I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 124 500 Million (10K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Less than ten minutes later, Sawyer called: "Your Highness, is the veil the cat is wearing that sacred relic?"

Archbishop Sawyer's voice came through the receiver cautiously, as if he were opening a dangerous Pandora's box, hoping he wouldn't hear a bad outcome.

In fact, he had already guessed where the silk scarf came from.

Debbie's expression shifted from ecstatic joy to guilty guilt in just one second.

She glanced at the crumpled scarf on Shadow's shoulder, then at Richard on the sofa.

Richard was leaning back on the cushions, waiting to see how she would cover up her lie.

"No! I just bought a few of the same ones!" Debbie said decisively. "I thought those scarves were really pretty, so I bought a few extra as spares. I've already put that one away; this one is the same style I bought on Amazon! It was even cheaper! Do you want the link?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

Sawyer certainly didn't believe such nonsense, but he couldn't help but believe it.

Because if that veil is indeed a sacred relic, it means that a cat draped a sacred relic of the Virgin Mary in a short video, and as the archbishop, he would have to write a report to the Vatican explaining this.

He preferred to believe that Debbie had bought the same item.

Sawyer feigned ignorance, saying, "It's alright, it's alright. But you must be more careful in the future. Why don't you post a message in the comments explaining? Just say it's the same model, not a sacred object."

After hanging up the phone, Debbie held up her shadow and said to its flat cat face, "You almost prevented me from going to heaven."

Meow! The shadow licked its paw.

In the comments section, some people have already started asking, "Is this the same one that depicted the Virgin Mary's fall last time?"

Likes and comments skyrocketed.

Debbie looked at Richard with a pained expression: "What do we do now?"

Richard said calmly, "Just give an explanation, then play dead. Let them guess what they want. Those who believe you don't need an explanation, and those who don't believe you won't change anything. As long as you remain the Holy Maiden, no one can do anything to you."

Debbie immediately replied: "It's not a sacred object! It's the same one I bought online!"

Then she pinned the video to the top, turned off her phone, buried her face in the cushion, and suddenly looked up again: "Isn't that old man Sawyer a pervert? I just posted a video and he called me. Has he been watching me the whole time?!"

"The archbishop doesn't have that kind of free time," Richard scoffed. "But the church definitely has people watching your words and actions, especially your public behavior. If it's inappropriate, especially your blasphemous act just now, someone will definitely report it to Sawyer immediately."

"This is outrageous!" Debbie collapsed onto the sofa.

The shadow leaped onto the sofa armrest, its tail brushing against Richard's arm, and it squinted and began to snore.

"What were the losses this time?"

Richard took the teacup that Catherine offered him.

Now, most of the drinks at home have been replaced with tea.

"Longjing, Tieguanyin, black tea..." Catherine said, "I don't know much about Chinese tea, but I bought some of everything." Richard smacked his lips. He wasn't particular about tea; drinking tea was just a slightly different flavor than drinking plain water, but much more comfortable than drinking coffee.

"The equipment Christina brought over was all confiscated," Catherine sighed.

"It's alright, it's less than $5 in total."

"OK," Catherine replied. "I'll transfer the money to Christina."

"it is good."

Catherine had something on her mind that she didn't want to say; she didn't want to owe Christina anything, but she couldn't bring herself to say it.

She could tell that Richard didn't have much of a feeling for Christina.

That's good.

He was merely a servant.

They're nowhere near as good as me.

"What about our existing equipment? Should we scrap it too?"

"Wait a while. After the OMIG case is closed, you can get your old equipment back. Just erase the serial number."

Catherine laughed.

Doing it this way would minimize the losses.

If it is scrapped directly, the equipment worth five or six hundred thousand US dollars will be rendered useless.

Anyway, whatever is cheapest is fine.

Even if 0MIG discovers that they are using a device without an ID again, it will simply mean that the device will be confiscated again and they will have to pay tens of thousands of dollars in compensation.

In capitalist societies, money can solve 99% of problems, unless they are serious crimes.

Daniel called again, stammering, "I didn't say anything, Richard."

"I believe you," Richard said with a smile.

Daniel said, somewhat devastated, "No, I mean they didn't ask me anything at all. I was prepared for anything, but no one asked me anything from beginning to end."

That's just too damn bad. Richard couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Daniel said dejectedly, "See, I knew you'd laugh at me. I made all sorts of preparations, I even thought about torture..."

