Dave dimmed the lights in his study. Maybe it was a little melodramatic, yes, but the billionaire wasn’t afraid to pull out all the stops regarding something as important as this. He would get that little rat to talk, damn it, by whatever means necessary. Once he deemed that ambiance sufficiently ominous, Dave took his seat in his tall leather chair behind his robust mahogany desk, occupying his wait by adjusting himself to appear as menacing as possible.

It wasn’t long before Azimio and Strando burst through the doorway, a squirming, sniveling Jacob in tow. They thrust him into the center of the room where Dave was waiting, dangerously calm and placid at his desk.

“Wha-what’s this all about?” he stammered, his eyes darting side-to-side shiftily. He could see the two burly men standing guard at the exit, clearing eliminating any chance at escape.

“I don’t know, Jacob,” Dave kept his voice from betraying too much of the rage barely contained beneath his composed tone. “You tell me. I asked you to collect information for me today, and yet you come back this evening and have nothing to say to me.”

Jacob swallowed uneasily, and could feel himself beginning to perspire. “I—um, I’m sorry, boss, but you know Superman is kind of a hard guy to pin down—“

“I’m just very disappointed, you see,” Dave spoke over the smaller man. He rose from his desk and began to advance closer, “because I thought we had an understanding. I needed your help, Jacob, and that’s what we do here—help each other. I help Azimio and Strando, for instance, I give them a salary and a roof over their heads, and they help me by being my security detail. And after I helped you when I saved your life when those mobsters that wanted to kill you eleven years ago, I thought the least you could do was help me in return with this small favor.”

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” Jacob wheezed. “I wanted to help—“

“WELL THAT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” the billionaire roared, his face red with anger. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S AT STAKE HERE? DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA?”

“I’m sorry—“

“FUCK SORRY, YOU NO GOOD PIECE OF SHIT!” Dave hollered. He grabbed Jacob by the shirt and yanked him so they were face to face, Dave towering over him intimidatingly. “I know you know something, you’re the best rat in town, why do you think I keep you around in the first place?”  He shook the smaller man. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

The sweat was dripping down Jacob’s face now, his thin frame shaking. It was impossible to think over the roaring rush of blood in his ears, his mind frozen from fright, unable to properly weigh his options and craft something to say. “It’s just…It’s just San-Santana threatened me—“

 “Her?” Dave snapped. “You really think anything that bitch threatened you with could be worse than what I could do to you? Let me remind you that I am currently in possession of more nuclear firepower than anyone else ON THIS ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET! AND YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT THAT DYKE? Fuck, you’re dumber than you look, Israel!” He thrashed Jacob once more. “Now you’re going to tell me what you found out about Superman today or I swear to God I will strap you onto the biggest warhead I got and FIRE IT!”

“HE KNOWS ABOUT THE STOLEN MISSILES!” Jacob sobbed. His fear had gotten the best of him, all pretense gone as he openly wept. “Hummel asked him about it at th-the press conference today and Hummel…he’s…he’s Louis Lane.”

“He’s Louis Lane?” Dave repeated, utterly bewildered. He released Jacob from his hold. Initially, it shocked the billionaire to think that Kurt had been such a thorn in his side when it came to all the press attention of what was supposed to be his covert operation. Unfortunately, it seemed that Hummel was more than just a hot piece of ass, but a damn good reporter as well.

This is going to be something we’ll laugh about ten years from now, Dave told himself, determined not to let this development faze him. We’ll be sipping pina coladas ocean side at the Luthor West Coast estate. And then we’ll kick out all the staff and screw.

 Even though the discovery of Kurt’s pen name was imperative information, the billionaire had a feeling that the reporter’s alter ego wasn’t all that Jacob had learned today. No, it has to be something more, the man’s crying for Chrissake. What is so incriminating that Santana doesn’t want me to know and would reduce Metropolis’ most ruthless rat to tears?

“What else?” Dave demanded in a low voice. “You know I was going to reward you for finding out Hummel’s penname, but you’ve been such a difficult little shit tonight that you’re lucky to escape with your ribs intact. Now what else did you find out today about Superman?”

“I-I ca-can’t,” Jacob gasped, hyperventilating at this point. David was right, he was the best rat in all of Metropolis. He knew all about his boss’s sexual preferences, and had known about them for years, ever since he hacked into Dave’s personal computer once in what was an attempt to find a sextape starring Santana, but instead stumbled upon adult entertainment of a much different variety. And he knew how the billionaire really felt about Hummel too. Santana had confirmed earlier. Therefore, he was beyond horrified how Boss would react to hearing what he had witnessed this afternoon, especially with his unconditional hatred of Superman.

“YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW OR I’LL—“

“THEY’RE FUCKING, OKAY?!?” Jacob wailed, his voice breaking from emotion and exhaustion.

“Who?” Dave followed up immediately, persistent but slightly jarred. “Who’s fucking?”

Jacob looked at him fearfully, dread apparent on every feature. “Superman and…”

Dave’s stomach dropped.

No.

“How…” he struggled to speak, his mind racing at a million miles a minute and a fiery rage crackling under his skin like lightning. “…how did you—“

“I-I followed Hummel into…into an alley…and then Superman was there and they were…making out and like grinding a-and they were being cutesy too…and—“

The remainder of Jacob’s description was drowned out by the crash of the contents of Dave’s desk colliding with the marble floor. The billionaire stood over the mess of papers and shattered glass, his eyes alight with fury.

“THAT UNWORTHY FUCK!” He bellowed. Jacob instantly shrank back, even Strando flinched. Dave paced back and forth, practically stomping in his ire. His hands flew to his cropped brown hair, ineffectually tugging at the strands. When he spoke again, it was as if he had forgotten that the three other men in the room. “Why…why does he get EVERYTHING and I…I GET NOTHING!  I GET NOTHING!” He slammed his fist into the wood surface of the desk, barely noticing the sting and ache the impact caused. “It’s not…” his voice sounded thicker now, choked up with tears. “…it’s not…why does he…what does he even…”

Jacob glanced back at the two larger men in panic, both of which offered him little more than a baffled shrug.

“I’m going to kill him,” Dave seethed.

Yet even in his wrath, he achieved a moment of clarity. A moment that made all the anger and pain worth it. A moment that changed everything.

And now you know how.