Chapter 27
Inside the study at Russell Manor, Alvina entered with graceful steps, carrying a bowl of freshly prepared tonic, her face adorned with a gentle, virtuous smile.
"Father, you're still reading this late? Have some of this tonic that just arrived by air freight to soothe your throat."
Mason, wearing reading glasses and revisiting "Founding Brothers," didn't even look up, merely acknowledging her with a faint sound.
Alvina placed the tonic nearby and let out a carefully calculated sigh, her expression taking on just the right touch of concern. "Father, there's something I'm not sure whether I should mention."
Mason finally set down his document and removed his glasses. "Just say it."
"It's about Diana." Alvina's tone was filled with the calculated worry of an elder. "Diana spent one billion dollars a few days ago. I'm truly concerned. She's just a country girl, so young—what if she's gone down the wrong path or been deceived? If word gets out, it won't just damage her reputation, but worse... it could affect Rupert and the Russell family name."
After listening, Mason put his glasses back on and picked up his book, as if what he'd just heard was nothing more than an insignificant breeze. "Stop meddling in these trivial matters," he said evenly. "Diana is Rupert's wife."
That single statement deflected all of Alvina's scheming and provocation. In other words, only Rupert had the right to manage Diana, but since he was in a vegetative state, no one could control her.
Alvina wanted to say more, but facing Mason's eyes that seemed to see through everything, the words caught in her throat. She could only force a smile, leave behind the expensive tonic, and retreat awkwardly from the study.
The moment the door closed, Alvina's face contorted. That old fossil!
...
Meanwhile, Rupert sat propped up in bed with several medical lines attached to his body, yet his gaze was clear as glass as he calmly studied the screen before him.
An abandoned daughter cast off by the York family, casually spending a billion dollars and building a highly classified underground biomedical laboratory.
Interesting.
He decided to personally investigate the depths of his wife's capabilities.
"Use the 'M' account to post a bounty on 'Hand of God,'" Rupert instructed, his voice transformed by a miniature voice modulator to sound deep and mechanical.
The special assistant on the other end of the screen hesitated slightly. 'M' was Rupert's exclusive identity on that platform, rarely used.
"Post a case study. Male patient, 27, suffering from rare mitochondrial gene mutation leading to progressive neuronal necrosis and irreversible organ failure. Specific pathological features..." He dictated a string of biological terms and data so complex they made one's scalp tingle, while his assistant recorded everything rapidly.
This case combined knowledge from a lost ancient medical text with cutting-edge biology, creating something logically sound yet deliberately planted with theoretical traps at key points—enough to mislead any top expert.
"The reward: a 'Messenger' series ultra-high precision molecular centrifuge manufactured by Helmholtz Joint Laboratories." Rupert's lips curved into a meaningful smile.
Rex Lavien's hand trembled. That centrifuge—only three existed worldwide, priceless and unavailable for purchase—was the holy grail for all molecular biology researchers.
And as far as he knew, this machine was precisely the core equipment most urgently needed by the laboratory in that abandoned industrial zone.
Was his boss fishing? And with bait the fish couldn't possibly resist.
In the suburbs, inside a temporary command vehicle, Diana was watching dozens of small construction site surveillance windows on her screen when her private phone emitted a special notification sound.
It was a special alert from "Hand of God." She casually opened it to find a newly posted bounty.
Diana's eyes swept over the lengthy case description, her expression unchanged. But when she saw the reward section, her gaze subtly intensified.
A "Messenger" series ultra-high precision molecular centrifuge, exactly the core equipment scheduled for her second procurement phase—and the most difficult item to obtain.
Too coincidental. So coincidental it seemed tailor-made.
Diana's attention returned to the case description, examining it with extreme care this time. Minutes later, a cold smile appeared on her lips.
The case was constructed too "perfectly"—perfect like a meticulously designed final exam created by a scholar to test a student's comprehensive abilities.
Particularly those seemingly flawless arguments that, upon deeper consideration, revealed logical foundations subtly conflicting with certain basic theories of modern medicine.
Interesting. Diana flexed her fingers and unhesitatingly clicked the "accept" button.
On the other end of the screen, Rupert received the notification that "W" had accepted the bounty. His eyes flashed with anticipation.
Just ten minutes later, a complete solution was uploaded. Rupert opened the document and quickly reviewed it.
The approach was wildly imaginative yet rigorously irrefutable, perfectly avoiding all his traps while offering an optimized treatment path from an angle he hadn't even considered—nothing but perfect.
Just when Rupert thought it was over, he noticed a casual comment appended to the end of the document:
[Interesting case, but the protein induction logic in area A-3 contradicts existing enzyme catalysis laws and resembles materials science thinking patterns. Suggest the author review basic biochemistry.]
In that moment, Rupert froze. When designing that trap, he had indeed unconsciously borrowed from his knowledge of materials science, his minor field of study. It was a thinking habit deeply embedded in his knowledge structure.
He had thought it would be his most brilliant, subtle disguise. Yet "W" had exposed it with a single sentence.
This "W" hadn't just solved his puzzle but had reverse-analyzed the "creator's" knowledge background.
A deep, pleased laugh escaped him, startling his assistant on the other end of the screen. Far from being annoyed, Rupert's eyes burned with appreciation and intensity at finding a worthy opponent.
"Send the 'Messenger' centrifuge to the suburbs."
The assistant on the other end acknowledged with a "Yes, sir" and was about to hang up.
"Wait," Rupert's voice came again. "I'll deliver it personally."