Conviction

At her usual break time on Monday morning, Annabeth stands at her desk, turns off her computer for the time being, and takes the elevator up to the top floor. Stepping through the tinted glass doors, she picks up on just how different the office looks now that Lana has taken over the space.

The sleekness of the walls and ceiling remains the same, but most of Luthor's art has been removed and replaced by livelier pieces. There's a plush chair in the corner that hadn't been there before, a large houseplant in the other, and the marble desk in the center is littered with documents, a few colorful paperweights, and a small metal frame.

"Annabeth," Lana smiles, placing her pen down and gesturing to the space before her, "How are you?"

She had received the invitation for lunch earlier that day, and, as Annabeth pulls out the chair and takes the seat, she is reminded of her first-ever meal with Lana. So many things have changed since then, in such a short amount of time. The view from that rooftop restaurant doesn't even compare to the one from the penthouse window.

"I really should be asking you that, given the recent events," she points out.

Lana laughs. "Definitely strange," she admits, "But I'm getting used to it. It's a lot of new responsibilities, and a lot of things to learn."

"It suits you," Annabeth smiles, "the new title."

The difference, unlike the change in décor, isn't obvious. But something in Lana's posture has unfolded like she's finally taking up the space she had needed.

"You think?" she asks, looking somewhat pleased.

Annabeth nods. "You seem more at ease with yourself, now that you're in charge," she pauses, "like shedding a mask."

Lana tilts her head, contemplating the meaning of that. Annabeth has noticed that she's started to filter herself less and less around the other woman. It's both freeing and something she's not entirely comfortable with yet.

"Can I ask you a question?" Annabeth says, changing the subject to something even less comfortable. Lana blinks out of her thoughts and motions for her to go ahead. "If Luthor wins this trial, will he be able to get back into the company?"

If Lana's surprised by her choice of topic, she doesn't show it. She does, however, droop her shoulders and frown.

"I'm not sure," she admits, "It depends. If he's found guilty, his shares will be returned to LexCorp, but if not, he might still have some sway with the board. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that," Annabeth shrugs, "At the board meeting, I remember Abernathy saying something along the lines of him coming back, and she sounded so sure." She chews her lip. "Some of the other employees have been worried about him storming the building, or something just as crazy."

Not a single word of her sentence is a lie, and it baffles even Annabeth at how good she has gotten at planting seeds of thought.

Lana furrows her brows in concern. She takes a moment, still frowning, and flicks her fingers across her keyboard. Annabeth hears the whoosh of a message being set off.

"Well," Lana finally says, face clearing and taking on something more akin to mischief as she looks up, "We'll just have to see at the trial."

Then, like her skin isn't absolutely buzzing with excitement, Annabeth fixes the woman with a very serious stare.

"Only if I get to log my hours."

LINEBREAK

Dennis, as Annabeth has come to realize, is an absolute menace.

She should have realized it the second he told her that he had chosen personal loyalty over bringing a criminal to justice, that the hardened insurance agent facade was just that, a facade, because Annabeth has become convinced that he is actually, in fact, Percy in forty-five years. Clearly very smart and capable, but with not a care in the world for following rules, as if their lives physically depended on them constantly toeing the line.

It's a little funny, yes, but also more than a little exhausting.

(The first time Percy had seen the news report of Luthor's arrest, he had blown a party noisemaker into the phone receiver, nearly bursting her left eardrum. Dennis had called a few minutes later with a cheer of success so loud it had taken out her right one.)

Upon her return home, she scrolls through her contacts and clicks on his name, this time placing it on speaker.

"Annabeth, my dear, I hope you're doing well," he greets casually, but there's something else in his tone.

"I'm good," she says cautiously, "Is everything alright?"

"Well, my daughter is visiting today, with her children, and I thought—"

Annabeth's breath catches in her throat. Did something happen? Is everyone okay? Did Luthor—

"—you should join us for dinner."

What?

"It would be so lovely for you to meet them," he finishes. He pauses, eagerly waiting for her answer.

"Dinner?" she echoes faintly, then remembers what she had even called for in the first place, "Have you practiced your testimony?"

"You can interrogate me over dessert," Dennis says, and she can hear the easy shrug, "I made a lemon meringue."

Annabeth sighs. This is exactly what she had meant by 'toeing the line'.

"I can't," she argues, "My preferred mode of transportation is...otherwise occupied. Besides, are you really sure you want to introduce me to your family?"

