The Daily Grind: Chapter Two

The bell above the door chimed a full hour before Clark’s shift ended, but Lois Lane didn’t care about business hours. She slid into a corner booth, laptop open, dark eyes fixed on him like a hawk watching a mouse. The afternoon light caught the sharp line of her jaw, and Clark’s hand trembled slightly as he wiped down the espresso machine. ‘You’re off the clock in fifty-three minutes,’ she called out, not looking up from her screen. ‘I’ve been counting.’ ‘I figured.’ Clark poured a cup of her usual black coffee—no sugar, no cream, just caffeine and fury—and carried it to her table. ‘On the house. For the wait.’ Lois finally glanced up, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she masked it with a smirk. ‘Bribing me won’t save you, Smallville. You sat on a Dubai money trail for how long? And you let me walk in here every morning, complaining about dead ends, while you knew exactly where Apex Dynamics’ slush fund was hiding.’ ‘I didn’t know it was your story. Not at first.’ Clark set the cup down, steam curling between them. ‘And when I realized, you were already so close. I thought if I could just… nudge you in the right direction without blowing my own cover—’ ‘Nudge me?’ Lois’s voice rose, and she slammed her laptop shut. ‘I got scooped because you were playing silent knight. I had to read my own damn story in the Metropolis Star this morning, attributed to “an anonymous freelancer.” That was you, wasn’t it? The exposé on the Cayman accounts—’ ‘No.’ Clark pulled up a chair, sitting across from her. ‘That wasn’t me. I only filed the initial tip about the Dubai wire transfers. The Cayman piece—that came from someone else. Emphasis on “initial,” Lois. There’s more.’ She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘More than the thirty million laundered through shell companies? More than the CEO’s private jet logs showing flights to Zurich every quarter?’ ‘Much more.’ Clark checked over his shoulder—the shop was empty except for a student dozing over a textbook by the window. He lowered his voice. ‘Apex Dynamics isn’t just cooking books. They’re funding a private militia in Kandahar. The money trail doesn’t end in Dubai; it ends in weapons shipments disguised as medical aid. I’ve got bank statements, email headers, and a source inside their logistics division who’s ready to talk.’ Lois’s breath caught. She stared at him, her fingers frozen above her keyboard. ‘How long have you had this?’ ‘Six weeks.’ Clark met her gaze. ‘I was going to break it next month. But if we work together—if we share bylines—we could have it on Perry’s desk by Monday.’ ‘Monday?’ Lois laughed, a short, incredulous sound. ‘You’re asking me to partner with the man who scooped me this morning?’ ‘I’m asking you to partner with the man who just handed you the biggest story of the decade.’ Clark held out his hand across the table. ‘Lois, I don’t want to be your rival. I want to be your ally. And maybe, after this, your friend.’ For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then her hand closed around his, her grip firm, her eyes fierce. ‘You buy the next round of coffee, and you’ve got a deal. But if you hold out on me again, Smallville, I’ll expose your little coffee shop as a front for freelance espionage.’ ‘Deal.’ Clark grinned, and for the first time in weeks, the weight on his shoulders lifted. ‘I’ll make it a triple shot.’