," he admitted.
"What do you mean, 'checked out?'"
"You know, just sort of let my eyes wander," he hedged. "He had a ton of unpaid, overdue bills. It's no wonder why he sold the theater. He apparently wasn't lying about running deeply into the red. And did you notice the pictures he had up?"
"No, why?"
"All the ones I saw were of his wife. Or of him with his wife. Not a single one of Tiffany. It doesn't seem consistent with what he was telling us, about him doing everything in his power to forge a relationship with his step-daughter."
Lois reluctantly nodded. "I hate to admit it, but...I'd have to agree with you on that."
"And one final thing."
"What?"
"It's probably nothing but..." He hesitated, feeling uncertain. After all, he had no real information about the life insurance document he'd glimpsed.
"Come on, Clark! Spit it out!" Lois demanded.
"Okay," he relented after a moment. "Bear in mind, it's probably nothing. But...I saw a letter on his desk. From the office of Sheldon Bender."
"Lex Luthor's lawyer?" Lois asked.
Clark nodded. "I saw the words 'life insurance policy,' but that's all I could see. It was sort of partially sticking out from beneath that binder he showed us, with all those preserved playbills in it. But, for all I know, he might be thinking about the future and preparing for his own death. I mean, the guy's got to be in his seventies, right?"
"I didn't know Bender's office handled that sort of thing," Lois mused. She reached the crosswalk and stopped, waiting for the light to change.
Clark nodded. "I've unfortunately met Bender before, at a few charity events. He handles more than just the occasional multibillionaire and their corporations. He doesn't do much of the small-time stuff anymore, but if Gary Wilder has been his client long enough, he'd still handle something like that for him."
"Looks like we've got a lot more digging to do," Lois said firmly, determination settling over her features. The light changed and they started across the street. "But first, I need to get something to eat."
Clark checked his watch. It was eleven forty-five – a more than acceptable time to take a lunch break.
"I could do with some lunch myself. Where to?"
"There's a diner I know of. It's across town, but it puts us close to Met. Gen. Maybe we can talk to Tiffany after lunch."
"Sounds like a plan," Clark said. "Lunch is my treat, by the way."
"Trying to score points, rookie?" she asked, eyebrow arched, as she stopped to hail a cab.
One wave of her arm and an ear-piercing whistle later, a yellow taxi pulled over to let them in.
"Wow," Clark said, impressed, as he opened the door to allow her inside the cab. "And, to answer your question, no. It's just...well, two-fold, actually, if you want to know the truth. It's how I was raised. And also...it's the least I can do. Like I said at the Planet, I know you don't like being stuck with a partner, or trainee, or whatever it is you're calling me in your own head. This is a sort of thanks, for letting me learn from you." He climbed in the back seat beside her.
"I...well...thanks," she stammered. In the next breath, she was giving the driver the address of the diner. The cab lurched into motion and Clark was silently thankful for his invulnerability as the driver wove a dangerous path through the city streets.
***
"So, what made you, Mr. Rich and Living on Easy Street, leave Gotham to come work for the Planet?" Lois asked him a little while later, while they dug into their burgers and fries.
Clark smiled a little. "Why so interested?" he teased. "I thought only partners got to grill each other on their personal lives."
Lois rolled her eyes. "I'm not that interested," she argued. "It's just that, if Bruce Wayne adopted me, I'm not entirely sure I could walk away from a life like that." She shrugged.
Clark shook his head, both at the wrong impression that Bruce had adopted him, and at Lois' weak attempt to feign disinterest in him.
"Well, for starters…he never adopted me," Clark began. "We met when I was seventeen. I was in a bad situation and we sort of wound up crossing paths often enough that we struck up a friendship. I didn't even know who he was when we started talking. He found out that I was in need of a place to stay, and he offered to take me in. I saw no other choice and accepted. But he never adopted me. It's not who he is. And, honestly, it's not something I would have wanted anyway."
"But you still must have been living in the lap of luxury," Lois pointed out, nibbling on the end of a French fry.
"I guess," Clark said with a shrug.
"You guess? Bruce Wayne is the wealthiest person on the planet!"
"I know. And, yes, I was afforded every luxury. Without Bruce, I wouldn't have been able to finish my schooling, for example. But I always worked, as much as I could. I felt guilty about just being handed everything, so I tried to pay my own way as much as I was able to," Clark explained.
"Not many people would think that way."