"Of course!" Dennis sounds offended. "They'd love to get to know you, and we can go over exactly what I should tell the jury to guarantee Luthor never sees the light of day."

"Did you get the bulleted list I sent you? If you hit all those points, we'll be in the clear," Annabeth asks, pivoting directions again.

"Yes, I did, I—actually I am confused about one thing." Annabeth makes a 'go on' noise with her throat. "What I'd like to know, is why I wasn't allowed to lie to those reporters, but I am allowed to do it in court."

He's being funny, she knows this. And yet, still, she pinches her nose.

"You're under oath, Dennis, it's not lying, it's strategic truth-telling," she emphasizes, "How many times do I need to say it?"

"Once more, over a slice of pie," he grins over the phone, "And don't think I missed you say 'preferred', as in, you have another mysterious way of getting here."

Damn Percy and his aged-up clones and their ability to wear her down. Annabeth thinks it over for a few seconds.

"Fine," she says finally, rolling her eyes, "Can I bring a plus one?"

Because if she has to make polite and pleasant conversation with Dennis's family during dinner and immediately follow it up with a round of hard-hitting questions about his past, there's no way she's braving it alone.

"Of course," he replies easily, sounding more pleased with the addition than surprised, "See you soon dear."

"See you then," Annabeth says, then hangs up to demand request her boyfriend's presence.

LINEBREAK

Sneaking into the district attorney's office is insultingly easy, but maybe her recent experiences have skewed her judgment on what kind of B&E can be considered effortless. Annabeth winds her way through cluttered desks until she reaches one with the name that she recognizes from the online case records.

She flicks through the stapled packet of paper in her hand to triple-check she's not missing any pages and moves to lay it atop a list of unidentified court briefings.

Her arm hesitates.

Using her free hand, she shifts some of the desk mess aside, revealing a report that matches the one that currently rests in her grip.

Annabeth blinks. Huh, she thinks, maybe they can handle it from here.

LINEBREAK

Luthor's trial commences at nine am sharp, but Lana had Annabeth block off her calendar starting at seven. When Annabeth had asked about the need for such an early start to the day, Lana had looked her dead in the eye and said she "wanted good seats."

Annabeth had tried her best but had ultimately failed to keep herself from laughing.

As they walk up the imposing stone steps, reporters already camped along the railings but unable to enter with their bulky cameras and microphone sets, she has to admit, that the Metropolis Courthouse is quite a feat of architecture. There are several vertical layers to the building, some capped with curved, half-circle roofs and others with slanted tile. The two silver knight statues that guard the entrance from above resemble the main golden, winged knight that decorates the lawn.

Annabeth trails Lana through the heavy open doors, where they flash their government IDs at the check-in counter. Following a brief pat down by a female police officer and Annabeth mourning the absence of her knife for that very reason, they make it through security and head to the assigned courtroom.

Turning the corner, Lana suddenly stops, and Annabeth looks up to see the cause of the delay.

It's Luthor. Of course it is, because even though Annabeth can only see the back of a shiny bald head, who else would elicit that kind of extremely tense reaction in both her and Lana?

He's still wearing a damn suit, and there goes her chances at the satisfaction of seeing him in the bright orange jail uniform. However, it's a jury trial, so she understands the motivation of dressing well.

Across from him, Annabeth recognizes the prosecutor, who is, by some unfortunate coincidence, attempting to enter the room at the same time Luthor is being escorted in.

With his hands still handcuffed behind his back, Luthor leans forward into the other man's personal space. The prison guards at his side slightly loosen their grip to let him, and Annabeth wonders if they are the ones Luthor had bribed to spend a night out of detention to torment her. Probably.

"Tread carefully," Luthor warns, voice still as cold and smooth as the day Annabeth had met him, "You should know how important LexCorp is to this city's economy. I'm not sure how Metropolis will survive should I find myself behind bars." The prosecutor's face pales. "All of those jobs we supply, it'd be a shame if hundreds of employees suddenly found themselves on the streets."

The other man grits his teeth in anger, but the fear in his eyes is palpable.

Beside her, Lana clenches her first and takes an audible step forward.

"That's not your decision to make anymore," she calls out.

Luthor whirls around, eyes narrowing into slits when he recognizes who has spoken, and again, his guards let him.

Annabeth strategically stays a few feet in the background. There's no need to draw any unnecessary attention to her presence.