...Of course, I couldn't withstand torture. But they didn't even ask me anything!

There was a sense of frustration and indignation in Daniel's voice, as if he had been ignored.

The demon was approaching. I was prepared to die for my cause, but the demon flew right past my face.

She didn't even glance at him.

Richard laughed and said, "Don't worry. You're fine, otherwise you wouldn't have been released. Christina got your statement from OMIG. It's true that someone said you were involved in the deal, but there's no written evidence. Besides, you were arrested because you were falsely accused, so those accusations will also be considered false accusations against you."

"Who did this?" Daniel said helplessly. "It's insane."

Richard shrugged: "I don't know. OMIG claims it will protect witnesses and won't leak any information."

The informant's information had definitely been leaked, but Richard was too lazy to find out; it was none of his business.

"Okay. I still want to say thank you very much." Daniel paused, as if taking a deep breath before making a major decision: "Christina gave me two choices. One is to continue as a clinician, and she will help me apply for attending physician status in advance. The other is the vice dean position; she said I have the opportunity to directly take over as vice dean. What should I choose?"

Richard asked bluntly, "So, what kind of future do you think you have in the clinical medicine profession?"

Richard asked with a smile, "Do you think that with your skills, you still have a good future in the clinical medical profession?"

"Fk! Bro, Fk! You're really rude!" Daniel was a little defensive, but then nodded.

"But you're right. Okay, I understand."

"Hurry up and finish up your mess, then get back to Queens Hospital and start over, Dr. Mason," Richard said with a smile.

Daniel's full name is Daniel Mason.

Daniel chuckled when he heard the title: "It feels pretty good to be called Dean."

Before hanging up, he confirmed again, "Richard, are you sure? If I continue in clinical practice, I might get higher-level surgical authorization, such as craniofacial injury repair. You wouldn't just be doing liposuction and autologous fat grafting, would you?"

Richard has no interest in more advanced technologies at the moment.

He's already overwhelmed with work.

We'll talk about the future later.

Richard asked, "How many years will it take you to get that advanced surgical license? Five years, or seven years?"

Daniel paused for a moment, then said uncertainly, "I'm not sure. That surgery is very difficult, and it might be necessary to wait until Spencer is about the same age."

He reasonably assessed his own abilities and concluded that he was certainly far inferior to Spencer.

Richard then said, "Then that settles it, right? By the time you get your license, I'll have already graduated and will be able to perform this surgery under the guidance of a senior surgeon. I might even get that senior surgical license before you do."

"WTF! I don't want to talk to you anymore, goodbye!"

Daniel hung up the phone immediately.

He suddenly realized something: Richard didn't always have to rely on his license.

At most 10 years.

Richard has the right to perform his own surgery.

I want to earn enough money in these 10 years to last a lifetime!

Daniel immediately called Christina: "Mentor, I've decided to switch to an administrative position."

Christina's voice came through: "A wise choice. But I suggest you calm down again."

"No need. I've already thought it through, and Richard supports me in doing so."

"Okay then. I'll talk to your senior. I'll give you his phone number; you can contact him tomorrow."

Daniel readily agreed.

He's incredibly good at pleasing his senior and junior brothers.

He's the one who specializes in doing this.

The night was dark.

Debbie's room was filled with her steady breathing.

Richard got up, and the dumpling at the door immediately stood up, its tail rubbing against Richard's leg.

Richard gently picked it up, placed it on his shoulder, and then pushed open Debbie's slightly ajar door.

She was already a seasoned salesperson, and before the sales pitch, she cleverly wore a somewhat alluring outfit.

Richard smiled.

As always, he sat gently on the side, his palm resting on Debbie's abdomen.

After this period of fat reduction, her abdominal fat has decreased significantly, revealing a clear six-pack. He gently pressed on Debbie's abdomen, activating his flesh-shaping ability to extract fresh flesh from her fat layer.

In addition, there's the upper arm.

White girls generally have larger limbs and bones than East Asians; this is a racial difference.

After a period of experimentation, Richard gradually understood why the target would feel extremely uncomfortable when he took fresh flesh and blood from their body.

That's a mild pain.

Even between fat cells, there are sparse pain nerves, although much sparser than in the epidermis, they are still present.

This time, Richard precisely controlled the extraction area, taking only fat cells.

If a certain area is very close to a nerve, move it to a different location.

Debbie swayed comfortably in her dream, letting out a soft moan.