"Maybe not. But I grew up on a farm. There was no such thing as just skating by while others did all the work. As soon as I was old enough to help out, I did. Picking strawberries. Helping to dust. Painting the fence. Whatever it was that needed doing. And if my dad hurt his back or something, my mom and I just worked that much harder to pull up the slack until he felt better. It's a part of me, to work, and work hard."
"Why journalism though? You probably could have worked for one of Bruce Wayne's companies, I'm guessing."
Again, Clark shrugged. "I've always wanted to help people, especially given the way I was raised, and the circumstances that shaped my teenage years. I've always loved writing too, so when it was suggested to me that I could use my love of writing to help people as a journalist...it just felt natural. I worked for the Gotham Gazette for a few years, as you know already, but I got tired of bouncing around from place to place. I felt like I wasn't really making a difference. So, I left after a while. The Daily Planet seemed like the perfect paper to work for. Once I decided to try for a job there, I hoped on the bus and, well, here I am."
"I get wanting to help but, you probably could have done just as much good sitting back and funneling money to the charities Wayne Enterprises runs," Lois said, just before taking a sip of her soda.
Clark shook his head. "Bruce and I did work on a couple of charities together, but it was a bit...passive, for my tastes. I'm glad we did what we did, but this? Being out there and really being an active part in fixing society? This feels really good."
"So, Rich Boy needs to stroke his ego, is that what you're saying?"
Clark would have been offended at the untrue statement, if he hadn't caught the barely-there note of amusement in her voice.
"Well," he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I don't usually make a point of discussing my financial status with near-perfect strangers, but...I'll go on the record and say...I'm not rich. I didn't take a single penny of Bruce's money when I left Gotham. Every cent I have to my name, I've either earned by working or inherited when my parents died. And they were not rich people." He allowed a small, albeit sad, smile, to let her know he wasn't angry about answering her question. "I chose my career because I wanted to help those who can't help themselves, Lois. I didn't want to sit in an office all day every day telling other people how to get out there and help those in need.” He took a breath, then turned the tables on her. “Why did you pick your field?"
He was both genuinely curious and eager to take the spotlight off himself.
"My parents. They wanted me to be a lawyer or doctor or whatever. But I knew I was good at digging up the truth when I wanted to. Journalism made sense for me. So, I ignored what they wanted, studied hard, and started working for The Daily Planet.” She paused a moment, frowning. “I felt…vindicated, proving them wrong at every turn. But it was more than just that. I came to realize, really early on, that I really loved what I was doing."
Oh," Clark said, a little shocked. He couldn't imagine a world in which his parents would have stood in opposition of his career choice. "Sorry about your parents."
"I'm not," Lois said, without the slightest hint of remorse. "I know most people want their parents' full support in whatever choices they make. But the truth is, I was driven even before they told me the hated the idea of me pursuing journalism. Once they voiced their disapproval, I just worked even harder at it. It motivated me like nothing else. And then I went on to break several awards records." She shrugged.
Clark studied her in silence for a moment. Though Lois spoke and acted like her parents' disapproval was no matter to her, he sensed that, deep down, it had to hurt her. It made his heart a little sad for her.
"Anyway, ancient history," Lois said, waving her hand as if shooing the conversation away. "And we aren't here to rehash the past."
"True," Clark allowed, before taking another bite of his burger. "I have to admit," he said once he swallowed down the bite, "these are pretty good burgers. Nice choice for lunch."
Lois nodded. "Best in the city, even if the place isn't much to look at. Actually, most of the food they serve is pretty good. You ever want a turkey club or a BLT? This is your place."
"I'll keep that in mind," Clark said, smiling. "So, what do you give our chances at getting to speak to Tiffany?" He asked the question to lighten the mood a bit, and to set their conversation back on track.
Lois shrugged. "On a one to ten scale, ten being a definite yes? About a three."
Clark's face fell a little. "That bad?"
She shrugged again. "Depends. Will the doctors allow us in? Does Tiffany herself feel like talking? Usually it's the doctors who won't even allow us to ask, and we have to wait until the patient is discharged. Unless we find a way around it."
"You mean sneak in?"
She paused, a French fry raised almost to her lips. She pointed it at him and gave him a sly look. "I wouldn't call it sneaking in. I'd call it...going undercover."
Clark laughed. "How often do you get caught?"