"Or did Abernathy not tell you?" Lana mocks, casually. Annabeth thinks she might just be taunting him, but there's an oh-so-slight glimmer of surprise on the man's face that indicates he genuinely did not know. "Board voted me in, Lex. As per our last meeting, you're not the CEO of LexCorp anymore. I am."

Luther's face folds in fury as he hisses, "This entire accusation is outrageous, and after I'm declared innocent, the board will—"

"The board has lost faith in you," Lana cuts him off, rolling with the newfound confidence, "Even if this whole trial turns out to be some sort of mistake, the board doesn't believe you have the company's best interests at heart. Your business ethics have always been a little too skewed, but those plans were really the last straw. Face it, Lex, they've abandoned you. You have no leverage here."

Lana smiles at the indescribably livid glare Luthor bores into her.

Behind them, the noisy scuffle of footsteps grows louder and the guards, unwilling to be seen slacking off in the face of a larger audience, pull on Luthor's handcuffs, shoving him into the room. Annabeth has stabbed many a monster in her life, but besides a brief puff of gold glitter, not often are there visible aftereffects. This time, however, there's a subtle limp in Luthor's gait as he walks that gives her enough vindictive satisfaction to more than make up for the missing prison jumpsuit.

The prosecutor smiles gratefully at Lana, and with renewed assurance in his abilities, ducks through the doors as well.

"Abernathy?" Annabeth asks in a low voice, as they follow, just to make sure they're both on the same page.

"Visitor logs are public information," Lana explains, then nods at Annabeth's 'ah, I see' expression, "She's been talking to him. Don't worry, the board and I will deal with it."

The other woman leads them both over to the public seating area, where a pair of familiar faces and a newcomer, a black-haired boy her age, have claimed their spaces in the second row.

"I can't believe you beat me here," Lana jokes, half complaining.

"You know Clark," Lois Lane leans up and smirks, "Always first at the scene of the crime."

Clark Kent reaches up and fiddles with his glasses to hide his amused smile, but the shaking of his shoulders gives away his laughter. The boy beside them snorts.

The dynamic between the three adults now is much more relaxed than it had been weeks ago at Luthor's gala, Annabeth notices, but she's not surprised. Working together to take down a common enemy will do that. She knows that from experience.

"I should say congratulations though," Clark offers, looking around discreetly, "on your promotion."

Lana grins, proudly, before shrugging. "We'll be officially announcing it soon, no need to keep it under wraps."

Clark nods, then catches Annabeth's eyes from over Lois's shoulder.

"It's nice to see you again, Annabeth," he smiles, almost knowingly. He's more Superman than Clark again. He switches so easily that she wonders if he's doing it on purpose, or if it really just comes that naturally. "Seems you were right."

Her eyes widen just a fraction at that, and her gaze involuntarily shifts to Lana, but she's too preoccupied with Lois to notice the comment. Annabeth gives him a sheepish shrug and a casual "Guess so," as the boy beside him looks on in slight interest.

Fortunately, Lana soon after takes the seat next to the other woman, Annabeth settles into the next one over, and the two men disappear into her periphery.

She takes the time to study Luthor instead. The man is sitting inside an enclosed bench on the right side of the room, directly facing the empty jury box. A new prison officer occupies the space next to his, with several inches between the two, the uniformed man looking like he would rather be anywhere but here.

Luthor looks calm and collected, as usual, but there are small cracks in his demeanor as if he is still processing his termination. Every so often, he shifts his injured leg or stretches out his now uncuffed hand, the angry red having faded to pale pink. More than once, Annabeth catches him boring his eyes into Clark's skull, as if he's the one with the laser vision.

She's suddenly very glad she had dropped her evidence packet to Lois and Clark before going to the police, instead of the other way around. Yes, it had given the two reporters the credit for taking Luthor down, but given recent events, it distracts Luthor from thinking too much about Annabeth's involvement. He's far too busy cursing his mortal enemy for being the one to bring him down, and as his civilian self, no less. It's an outright slap in the face, the greatest insult he could possibly think of. It's bad enough that Superman has defeated Lex Luthor, but for the public headlines to name Clark Kent as the hero, is downright humiliating. (Lois Lane's name precedes Clark's on those headlines, but Annabeth doubts Luthor even acknowledges that.)

She lets her gaze roam the rest of the courtroom. In front of the judge's elevated stand and the witness box, is a large, long table. The prosecutor that Annabeth recognizes from outside sits on one end, an assistant at his side, while another tweed-like man sits on the defense side.

"That's Luthor's lawyer?" Annabeth says, with carefully crafted incredulity.