He lifted about 1.5 jin again and then stopped.

She can achieve the desired effect by dieting and exercising on her own.

Richard raised his hand, sat down on the edge of the room, and looked at Debbie's face under the mansion's nightlight.

Did his father look at him like this more than ten years ago?

Did they hold me like this when I was born?

Richard suddenly realized that his memories of that home were gradually becoming blurred.

My parents' faces were like bubbles floating in the rainy night, shattering into pieces when the cold wind blew.

His hand rested on Debbie's back, the girl's body heat seeping through her pajamas into his palm.

What irresponsible parents they are.

Richard sat for a while, then quietly walked out, taking all the darkness with him.

Richard returned to his room and checked the panel.

The [Pain and Plague] branch has been activated. The additional effect of this branch is to improve skill effects, not to increase attributes.

The first effect is very important: it extends the duration of the skill.

What effects will be gained after upgrading [Pain and Plague]?

Could you reduce the cooldown, decrease mana consumption, or enhance the magic effect, such as doubling the servant cap?

So far, the two most helpful spells to me are Magic Hand and Resurrection.

As for the necromancer's old specialty of summoning skeletons, he still doesn't know how to do it.

At present, we can only make do with some mutated, temporary flesh and blood puppets.

Perhaps things will get better once the skeleton nest is completed.

There are several other tasks, especially the [Flesh and Blood Magic Structure], which requires a large amount of magic and flesh.

However, due to the lack of fresh flesh and blood, the most essential source of nutrients, Catherine's clinic has temporarily come to a standstill and will need to wait for some time.

Then the only option is to go to the streets to collect blood, at least that way you can get some fresh flesh and blood.

Besides, how can one obtain enough fresh flesh and blood legally and discreetly?

Richard, upon arriving at the palace, picked up his phone and searched on Taobao for a seller of synthetic diamonds in the province of Nam Ho.

Both synthetic diamonds and synthetic gemstones are essentially crystals formed from carbon atoms under high temperature and pressure.

The difference lies in the dry particle size and purity: industrial-grade diamond particles are small and contain more impurities. They are sold in flakes, with prices ranging from a few dollars to tens of dollars per carat.

Gem-quality synthetic diamonds require a longer growth cycle and higher purity control, and their price is hundreds of times that of lab-grown diamonds, but still far lower than that of natural diamonds.

Richard didn't want gemstones; he wanted the largest and purest single-crystal diamonds. The larger the size, the more difficult it was to grow, and the more expensive it was.

Since the system task didn't require anything fancy, he found a diamond factory.

The boss's Taobao store sells grinding wheels and grinding powder.

Richard's message was straightforward: "I want the largest synthetic diamond single crystal, as big as possible."

The boss replied with a smiley face: "What are you going to use it for? A 50-grit grinding wheel is enough, why would you need a single crystal?"

"For experimental purposes. It's not a ready-made product; it's custom-made to the largest size."

"Custom-made single crystal? That's not cheap. How big do you need?"

"Grow as big as you can."

There was a moment of silence on the other end: "Are you serious?"

Large diamonds are purely for show and have no practical use.

Richard did not reply to the text message.

He directly asked for the account details and transferred a deposit of 10 yuan.

Three seconds later, the boss messaged me, bringing a shocking "Holy crap, this is real!" vibe: "Dude! How big do you want?"

"The bigger the better. No polishing, no grinding, I want a rough, unpolished stone, at least 120 carats, I don't want anything small."

"I'll arrange the workshop schedule right away! I can't guarantee the maximum carat size it can grow to, but I guarantee it will grow to its maximum size!"

After that, Richard called Brian one last time: "Dooley will meet with the Arms Traders on Hart Island after 7 cups."

Arms trade on Hart Island! Brian's eyes lit up: "That's great news. I should get moving too."

"Cough cough cough! Cough cough!"

Ivan-Li Yalie trembled violently, coughing violently while covering his mouth. When he removed his hand, a drop of blood was clearly visible in his palm.

He stared at the red patch of the mansion, a sense of foreboding rising in his heart: "What kind of illness is this? Why is he getting sleepier and sleepier?"

He has been coughing ever since he went to the Rosenberg Virus Laboratory.

At first, I thought it was just a cold, but it didn't get better and instead got worse.

He has already gone to the hospital for various tests, including blood tests, chest X-rays, and sputum cultures.

We did everything, but we still couldn't find the cause.