Lois shot him a glare as she swallowed the bite of French fry she’d taken. Clearly, she wasn't as amused as he was. "Almost never. And if you ruin it for me..." She pointed a finger at him in warning.
"Whoa! Slow down, Lois. I was joking," Clark replied, his hands up in surrender. "And, I guess, genuinely curious. It just seems...risky, that's all."
"Yeah, maybe. But I'm damn good at my job. I've gone undercover more times than you can imagine and gotten some pretty earth-shattering stories out of it."
"Okay. I believe you."
Lois narrowed her eyes as she looked him over. Apparently seeing no trace of a lie in his features, she nodded. "Good."
***
"No."
"No?"
"No. Miss Bronson isn't allowing visitors," the rail-thin, stern looking Dr. Medford said, clutching his clipboard to his chest.
"Could you please just ask?" Lois insisted. "We're from The Daily Planet and..."
"Yes, you've already said that," Dr. Medford said. "And I've already explained to you that no one outside of family is allowed to see her."
"Please," Clark said, breaking the silence he'd so far kept. "Can you let her know that we're here? Maybe she doesn't remember me, but...I'm the one who found her in the theater, the one who tried to get the demolition crew to stop their work so she could get out. I'd like to see that she's okay, if she's willing, even if she still declines an interview."
"Sir," the doctor began, his frown deepening, “if you don't leave right now I'll be forced to call for security and have them..."
"Wait," said a young woman's voice, from beyond the doorway that was behind Dr. Medford and to his right.
Tiffany poked her head out as she clung to the doorframe. She appraised Clark for a moment as the doctor spun around.
"Miss Bronson! You should be resting," he gently reminded her.
Tiffany shook her head. "I've been resting all night and all morning. I want to talk to that man." She looked again at Clark as the doctor hesitantly nodded and shuffled off. "It really is you. You really are the man who saw me on the stage last night, aren't you?" she asked, continuing to scrutinize his features.
Clark nodded and fiddled with his glasses, swallowing around a lump of guilt in his throat.
"I tried to stop them," he repeated. "I’m sorry. I really tried.” He sighed.
“Who are you?” she asked, surprising him.
“My name is Clark Kent."
I failed to save you.
Tiffany's eyes flicked over to Lois. "And who's she?"
"Lois Lane," Clark answered, before Lois could. "We're both reporters from The Daily Planet. We thought..."
"I'd give you an interview, about my tragic accident and miraculous rescue?" Tiffany asked, a bit of mocking venom peppering her words.
"Not quite," Clark said. "We want to know what happened, of course. But, more importantly, we want to find out why it happened. The police called for the demolition to halt, but someone went ahead and triggered the incendiary devices anyway."
"You think someone deliberately did that?" Tiffany asked, sounding a little scared now. Her eyes were wide and staring.
"We're not sure," Clark said, carefully choosing his words.
At the same moment, Lois said, "It looks that way."
Tiffany took a second to take it all in. Then she nodded. "Come on in," she offered, waving them into her room. Lois and Clark shared a look, then Clark gestured toward the door.
"Ladies first," he offered.
Lois said nothing and started to walk. Clark followed. They found Tiffany sitting on her bed. Lois took one of the chairs and Clark took the other.
"Why did you come to the theater yesterday?" she asked as Clark sat.
"I was assigned to cover the demolition," he told her. "To be honest, it was my first assignment for The Daily Planet." He wasn't sure why he was telling her this, but he hoped it would help her to trust me. "Something told me to check inside the building, and that's when I saw you on the stage."
Tiffany looked him over and nodded slowly.
"What were you doing in there?" Clark asked gently.
"Saying goodbye," Tiffany replied, her voice hollow with pain. "I...I thought I had more time. I guess...I guess I was there longer than I'd thought. I didn't mean to be in there so close to the demolition time."
"You said you were saying goodbye?" Lois asked, trying to steer the conversation back to where they needed it to be.
"Yeah," Tiffany nodded. "I basically grew up there. Seeing it torn down...it was like losing my mom all over again."
"We know she was heavily involved in the theater," Clark supplied.
Tiffany laughed ruefully. "That's putting it mildly. That place ran in her very blood. She ate, breathed, dreamed that building. As much as I hate to admit it, it's probably for the best that she didn't live to see it close down and be destroyed. It would have killed her."
"Tiffany, your stepfather said," Clark began.