There's nothing wrong with him, a perfectly ordinary man in a brown suit rifling through a stack of papers pulled out from his suitcase. But a perfectly ordinary man does not often find himself at Luthor's right side, violently twisting the truth to get his way.

"It's not," Lana replies, very real confusion coloring her voice, "I've met the firm he employs, and I don't recognize him."

"Court-appointed attorney," Lois explains, a vindictive glee in her pale eyes as she leans over to address them both.

Lana's mouth drops open.

"His lawyers dropped him," Lois continues, casually, as if she's not providing absolutely unheard-of information. Unheard of to Lana, at least. "Just like that. Completely out of the blue. They must've spread the word because I heard that no other firm nor independent lawyer would take his case."

"Fired by his company and his go-to firm," Clark chuckles, blue eyes twinkling, "I've heard of poor performance, but this really takes the cake."

The boy beside him rolls his eyes, but Lana plows past the joke.

"What?" she repeats, like she can't believe it. Annabeth stares back as well, wide-eyed. "But why? They've been with him for so long, I just can't imagine—"

"No one would tell me," Lois shrugs, "And trust me, I asked." Clark grimaces as if he has been on the end of her interrogation skills and wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy. "All they said was to wait, and I'd find out eventually."

Lois throws her hands up in a frustrated 'what can you do?' gesture.

"Be patient?" Clark offers, answering her silent question.

Lois sends him a long-suffering glare and mutters something about his reporting skills, or lack thereof. Annabeth presses her back against the bench once more, feeling pity for that grey-haired man in the park as she thinks of how hard Lois must have pressed him for information.

Contrary to Percy's popular belief, Annabeth doesn't know everything. She's smart beyond belief, but there are tons of things she doesn't know, like nuclear physics, alien physiology, European Renaissance-era history, and the list goes on. She's good at memorizing things, sure, and disregarding the dyslexia and ADHD school comes easier to her than other demigods, but neither of those is particularly her strong suit. What she is, however, intimately familiar with, is strategy.

With every carefully collected piece in place, all Annabeth can do now is watch. The jurors file in, one by one, and populate the stand, getting comfortable for a long day. The judge takes her seat at the podium, casts a severe and analyzing gaze over the entire room, and calls the court into session.

LINEBREAK

The prosecutor's opening statement is brief and concise, firmly outlining the charges and the argument he is to present in the upcoming hours. The defense's statement is even shorter and not nearly as self-assured, but it does the job. Annabeth watches Luthor eye his counsel with utter disgust. The judge, a tall older woman with harsh lines across her forehead, instructs the prosecution to call his first witness.

The door behind Annabeth opens and the entire room turns to watch court officials escort Dennis Bryant up to the front. He's been dressed sharply in the outfit Annabeth and his daughter had decided upon, sleek grey trousers and a white collared shirt poking out from under a cream sweater.

(Rose is every bit the angel Dennis had described her as, a shock of genuine kindness with a healthy streak of guile inherited, no doubt, from her father. Percy had taken to Rose's twin toddlers upon first glance and has already started to schedule playdates with Estelle. Annabeth has dozens of siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles, but this is the moment she realizes just how big her family has gotten.)

Annabeth gives Dennis a small private smile as he passes her, takes his seat at the stand, and is sworn in.

"Please state your name for the court."

"Dennis Gregory Bryant."

"You are the insurance agent that handled the life insurance claim for Lionel and Lillian Luthor following their deaths, is that correct?" the prosecutor asks.

Dennis nods, then remembering the court reporter, voices the confirmation.

"What was the monetary value of this claim?"

"Three hundred thousand dollars," Dennis replies, dutifully.

"And what did you think of this amount?"

"It was dodgy," he answers, then continues at the prosecutor's encouraging nod, "At the time, the Luthors were residing in Southside Metropolis, and I did not believe they had the means to keep up with the policy's monthly payment plan. I also received the form by mail and had no previous contact with either Mr. or Mrs. Luthor."

Annabeth already knows this information, but the location of the Luthor home had not been mentioned in Lois and Clark's article. A few quiet murmurs break out within the public seating area and the jurors look on, intrigued, but as instructed by the judge, remain silent.

The prosecutor continues to ask Dennis if he had verified the validity of the claim, to which he explains that yes, he had gone over to the Luthor residence to ensure that it had not been a mistake. As Dennis chronicles his violent experience with Lionel on the property, several jurors frown.

"If Mr. Lionel Luthor denied the claim as vehemently as you described, why did you continue to file it?" the prosecutor presses.

