Phelan's dead.

He died in my arms, cursing me. And even in death, he wouldn't give me the information I need.

The museum security tapes, however, were quite enlightening.

It began simply enough, as all complicated things do. I'd given Lana tickets to the Metropolis Museum for the weekend, then invited Clark to accompany me personally. He jumped at the invitation, not even knowing that Lana would be in attendance.

I'm still not quite sure what to make of that.

Clark got swept away in his teenage love triangle, or so I believed, while I got swept away with a woman of my own.

Victoria Hardwick.

She claims she was sent to me on behalf of her father Sir Harry to help them take over LuthorCorp. Convincing her to instead help me go after both Sir Harry and my father was pathetically easy. Not surprisingly easy, though. I know she has her own agenda.

So do I.

For now, however, she makes a pleasant enough distraction for the mansion and the bedroom.

We hadn't been back in Smallville more than a day when I spotted Phelan in the coffee shop. He showed me a picture of Clark and I at the museum, wanting information on who he was. I didn't give it to him, obviously. Phelan was never anything more than a flunky of my father's at best, despite his attempts to pretend his services were rendered out of friendship. I and his accountant know better.

Still, I was concerned. Phelan is, or, rather, was, an excellent ally to have in Metropolis. But I knew he would also be a formidable enemy, not above blackmail, not above stealing. Not above murder.

I had to warn Clark.

Warning Clark did mean having to give him some personal information on the connection between Phelan and I. Of course he was curious about my past with the detective, but he didn't pry when I told him I'd had some expensive problems in Metropoils. That's one thing I must say about Clark -- he allows people their privacy.

Or so I thought.

Clark's father was arrested for murder the next day, and I knew without question Phelan was somehow involved. I approached Clark to offer my assistance in any way I could, and, I admit, to try and find out exactly what Phelan was using against Clark. But there was no way I could help Clark at all if I didn't know the details of what he was dealing with.

Phelan told Clark I have secrets, apparently. And Clark, instead of gracefully refusing my offer to help, decided to throw that information back in my face. Information I'd admitted to the day before in his loft.

I don't understand why he'd take the word of a dirty cop over mine.

And I don't understand why he refused to let me help him.

So I decided to tail Phelan personally.

I followed him, and Clark, back to the museum in Metropolis. But before I felt it was safe to follow them inside, the security guards came running out. Apparently someone had called in a bomb.

The bomb turned out to be a clock inside a newspaper stand.

By the time I made it inside, Phelan was on the ground, dying. I went to him, and I asked him to tell me what he knew. To tell me what Clark's secret was.

And he told me to go to hell.

And then he died.

I'm starting to get really tired of the people I touch dying. Even more disturbing? I mean that literally.

Before I left the museum I retrieved the security camera tapes. There's a distortion on the tape. By distortion, I mean a blur. A blur that looks suspiciously flannel.

The evidence is starting to pile up.

I just wish I knew what it all proves.

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