Chapter 4405

Clark had been circling that nail for a week. At this moment, he was lying on the beach sunbathing, seemingly relaxing, but actually, he was out of ideas. He just wanted to know which wicked person came up with this move—the key was, wasn't this technical strength too outrageous?

Clark had really thought of all the methods he could think of, including adjusting the laser output, trying to use clever force to pull it out, or drilling through the crust to attack the roots directly. These past few days, he really hadn't slept or rested, using all the skills he had used over the past few years, and the result was that he was lying here now, and the nail was still firmly stuck in the ground.

By the time things reached this stage, the main emotion supporting Clark to continue trying was disbelief. He knew he could fly to Mars and try to talk to those Martians, or seek help from others to see if they had a solution. But he felt that at the very least, he should think of all the methods he could think of before seeking help from others. And because he really had many abilities, the exhaustive method took a long time.

Just as Clark stood up and prepared to try again, he saw a group of people walking over from afar. He turned around and saw Schiller walking toward him on the sand, and Clark turned his body back again.

"Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent!... Clark Kent!"

Clark had no choice but to turn back; he looked at Schiller helplessly and said: "What are you doing again? Why is it that there's never anything good when you appear?"

"That's a stereotype." Schiller took a document out of his bag and handed it to Clark, then said, "Sign this."

"What is this?" Clark looked at the document with some confusion, and then his eyes widened instantly: "Kansas State Senator Application Form?"

"And this," Schiller took out another document, "a simplified version of the political party establishment application, a judicial ruling from the Supreme Court, a draft for the approval of the general election reform..."

"What the hell is all this?" Clark didn't understand at all; he said, "What does this have to do with me? Why do I have to sign?"

Schiller snatched the documents back, stuffed them back into his bag casually, and said: "Actually, these are just a bunch of waste paper; the names are all made up—a senator can't be elected through an application, and a political party isn't established by an application form. I'm just here to notify you that the general election results are out."

"What?" Clark was a bit surprised, "These people finally stopped fighting? Because of this nail?"

"Of course not; it's because a perfect presidential candidate who has shocked the past and the present has unified the opinions of the two parties, making them unanimously decide to abandon the previous voting results and cast all their votes for him."

"Who is so amazing?"

"You."

Half an hour later, Clark walked into the White House, looking dazed. He looked at the decoration of the presidential palace, wearing a hoodie, holding a camera in his hand, looking just like a tourist who had wandered into the scene of a political news report. Then they came to the presidential office that often appeared in the news; Clark circled the desk twice and said: "So this is my desk now."

"Yes, this side is the nuclear button."

"What about this side?"

"Currently, it's the water dispenser button, but you can pour any drink you like into the water dispenser, including cola."

"What the hell!" Clark said with an expression of disbelief, "This side is the nuclear button, this side is the cola button, what if I press the wrong one?!"

"That's why they found someone who doesn't like cola," Schiller shrugged.

Clark closed his eyes tightly and said: "Schiller! You're messing with me again!"

"Alright, there is no nuclear button; these are all emergency alarm devices; you probably won't have any chance to press them." Schiller sat down across from him and said, "Considering you aren't familiar with presidential work, for the next period of time, I will be your private secretary..."

"Are you very familiar with presidential work?"

"Of course not, that's why the two of us are here—the ones who are truly familiar with the work are in the Secretary of State's office."

Clark covered his forehead again.

"So what should I do?" Clark spread his hands and said, "What were the previous presidents doing when they first came over?"

"Of course, asking the same question as you."

"They don't know how to do it?!"

"Otherwise they wouldn't be sitting here."

Clark lowered his head and covered his eyes.

"Actually, come to think of it, it's not difficult," Schiller took out a stack of documents and said, "Just sign this pile."

Clark took the documents suspiciously, waved his hand in front of his face, and said with some disgust: "Why is there so much dust?"

"Don't mention it, finding this thing took some effort—68 universes in total, and I didn't find a single United States that still had policy documents from FDR's administration; it took a long time to find one that was still in office, and I traded a lot of good things with him."

Clark stared at Schiller, unable to believe what he had heard. He tried hard to ignore the amount of information in these words and said: "Then why is it so old?"

"Because these are early documents," Schiller said, "He sealed them up himself, and it took a long time to find them. Take a look and sign them first if there's no problem."

Clark flipped through them simply, and because there were too many technical terms, he felt dizzy. Fortunately, he had strengthened his English learning before, and he barely saw that this seemed to be tax-related documents. Clark didn't think too much and signed them. Schiller was a bit surprised and said: "You don't want to look carefully?"

"Although I'm not from that era, I've heard my father talk about it. Come to think of it, our family's current difficult economic situation is also thanks to this president—the taxes were too high."

"Then why are you still signing?"