"I received an apology letter, again through the mail, apologizing for the outburst," Dennis reveals, then shrugs his shoulders, "At the time I had no reason to be truly suspicious, as everything had been filled out properly, and a check for the first installment had been included."

The prosecutor nods, accepting this answer. "Then what happened?"

"The next day, I get a call about the car accident, the one that killed the Luthors, so I began the process to cash out the claim to the beneficiary."

"Who was?"

"Lex Luthor," Dennis answers, sparing the man in question no more than a brief glance.

It's the first time he looks at Luthor, the first time setting eyes on him in years, and as much as he had insisted that he was unshakable, Annabeth can see his apprehension when Luthor meets him head-on in a cold glare.

"Did you not find that at all suspicious?" the prosecutor presses.

"Objection," Luthor's attorney calls out, though he doesn't really seem angry about it, "Speculative."

"Sustained," the judge agrees.

The prosecutor nods, disappointed, and declares that he has no further questions. Luthor's attorney stands for cross-examination and asks a few weak clarifying questions about the timing of the claim and his professional experience as an agent that Dennis answers with ease. It does nothing to change the current opinion of the room.

"No further—"

Across the room, Luthor suddenly stands, drawing everyone's attention.

"I would like to request to represent myself," he announces, "On grounds that I do not believe my attorney is practicing to the full extent of his ability."

Annabeth sighs as resounding sharp inhales of breath echo around her. Why is she not surprised in the slightest?

"Great," the boy three spaces down groans, and Annabeth silently agrees.

The judge contemplates this with a hard stare.

"Given your age and education level, I would deem you competent to do so," she decides, "You are aware that you are giving up your right to an attorney, correct?"

"Yes," Luthor replies, irritated and already moving to exit his bench.

"Then you may proceed."

As Luthor approaches the defense side, Annabeth sees him whisper something harshly to his attorney, who grits his teeth, gathers his materials, and sits down, effectively fired, in the first row of the public seating area.

"Mr. Bryant," Luthor addresses the witness, lips curling, "Please list your current health conditions for the court."

The prosecutor objects on the grounds of irrelevance, but after Luthor says he has a point to make, the judge grudgingly overrules it.

Dennis looks nervous now, but he hides it well under a mask of confusion. "High cholesterol, um chronic knee pain..."

"And dementia," Luthor interrupts, impatient, "Is that correct?"

"I—yes," he answers, setting his jaw, refusing to cow, "Alzheimer's, but—"

"And you did not feel the need to mention this brain condition when recounting a tale from decades ago?" Luthor asks, condescendingly.

The prosecutor objects again because of the leading question and this time, the judge sustains it.

"A man with memory problems, trying to testify in court on a suspected murder case with little visible evidence," Luthor continues, turning his body away from Dennis and plowing past the judge's ruling, "How can we take this into account as fact? He could very well be confusing it with a previous claim or just making it all up."

"Objection!" the prosecutor nearly yells, "He is addressing the jury, your honor."

"Sustained," the judge replies, giving Luthor a hard look, "Mr. Luthor, I've already—"

Luthor replies saying that he has no further questions and takes his seat, but the damage is already done. The jurors frown, no longer having full confidence in their previous opinion.

From inside the stand, Dennis shifts uncomfortably, jaw clenching in fear as he, too, feels the uncertainty emanating from the jury. His gaze finds Annabeth across the room, and she meets his eyes straight on. Annabeth shakes her head at him, a small, silent action almost lost amongst the large crowd of people who have gathered to watch the trial unfold. From somewhere in her periphery, she can feel a second set of curious eyes on her, but she doesn't turn and just focuses on reassuring her friend. Dennis's expression smoothens out, and he relaxes.

"I'd like to motion for re-direct."

The prosecutor raises from his seat with a very familiar stack of paper in his hands. The judge allows it.

"This is a report completed by Doctors Wiglesworth and Mosqueda using federally sanctioned funds on the viability of dementia patients as court witnesses," he announces, placing a second copy before the judge.

"This was not entered as evidence, your honor," Luthor seethes, the title more sarcastic than the rest of the sentence. The distinction does not escape the woman who scowls back.

"I am not calling these doctors as witnesses, simply reading from the report. May I continue, your honor?" the prosecutor replies smoothly, then at the woman's nod, continues, "The conclusion reads 'There is strong evidence that many people with dementia have cognitive reserve for remembering events in their lives that have emotional context.' Further: 'The stage of the dementing disease is a factor in reliability of emotional memory.' Mr. Bryant, exactly when were you diagnosed with your condition?"