Ivan-Lee knew that the worst had happened, and this was not a common occurrence for workers!

He dared not tell his superiors at the Rosenberg Laboratory.

If the lab knew he had narcolepsy, they would fire him immediately.

No, I can't lose this job!

Why don't you go back to China for medical treatment?

But he immediately dismissed the idea, believing that the quality of medical care in China was far inferior to that in the United States.

I must stay here for treatment!

The world is so unfair to me. I've worked so hard, why do I always suffer such blows?

After thinking for a long time, Ivan Lee finally picked up his phone and called Edgar: "Ivan? What brings you to call me?" Edgar's voice was panting.

He was busy overseeing a row of pipes, cups flying everywhere.

Ivan-Lee whispered, "Edgar, I'm sick. We can't figure out what's wrong. Could you use the lab equipment to examine me?"

Edgar stopped what he was doing and frowned. "Ivan, you know this is against the rules."

"Please, please," Ivan Lee pleaded.

"I just want to find out what it is. I don't want it to take up too much time. Just one genetic screening and pathogen matching."

You know, if I go to the hospital and wait in line, I'll have to wait at least two months.

Edgar was a kind man.

He softened.

"Alright. You can take a blood sample yourself; coughing up blood would be best. I'll go get the Ming cup... Oh, damn it! The Ming cup won't do; I need to check the tray for one cup. The back cup it is."

Ivan-Lee breathed a sigh of relief. He was only in his early twenties, and with no other options, he shouldn't be dead. His luck shouldn't be that bad.

Ivan-Lee asked curiously, "What exactly are you doing? You're always so busy."

"I..." Edgar almost blurted out.

This guy, who's always talking, is about to suffocate from all this secret research.

The mentor somehow obtained a magical cell that could provide supplies at fixed times and locations.

These cells can rejuvenate the skin and increase telomeres, which is truly amazing.

If they could figure out the reason, they could all win the Nobel Prize!

Unfortunately... I can't say, it's too hard to keep it to myself.

"Don't ask me anymore. This is a secret research project, you know. I'll call you later, so be prepared. Damn, you didn't catch a major infection, did you?"

"No, it can be detected by dyeing."

"Alright, alright."

There are many strange diseases, so doing some small tests with laboratory equipment is not a big problem.

However, this matter needs to be reported to Christina.

Edgar was Christina's right-hand man, and he knew his place.

Ivan Lee was just a casual acquaintance from before, while Christina was the cup of the cow and horse.

Damn it, why am I still the first horse?

Shouldn't it be Richard?

Edgar called Christina: "Professor, Ivan Lee has contracted a strange illness and would like some blood samples for testing. We can do genetic and advanced testing here."

Christina frowned.

"Ivan Lee? Which lab is he in?"

"Rosenberg Virus Laboratory. According to him, his other colleagues and those around him were not sick, so the infection rate was not high."

Perhaps it's due to some genetic defect.

"No problem. Just take precautions before testing to avoid any issues."

Christina had not heard of any new virus research being conducted at the Rosenberg Virus Laboratory, and it was likely classified.

She put that matter aside for the time being and turned to Richard.

"I have about 750 million in spare cash available. Houses in the Baytop Villa area start at at least at 1500 million. According to the agent, Aaron's house will sell for 2500 million. We can't afford it."

The vehicle moved slowly through the traffic.

Richard said casually, "It's impossible to sell that many. He's just unlucky; he had to lower the price."

"How many?"

500.

Christina glanced at Richard. This wasn't buying; it was robbery!

Richard presented his plan.

The corridor of the VIP cancer ward at the Kaiqi Cancer Research Institute is long, filled with the smell of disinfectant and a strange, indescribable sweet and rotten odor.

When Richard and Christina pushed open the ward door, Aaron Hope was half-lying on the bed, staring blankly out the window.

The entire family of three suffered from three different types of cancer; the wife, Margaret, was the first to succumb and has since passed away.

Now it's his daughter Clara's turn; she's terminally ill.

He was still holding on to his position, but the lymphoma cells in his body were slowly spreading.

Aaron's eyes were a little red, but he forced himself to sit up when he saw Christina. When he saw Richard, he gave him a tired but sincere smile.

"You're from the University of Tokyo, right? I really like the University of Tokyo; I've visited it many times before."

A set of purple clay teaware sat on the bedside table, with tea stains still remaining on the tea tray.