"Because this can't be blamed entirely on him; although the taxes were high at that time, various agricultural subsidies were high, and trade was relatively free, so things were easy to sell. It was just that later presidents kept canceling subsidies, and it eventually became what it is today."

"It seems you have a certain understanding of his policies." Schiller said.

Clark said with some pride: "Of course, actually, farmers are the most concerned about policies; the cash flow in their hands is not abundant to begin with, and sometimes if a subsidy can't be received, it might make the farm completely unable to operate. My father has always warned me like this, which is why I became a reporter for the current affairs section."

Clark paused for a moment and then continued: "I can probably understand the mode of this policy: high taxes will greatly reduce disposable funds, but these funds don't disappear out of thin air, but turn into special subsidies. The so-called special subsidies mean that you can only use this money to buy designated things; otherwise, there's nowhere to spend it at all. This is forcing farm owners to buy seeds, fertilizers, and machines, and they can't take the money to invest in anything else."

"I think maybe factory owners are the same; most of their income is collected, and then issued in the form of special subsidies; it's called a subsidy, but it's actually issuing resources. They have no money to do anything else, and can only use it for factory production; not to mention doing better and better, at least it can guarantee a certain output."

"After they stopped using this set later, farm owners earned some money and would like to invest; otherwise, they would throw it into the stock market, or speculate in futures or something. Maybe those factory owners are the same; because they don't buy new equipment, the output decreases year by year, and farms become less and less valuable, instead becoming burdensome assets, and they sell them at low prices; the money they get in exchange can be used to earn more money in the stock market. If this continues, no one wants to be a farm owner, and they all go to big cities to engage in finance."

Clark showed a look of recollection and said: "I remember, the four farms around my house originally have all changed owners so far, and only one is still in production. One was turned into a vacation manor, and another was abandoned—you have to know that these farms were all the best plots before, and the income was about the same as ours. However, Bob, who sold the farm earliest, earned a sum in the stock market and seems to have moved to Los Angeles to enjoy his retirement life now."

"Actually, I also regret not persuading my father to sell the farm; if I had invested in the stock market along with them, my mother wouldn't have to work so hard, and maybe she would be a rich lady in Beverly Hills now."

"What about now?" Schiller asked.

Clark rubbed his hands and said: "Forget about other things for now, give me the documents related to agricultural subsidies; I must make up for all the subsidies that haven't been issued to farmers all these years!"

Schiller searched through the documents, took out a few, and said: "That's nothing, but the key lies in whether your taxes can be collected—if they can't be collected, there's no money to issue subsidies."

"How can they not be collected? What is the tax bureau doing?"

"They are doing okay, but after all, it's too sudden; some people can't accept it, and it's normal to have overreactions. If there is violent conflict, and then it's caught by some people and rendered wildly..."

Clark said immediately: "You're right, those current affairs reporters love to report such things. You go and arrest the editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet first; one of him is worth ten."

Schiller sighed helplessly, and Clark raised his eyebrows and said: "Alright, I know this is illegal; I'm just saying."

"No, I mean, only the process of violent conflict will be caught, but if they are directly pressed down and taken away, it won't be."

Clark gave him a question mark with his expression. Schiller said: "Using police and the military to deal with tax resisters is still a bit troublesome; it's inevitable that there will be casualties during the tug-of-war; we need a cleaner and more decisive method."

"You mean..."

"Use superpowered individuals," Schiller said, "It just so happens that I am also the head of the A. R. G. U. S.; I have many capable generals under my command, such as Doomsday, who is very suitable for collecting taxes. If it really doesn't work, I can also contact the Justice League; they are also quite efficient when they cooperate."

Clark thought for a while, then nodded and said: "Okay, let's do that; I believe they can collect the taxes as soon as possible."

Then, Schiller took out another document and said: "Metropolis Municipal Management Reform Plan, see how it is."

Clark picked up the document and read it. This document basically contained measures to help the homeless, including establishing shelters, providing collective housing, improving heating conditions, completely banning tent areas, etc.

"Of course, there is also this one," Schiller took another one and said, "Solving the problem of drug abuse and gun abuse, this will be more troublesome, and it may be necessary for superpowered individuals to take action at critical moments."

"No problem." Clark nodded and said.

Schiller stood up and said: "I've finished my business; next, you have an hour of rest time, and then a half-hour exclusive interview..."

"I don't have anything to rest; let the reporter in." Clark looked ambitious, "I want to talk about my policies from the aspects of taxation, subsidies, municipal management, and cracking down on contraband; I have to let them know I'm a good president."

"No problem, I'll let her in now." Schiller nodded and walked out.

Clark was still preparing his draft when a capable figure walked in. Clark looked up and actually saw Lois. He stood up with a "swoosh," nervous and forgetting all the words he had prepared, and said stutteringly: "Lois... why are you here, I..."

"Good afternoon, Mr. President," Lois smiled at him and said, "If there's no problem, shall we start the interview?"

"Go... good..."