"Two and a half months ago, I visited the doctor on May sixteenth," Dennis answers, back on stable footing.

"And what did your doctor say?"

"That it was caught early, that serious degeneration would start to occur around this time next year, and that I would find it difficult to make new memories before I forgot old ones."

Annabeth smiles to herself, a perfect answer.

"I will submit the proof corroborating his diagnosis, but for now, no further questions, your honor."

As Dennis is escorted off of the stand and back out of the room, there's no doubt he is smiling. He doesn't look at her on the way out this time, but Annabeth knows the expression is directed toward her.

LINEBREAK

Unfortunately, Luthor is not half bad as his own lawyer. He is knowledgeable in court proceedings, understands the paperwork, and speaks with a confidence that can only be backed by years of experience in circumventing his many crimes. The one caveat is that the judge has had to reprimand him twice already for his demeaning and hostile behavior.

Following an especially harsh scolding, he can do nothing but glare at the prosecutor as the man offers up his next piece of evidence.

"I have here the handwriting analysis results, conducted by a court-approved expert, comparing the original life insurance claim which was, allegedly, filled out by Lionel Luthor, to his will, which has been proven to be written by the same man, as seen by the witness signatures."

"And from where was this will procured?" the judge asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I have it in writing that a copy was acquired by Mr. Bryant as part of his investigation."

The judge accepts this explanation. Annabeth bites the inside of her cheek, knowing full well that Dennis had not meant his insurance investigation.

"As stated by this similarity report with ninety-six percent certainty, the signatures at the bottom of these two documents do not match."

The entire courtroom is silent.

Then Luthor explodes.

"Fabrication of evidence!" he roars, his chair screeching loudly as he stands and stalks over to the prosecutor, "There is no reason to believe—"

"That is enough, Mr. Luthor!" the judge raises her voice, glancing over to the court officers who tense, ready to jump into action, "Sit down, or I will have you—"

Luthor snatches the documents from the prosecutor's hand, flipping furiously through.

"'The letter form indicates several downward strokes that do not remain consistent throughout—'" he reads out loud, voice growing steadily more disbelieving, "This senseless analysis holds no weight—"

"That is it," the judge interrupts loudly, bringing the gavel down on her desk with a sharp crack, "The court will stand at recess until tomorrow, nine am. Mr. Luthor, please meet me at the bench to discuss your behavior."

As they stand with the crowd to file out, Annabeth leans over to whisper in Lana's ear, "Should've brought popcorn," and the other woman slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her snort.

LINEBREAK

The next time Annabeth sees Luthor, he is back in the accused section, a court officer at his side, and his attorney has re-replaced him at his original seat on the lawyer's table.

"Mr. Luthor has been removed as acting defense, due to his previous outbursts and will remain silent," the judge glares, and Luthor glares back, "unless called upon to speak."

Annabeth can't hear it, but Clark's shoulders are laughing again. She can feel the bench below her move.

The prosecutor calls upon his final witness, and a man a little younger than Dennis walks through the doors in dark blue pants and a simple grey shirt. When the prosecutor asks him to state his name for the court, he answers quietly, but everyone hears it.

"He agreed to testify?" Lana asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Clark tracked him down, and I talked some sense into him," Lois grins sharply.

Annabeth can already imagine their newfound friendship giving Clark a hard time in the near future.

"Did you accept money from Lex Luthor following the accident that killed Lionel and Lillian Luthor?" the prosecutor asks.

The man on the stand slumps his shoulders. "Yes."

"What was the money for?"

He retreats further in his chest, but still answers, "To falsify the report on the vehicles involved."

The prosecutor hums. "Yes, that report, which states there were no signs of foul play in the semi-trailer truck, but that, due to the extent of the damage incurred to the Luthors' vehicle, it was impossible to determine any substantial conclusion. Was that a lie?"

"Yes."

The mechanic refuses to make eye contact, staring down at the floor, as gasps erupt around him. The judge quiets the room immediately.

"Which part?" the prosecutor continues.

"The evaluation of the Luthor vehicle," the mechanic reveals, closing his eyes briefly before opening them, "There were signs of sabotage in the steering column."

There are slightly fewer people in the public seating area than yesterday, but the exclamations of shock are much louder. The people in her row exchange grins, and this time, Annabeth joins in. Luthor almost stands again, an argument on his tongue, but the officer beside him tugs him down sharply.