She cut him off. "Let me guess. He told you some sob story about how I'm emotionally unstable ever since my mom died. How he's the long-suffering victim of a hateful, spiteful stepdaughter. Am I right?"
"Well...." Lois hedged, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
"Typical," Tiffany spat.
"We'd love to hear your side of the story, if you're willing," Clark offered.
Tiffany rolled her eyes. "You're looking for a story."
"We just want to understand what happened yesterday," Clark said. “Because if foul play was at work…”
"You think Gary did this on purpose, somehow?" the young woman asked, not waiting for him to finish his sentence.
"We're not sure what to think," Clark said, shaking his head. "All we're trying to do now is understand all the angles. And yeah, if you're willing, we'll print your side of what happened at the demolition."
"People are going to talk about it anyway. Talk about you," Lois added. "You might as well control what information they hear. Because misinformation can - and will - get out there, believe me. You'll want to set the record straight."
“Is that a threat?” Tiffany challenged.
“No,” Lois replied in a softer tone. “It’s the truth. The two of us want to help, that’s all.”
"You're right," Tiffany admitted after a moment, where she appeared to think it over and weigh her options. "People will come to their own conclusions about what happened. I might as well them know the truth. Okay. I'll talk. But...where to start?”
She paused, gestured vaguely, as she sought for the right words. “I guess...I guess I should, as you said, set the record straight on my relationship with Gary. I first met Gary when I was eight. He was the new owner of the Majestic. Mom was playing Golda for their production of Fiddler on the Roof. She was immediately taken with him. I wasn't. He just rubbed me the wrong way, always barking orders at people. I guess he was under a lot of stress, coming in as the owner just weeks before the show was to open. But I got bad vibes from him. It got worse when he and Mom started dating, and came to a boil when they married."
"What happened?" Lois encouraged.
"Gary is a very hard man to get along with. It's his way or the highway. I never felt valued. I was always pushed to the side. It was clear he loved my mother and considered me a burden."
"I'm sure that's not the case," Lois began.
"No, it is the case," Tiffany protested. "I overheard him telling a friend of his on the phone one time. He said that he loved my mother but wished my father wasn't a deadbeat so he could just ship me off to him so he'd never have to deal with me again. Meanwhile, I'd only known him for only a couple of months. Three or four months, at best, I’d guess. I'd always been polite and friendly, as far as I could tell. But he went on and on, and even went so far as to warn whoever he was talking to about the 'baggage' associated with dating a divorced woman. How much it sucked to have to care about another man's kid. So, yeah, I distanced myself from him. Who wouldn't have?"
"Can't say I blame you," Lois said, and Clark could tell she wasn't just giving the girl platitudes.
"Right?" Tiffany agreed. "I was never outright rude or rebellious," she continued, “but he hated me. I was blamed for everything. He never showed any concern or affection toward me, not that I expected any. I tried telling Mom how I felt, but she was too blindly in love with him to really see it. She thought I just needed to give myself more time to warm up to the idea of her being with another man. So, eventually, I stopped trying to get her to see what was happening. Anyway, after my mom died, Gary and I washed our hands from each other. I think we were both relieved, in our own way, to have an excuse to never deal with each other ever again. I went to live with my aunt. Gary took control of the finances and basically cut me off. Took everything Mom had set aside for my college education and gambled it all away. Told me to deal with it, I'm not his kid, and that he's no longer responsible for me in any way."
Clark winced at the callousness Tiffany was accusing Gary of. But the tears in her voice convinced him that she was telling the truth. This wasn't an act. These weren't lies. This was how things had actually played out.
"He gambled away your college fund?" Clark asked. "Is this something..."
Clark didn't get to finish as Tiffany steamrolled right over his question. "He's an addict. Gambles away whatever money he comes into, almost as soon as it’s in his pockets. Mom sure knew how to pick'em. My father was addicted to painkillers. Stole from several methadone clinics and has been in and out of jail since I was six. Then she gets away from him and ends up with a serial gambler. You know that's why the theater shut down, right? He kept taking money from the business to support his habit. He's got overdue bills coming out of his ears. Shutting down and selling the lot the theater was sitting on to the highest bidder was all he could do to stop the creditors from going after him."
"Makes sense," Clark said to Lois. "I told you I saw a bunch of unpaid bill notices in his office."
Lois nodded. "You did."
"I'm not surprised," Tiffany added.
"Tiffany? What else can you tell us about Gary?" Clark prodded.
To Be Continued…
