"What the hell is this?" An angered man in his late sixties asked a police officer, holding a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand that he had printed out less than an hour prior. He held it up at the officer's face, angrily demanding his questions be answered, but he had yet to tell the officer what he was upset about.
"Excuse me, Mr.—"
"Mr. Wenelli. Mr. Winston Wenelli," the man spoke sharply. "My daughter was sent to federal prison? On what?"
The officer let out a sigh as he took the crumpled paper from the aging man's hands, examining it. "This is from Gotham City. This is Metropolis, sir, we don't know anything about—Oh. . . " The officer spoke, reading the case more closely. "I see. Mr. Shaun Till was involved in this. Your daughter, Lucy, she was a nurse at the local hospital, right?" he spoke, double checking the facts on the paper.
The older man calmed down, letting out a breath before curtly responding. "Yes, she was. Before she moved with that—that—that lowlife!"
The officer raised an eyebrow at the concerned father. If he was so concerned, why hadn't he heard about this a year and a half ago? When his daughter was first admitted into the prison? She had already been released, she had already left the system.
"Sir, where did you get this?"
"I—" The man sighed. He folded his arms. "We ran into Shaun's parents. They sent us the report once they realized we had no clue what had happened to our daughter."
A man in his late sixties burst into the police station with papers he had printed out from his computer earlier with the help of his wife, Anette Wenelli, a woman in her mid-sixties.
"This is an old report. She already was released. There's nothing you can do at this point," the officer spoke.
"Well, can't we clear her record?" The man asked angrily. "This obviously isn't her. This isn't. You know how this asshole is! You need to clear her name. I am a very wealthy man, sir, and not only will I pay for any legal matters, I will keep pestering you until you fix her record."
The cop let out a sigh and checked the time. His shift barely started, and it was already a long day. "Sir, there's not much we can—"
"Let me talk to Superman."
The officer raised an eyebrow before holding in a laugh. "We don't have connections to Superman." Some of the force did, but this man didn't need to know that. Why would they give him connections to Superman for a mere girl? This was obviously a concerned father, but he was also an asshole.
"Don't bullshit me. I pulled some strings for one of your crew. Let me talk to him. William Henderson."
The police officer straightened in his seat. The Commissioner? What would the Commissioner do for him?
After the police officer called for Commissioner Henderson, the man immediately left his office and into the presence of the aging man.
"Mr. Wenelli, hello, good to see you," he spoke, respectfully shaking the man's hand. Wenelli smirked.
"I need a favor from you. I need Superman."
Commissioner Henderson cleared his throat as he realized it was time to repay Mr. Wenelli for all he had done for the force. He represented the local law enforcement, as he was the best lawyer in Metropolis and had helped put criminals behind bars time and time again. He also gave Wenelli legal advice more times than Henderson could count.
Henderson nodded. "Follow me, sir."