The prosecutor smiles and, audibly smug, says, "I rest my case."

The rest of the trial zips by, Luthor's court-appointed lawyer having little to say during cross-examination. Two closing statements later, one powerful and moving and the other not so much, the judge sends the jury to the deliberation room, leaving the rest of them seated, with bated breath.

LINEBREAK

The doors open one last time, and a small crowd of people file back in, led by one of their own.

"Twenty-six minutes," Annabeth observes, and the boy still beside Clark whistles at the speedy return.

The judge gestures towards the jury, and their leader stands in his seat, slightly trembling fingers clutching a piece of paper. He holds it close to his eyes as he speaks.

"We the jury, in the case of The State versus Alexander Luthor, find the defendant guilty of the charge of first-degree murder on two counts and sentence him to life in prison, with the possibility of parole after twenty years."

There's no outburst from Luthor this time. His gaze, completely unreadable, sweeps the room. When he reaches second row, it pauses, lingering on the assortment of people he sees lined up. She doesn't know what kinds of looks the others beside her are giving him, whether it's disgust or satisfaction or knowing disappointment. The latter is Clark, actually, she knows that much. But when Luthor catches her eyes on the way across, she can't help it. Maybe it's a mistake, maybe it's not, maybe she wants to take a little credit, and maybe that's not such a bad thing after all. Annabeth smiles at him, and the judge's gavel comes down, sealing Luthor's fate.

LINEBREAK

On Sunday, Annabeth wakes up and runs through Heroes Park as usual. For the first time this summer, there's nothing to plan, nothing to think about. The sun is bright and beats down on her shoulders a little too strong. She listens to her sneakers come in contact with the dirt, the rhythmic thumping, and gets lost in the sound. She focuses on her breath, her lungs, the pleasant burning in her thighs, and absolutely nothing else.

When she turns the key into her apartment, she opens the door to her second surprise party of the month. Percy stands in the middle of it all, indicating that this one has, indeed, been organized by him, and holds out a small blue cupcake with an orange candle.

"Congratulations wise girl, on taking down the world's baddest, baldest—"

The rest of his words are cut off, as she laughs and crosses the room in two large strides to kiss him deeply.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, someone wolf whistles.

When she finally lets him go, Percy holds the cupcake back up, from where he had moved his arm to avoid crushing it between their bodies, and Annabeth blows out the flame. The entire apartment cheers.

The space is much too small for all these people. Percy and Leo and Nico and Piper and Sally and Estelle and Paul and Dennis and Rose and Estelle's newfound friends, Ethan and Clara. And yet, she muses, it doesn't feel crowded at all.

Percy sticks by her side all day, even though she's still sweaty from her workout (which, he "Okay, didn't think that one through"), as they mingle and laugh and watch the news recount as much of the trial as they could from outside the courthouse.

At some point, Nico pulls her aside to let her know he has to duck out early, to which she nods understandingly, and disappears into a dark corner.

"Mom?" Ethan says, pointing to the dissipating bundle of shadows, light blue eyes blinking curiously, "That guy just melted."

Four well-trained teenagers instantly snap their heads over. Blinking back at him and his twin sister and realizing that at no point in the last few weeks has Rose's husband ever been brought up in conversation, Annabeth's stomach drops.

LINEBREAK

Annabeth had tossed and turned in bed last night, contemplating her next move. There are two weeks remaining in her internship, ten days of work she probably should complete, if for no other reason than not facing the dissatisfaction of leaving something unfinished.

It doesn't feel like that though. It doesn't feel like she's quitting, or not seeing it through to the end. What she feels, is that there are other friends she hasn't seen in months. Long weekends spent mostly researching, planning, plotting Luthor's end, and even longer weekdays at a full-time job only to come home and be too tired of keeping up a mask to have the energy to properly be herself.

When the sun dawns on Monday, Annabeth imagines the city wakes with a deep, therapeutic breath, as if born anew, and makes the decision to go home.

She arrives early at the office, catching Lana in the lobby, and hands over her LexCorp badge. When she says that she wants to end her internship slash temporary assistant position early, Lana looks at her with confusion and surprise, but also with understanding.

Annabeth is aware that she sticks out amongst the professionally dressed employees this time, with her loose jeans and tank top, mostly faded scars on display. Her camp necklace rests around her neck, laying proudly over the fabric of her shirt for once instead of its usual spot deep in her pocket. Lana's gaze roams over her, cataloging all the differences.

