It's been one hell of a busy week.

This is actually the first moment of peace and quiet I've had in quite a while, thanks to Nell's asking if she could have Lana's birthday party at the mansion. I said yes, of course, because I'm just that kind of guy. Alright... I thought Clark might appreciate it. Though I did allow Nell to believe it was because of her close personal relationship with my father.

Yes, because I embrace all the women my father used to cheat on my mother with.

Still, it's best to keep local relations civil, so it wasn't entirely for Clark. Just mostly.

And of course, Clark being Clark didn't even bother to show up for the party. He claims he had a good reason. What was the reason? I wasn't privvy to those details. Which, I must confess, bothers me somewhat. Especially now that I've realized something truly worrisome.

I've actually come to trust Clark.

I don't make a habit of trusting anyone. And I'm honestly not sure how it even happened.

I've also made some progress in figuring out what it is about this town that's so off.

The week started off with a physical, after which I was informed my white blood cell count was elevated. The doctor said if we were in any other town, he'd have ordered a cancer test, but in Smallville such elevated counts were fairly common. Why? He claims the reason is because of LuthorCorp.

I wouldn't put polluting the air above my father, but I've been running this plant long enough to know it's not the cause. So I had him order the tests.

Clark's high school called me later that same afternoon, wanting new computer equipment. I dropped by the next day, and of course ran into Clark himself.

That was where he told me about his reporter friends theory. That the meteor shower was the cause of all the strange happenings in Smallville. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who's noticed. Although his friend has a wall of newspaper clippings that are rather outside what I considered part of the strangeness of Smallville. There was nothing about odd aversions to money, or the connection between sports, employment and rebellion.

Just guys with extra fingers and psychic powers.

The meteor shower had been on my mind since my check-up, and I found myself, without even realizing it, telling Clark of my own personal experience twelve years ago.

And he apologized. I know some people use 'I'm sorry' as an expression of sympathy... but it didn't come across that way. It seemed almost as if he were trying to express a personal remorse about it. Considering he was three years old at the time, and it was a *meteor shower* I can't imagine why.

Must be another farmboy thing.

It actually turned out to be a very informative conversation. Chloe Sullivan (plant manager's daughter) arrived, and we had an interesting chat about her meteor shower theory. She mentioned a meteorite researcher named Dr. Hamilton, who spent his time studying the rocks that had fallen along with the shower.

Needless to say, I paid the man a visit. He was less than forthcoming, despite my offers of monetary backing. I'm beginning to wonder if being poor has come back into style, considering the cold reception my money has been getting lately. I've always found it to be an excellent companion.

Fortunately, where money fails, information always triumphs.

While my men were looking into Hamilton, I attended Lana's birthday party. She spent her time on my balcony. Considering I spent eighteen years of Luthor Christmas parties in the coatroom, I think hiding out on the balcony is a bit spoiled of her. But I managed to refrain from saying so directly.

Perhaps I'm too subtle sometimes, though, as she seemed to think I was bonding with her.

Clark stopped by after the party was over, as I mentioned. And for the first time since I've met him, he actually asked for a favor. A relatively simple one, yes, but a favor none the same.

I think I'm making progress.

After he left, I received two very interesting documents. The first was from my doctor, informing me that the leukemia test came back negative. That wasn't particularly surprising, since, as I told him, I don't get sick.

The second, however, was surprising. And perfect.

It seems the good Dr. Hamilton has a thing for underage children.

Needless to say, it took precious little convincings before he agreed to do some research for me. I might feel a bit guilty, if it wasn't the same exact research he was doing before I met him, only with an actual budget. Taking that into consideration, I think he's getting a perfectly fair deal.

No, it's not blackmailing Hamilton that bothers me.

Before I left, he asked me exactly why I'm so interested in the meteor rocks. And I answered, without thinking, that I only tell that story to those I trust.

How can I trust Clark Kent, and at the same time know, for a fact, that he's lied to me?

I wish I knew the answer.

More importantly, I wish I knew what he was hiding.

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