Chapter 45 You Can Never Be the "Miracle Surgeon"!
Lucas's car stopped at the hotel entrance.
Adrian had received my instructions and arrived early to prepare a new pair of shoes for me.
I put on the shoes, got out of the car, slammed the door, and walked into the hotel without looking back.
Marcus had also just arrived. He came in through the side door, watching the sedan drive away outside, then his gaze fell on my lips.
"Bella, your lipstick is smudged again."
"Some animal licked it off." I calmly took out my lipstick and compact mirror to touch up my makeup.
Marcus frowned, "Did Lucas bully you?"
I put down the mirror and thought seriously for two seconds, "No, he tried to seduce me."
"So did he succeed?" Marcus put his arm around my shoulder as we walked into the elevator.
"No." I pressed the button for the 99th floor, heading to Gale's office. "My heart is now harder than the walls of the Colosseum."
"That's a terrible comparison. The walls of Starstream City's Colosseum collapsed thousands of years ago."
Marcus and I joked around, but quickly became serious after entering the chairman's office, looking solemnly at Gale sitting behind the dark brown desk.
At this moment, Gale wasn't just our eldest brother, but the youngest Don of the Sorelli family.
He raised his glass, "Welcome back!"
Then Gale smiled slightly, his imposing aura fading as he stood up to give us a warm hug.
Brian shook the champagne bottle vigorously. Marcus grabbed it and shook it even harder before popping the cork.
With a crisp sound, foam and fragrance burst out, pale golden liquid splashing everywhere.
"Congratulations to us!"
"The Sorelli family can never be killed or defeated!"
This was destined to be a sleepless night.
Karen compiled a list of the forces that attacked us tonight. My brothers and I sent out Soldati to clean up the battlefield. All the bodies we collected were "delivered to their doorsteps" according to the list, and we charged "body collection fees," "cleaning fees," and "emotional distress fees." We also promoted our upcoming trade show, selling invitation tickets at 20% off, though not many people were interested.
After that night, the Sorelli family's bold style spread throughout Starstream City.
Some people heard I'd captured Jerald and were waiting to see Barry teach the four of us siblings a lesson.
I didn't care what others thought. I heavily advertised the trade show and spread word that I'd accidentally obtained half of Doyle's journal, developed some medicines based on the formulas inside, and would display the journal at the show while also selling appointments with Roger at fair prices. I urged everyone to buy eagerly.
When Roger heard the promotional pitch, he angrily rushed to my office, yelling.
"You've completely turned me into a commodity! I'm a person!"
I calmly countered: "When you sold yourself to Silver Eagle Auctions, you already treated yourself as a commodity."
"That was to save my life, a temporary strategy, a wise tactic!" Roger's messy hair bounced with his movements. "But you're a despicable gangster, an inhumane profiteer, a greedy, stupid woman."
"Very accurate description, sounds better than 'poppy flower.'" I smiled.
"What poppy flower?" Roger's mood changed like the weather. He asked curiously: "Do you really have Doyle's journal?"
I nodded and took out several pages clipped together from my drawer, with four formulas written in elegant, flowing handwriting.
However, they only had the medicine names and ingredients, without stating their purposes or specific proportions.
Roger took them, studying them carefully with furrowed brows: "They're actually real. This is Silverveil Vellum, a writing paper invented by a nobleman a hundred years ago. Paired with special ink, the pen glides smoothly without smudging, and the writing can last hundreds of years without fading. Doyle had some of that aristocratic extravagance and loved collecting writing materials."
I was somewhat surprised that Roger knew so much about Doyle!
"The handwriting is also authentic, not forged." Roger brought his nose close to the pages and took a deep breath. "There's also a medicinal smell. No doubt, it's genuine. Where did you get this?"
"The black market."
"So Phoenix Blood Balm was actually invented by Doyle?" Roger suddenly understood. "What about the formula? Didn't you say you had half a journal? Why only these few pages?"
I took out the rest of the journal from my drawer. Roger's eyes lit up, looking like he wanted to pounce and grab it.
Adrian and Cole blocked him. Roger stretched his arms straight out, fingers spread toward me: "Let me see it!"
"Each formula in this journal is worth at least a million dollars. There are thirty-one formulas total. I'll give you a discount—give me fifty million dollars, and I'll sell you a copy of the journal." I said leisurely.
"One formula is a million dollars, thirty-one formulas should be... how is that fifty million dollars! Can't you count?" Roger asked frantically.
"I said 'at least' a million dollars." I looked at him with a smile.
"It's just a copy, and you dare charge so much?" Roger glared at me angrily.
"Because I'm a despicable gangster, an inhumane profiteer, and a greedy, stupid woman." I looked at his frustrated expression, feeling great!
Roger fell silent.
Cole took those pages back from him. Roger gritted his teeth: "Fifty million dollars is too expensive."
"But this is Doyle's precious journal. Fifty million dollars isn't expensive at all." I bargained with him. "You made billions of dollars at the auction. Can't you afford fifty million?"
"Where did I make billions?" Roger jumped. "Silver Eagle Auctions is even greedier than you—they took eighty percent of the invitation sales! They also charged me protection fees, accommodation fees, and meal fees! I still have to pay the Langford family a huge medical malpractice compensation. I'm broke!"
Roger started crying fakely. I said cheerfully, "Then you need to work harder at the trade show to earn more money."
Roger had no way to deal with me and eventually spent fifty million dollars to buy a copy of the journal.
"You spent hundreds of millions to buy me, but you're not losing out at all." Roger clutched the copied journal tightly, saying to me with a fake smile: "I originally thought you were Doyle's student, that 'Miracle Surgeon.' Looks like I was overthinking!"
My heart skipped a beat, thinking I'd revealed something: "How could I be the Miracle Surgeon? The age and gender don't match."
"Doyle's student always wore a mask. Some guessed he was very ugly, others guessed he had a very noble identity." Roger shook his head. "Most people think the Miracle Surgeon is a man, between thirty and forty years old. This information was probably Doyle deliberately obscuring everyone's vision, so, reasoning backwards, the Miracle Surgeon is female and very young."
"Do you have proof?" I asked.
"No." Roger glanced at me. "Anyway, you couldn't possibly be the Miracle Surgeon! How could the Miracle Surgeon sell Doyle's belongings?"
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Of course it's not me."
"But it's strange, your medical style is very similar to Doyle's." Roger looked at me thoughtfully.
"Probably because I admire him greatly and intentionally imitate him," I said with a smile.
"Why admire that guy when he's dead!" Roger walked out angrily: "I'm a thousand times, ten thousand times better than him!"
On the third day back in Starstream City, Roger and I did a detailed physical examination on Harold.
The situation was more complicated than expected. The Caldwell family members looked at Roger's and my faces nervously.
Just then, Michelle and Amelia arrived, shamelessly demanding to see Roger.