"Too much excitement for you?" Lana finally asks, accepting the badge and the decision.

"Not enough," Annabeth smirks.

Her competent but ordinary intern facade is falling rapidly, and she can see the exact moment it registers in Lana's eyes, that the Annabeth she had worked with all summer is not the same Annabeth that stands before her right now.

Lana searches her face intently.

"Like shedding a mask," she echoes, almost to herself.

Annabeth's smirk widens.

"I had a feeling there was something about you," Lana murmurs, shaking her head softly.

She holds out a hand.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Annabeth," she says, like it's the first time she's seeing her, and in a way, it is.

Annabeth's genuine smile, still sharp but far less restrained, reveals itself as she shakes Lana's hand and says "Likewise."

"I hope you'll keep in touch," Lana tells her, "I'd like to get to know you."

She hadn't exactly planned to stay in contact, because getting close to a mortal, especially one with as much power as Lana now has, is dangerous. But now, she admits, that it may be worth it. Though she's leaving, Annabeth can't help but feel like she might miss the other woman. Despite not acting fully like herself for months, the level of comfort she has reached around her feels almost like a budding friendship.

"Maybe I will," Annabeth replies.

Lana accepts the tentative agreement, almost turning to leave, but suddenly doesn't.

"I—you know, before Clark got the recording, he came to me with his suspicions about Luthor," she muses, and Annabeth nods to show she remembers that particular conversation, "He didn't have any proof back then, just 'an inkling that something was up' is what he said. When I asked him what made him think that, he mentioned that a source had let something slip and accidentally pointed him in the right direction." Lana's previously unfocused eyes sharpen in on Annabeth. "But then at the trial, he said something interesting to you, that you were right."

Annabeth tilts her head. So, Lana had heard it. Clark Kent, you tattletale.

There's no question in her words, no demand for answers. But instead of shrugging or brushing it off with a vague excuse like the one she had given Clark, Annabeth raises her chin.

"I don't spill secrets by accident."

Lana's brow furrows, disoriented at Annabeth's chosen response. She absently brushes a thumb over the badge picture in her palm.

"You know, I've learned a lot of things the hard way," Annabeth starts, watching Lana's face carefully, "One of which, is that, sometimes, to build something worthwhile, you have to tear down what came before."

She can see the gears turning rapidly, can see Lana reexamine every word, every conversation, every interaction, that she's witnessed from Annabeth.

And Annabeth can see the exact moment realization dawns on her.

Employees around them weave around each other, a few sparing them short glances before scanning themselves through the turnstiles. The morning conversation is louder than usual, gossip of the trial verdict being flung around, traded in whispers and eager chatter. But Lana stays firmly planted in her spot in the middle of the floor.

"But that means you..."

She trails off, unable to form the words to properly convey her accusation. Annabeth gives her a knowing look.

"You earned that position fair and square," she tells her, firmly, "You deserved it."

Lana blinks, stunned.

"Goodbye, Lana. I'll see you around," Annabeth says, smiling casually, and heads towards the exit, finally leaving the drab offices for good.

(Though, hopefully, not drab for long, seeing as how Heyeck's most significant obstacle for remodeling is currently being prepped for relocation to Stryker's Island Penitentiary.)

Behind her, Lana stays frozen in place, watching her leave, the girl who, if she's not wrong, brought down Lex Luthorover the course of a two-month summer internship.

Lana's still reeling over that particular piece of information.

She laughs, disbelievingly, and runs a hand down her face, sending out a prayer to wherever Annabeth decides to go next. She suspects they'll need it.

LINEBREAK

As Annabeth pushes open LexCorp's heavy glass doors for the last time this summer, she feels a bit like she's walking away from a dramatic, fiery explosion. Except, the explosion has already happened, and she's already picked up all the pieces and restacked them, following a carefully crafted design.

After all, Annabeth is an architect.

A.N. surprise :)

all your comments on the last one were so motivating and sweet i love y'all and hope you enjoyed this one <33

some more notes

I did my best to research law for the trial and other company legality stuff, but pls take it all with a grain of salt. The laws get kind of complex for specific scenarios, so it might not all be accurate to real life. Also, the dementia report thing is totally real and it is by those exact authors mentioned, so I'm not taking credits for those quotes I had the prosecutor character read out!

Lana is currently regretting her crush on Clark and is wishing she had one on Lois instead.

Annabeth was probably always going to clue Dennis in to her demigod side, but I just sped it up a bit :)