Seeing Chinese tea sets in a cancer sanatorium in the United States is no joke.

"Hello, Mr. Hope." Since the other party was being friendly, Richard was also very polite.

Aaron stood up weakly. The servant tried to help him, but he waved his hand and walked to the tea table by the window to sit down.

He personally brewed a pot of tea, boiling water, warming the pot, rinsing the tea leaves, and steeping it; it was clear he was an expert.

He moved slowly but meticulously, pouring a cup of wine for each of the three people before returning to his chair in a new position.

He glanced at his seriously ill daughter next door before slowly saying, "I'm not feeling well. Let's get straight to the point."

Christina cut to the chase: "I want to buy your house in Baytop Manor."

"And what about the price?"

Christina said, "You make an offer."

Aaron considered for a moment: "2100 million. You know, I wouldn't sell it if the treatment wasn't so desperate for the money."

"Come on," Christina said coldly.

Since so much money was involved, even if the other party had terminal cancer, she wouldn't be polite: "Let's be frank. Three people have cancer living in your house. No one else wants to buy it."

"That's because of our family's terrible eating habits." When it comes to money, Adam won't give up easily.

"Dietary habits? Can your dietary habits prevent your wife from getting breast cancer? Prevent you from getting lymphoma? Prevent your daughter from getting osteosarcoma?"

Aaron's fingers twitched, and his fingertips turned white.

Fear and anger surged within him, but he needed money and had to suppress them.

2000.

"Let's be frank, it's 500 million."

"This is robbery!" Aaron couldn't hold back any longer, his voice filled with suppressed anger.

"This is taking advantage of my misfortune! Do you think I'm about to die, so you're tearing my corpse apart? I'm not dead yet! You deserve to die!"

Christina leaned forward slightly: "I know what's wrong with your house that makes it unsellable."

Aaron's heart skipped a beat: "Really? I'd like to know too, but none of the experts can figure it out!"

Christina said calmly, "It's radiation."

Aaron froze, then forced a smile and said, "It's not radiation. Professional agencies can't detect it. Don't spread rumors!"

He was a little flustered.

"Yes, they can't find anything. But your symptoms are radiation-related. Three family members, three different types of primary cancer. It can't be diet, it can't be lifestyle. Nothing but ionizing radiation can cause this pattern of damage." Christina calmly listed several possible causes for similar cancer spectrums.

Exposure to environmental chemicals such as benzene and vinyl chloride.

Synergistic effects of viral infections such as EBV and HPV.

Then eliminate them one by one.

66

"You have no family history, ruling out genetics. None of you had cancer before moving into that house, ruling out occupational exposure. That leaves only the environment. And the probability of three people in the same family being infected with three different viruses to a cancerous degree in the same era is even lower than being hit by a meteorite. So it's radiation." Christina's voice was extremely cold: "If I'm not mistaken, you, your daughter, and Lee-Flaumeni syndrome—this genetic defect makes you more susceptible to cancer than the average person."

Aaron's body suddenly went limp, and he slumped into the chair, letting out a deep sigh.

He was unwilling to admit it because he was afraid that the house would become worthless once the news got out.

No wealthy person would want to buy a house that is exposed to radiation.

"If you know it's radiation, why did you buy it in the first place?"

"I have a research project that specifically studies the effects of marine nuclear waste on the human body. We have preliminarily determined that the nuclear contamination of your house comes from the Hailong direction, but the specific source of contamination still needs time to be investigated."

Aaron pleaded in desperation, "Stop talking! Five million is too little."

Christina said calmly, "If I release this information, your house will be worthless."

Aaron fell silent.

Christina added, "I will conduct an investigation to find the source of the radiation. If successful, you may be able to seek legal recourse. The perpetrator must pay the price. Did you really want your wife and daughter to die so innocently, without even knowing who the killer is?"

Aaron was tempted. But 500 million was far below his bottom line.

His daughter, Clara Hope, was nearing the end, and he had enough money for her to complete her final journey.

He needs more money; it's something he owes himself.

According to the doctor's estimate, he has about 2 to 3 years left to live, and he is currently short of more than 200 million yuan.

I have to sell the house.

Just then, a weak voice came from behind the curtain.

"Dad, are we having guests?"

Aaron stood up immediately, so fast that the chair scraped against the floor with a sharp sound.

He walked quickly to the seriously ill person's side, and his voice immediately softened.

"Clara, Daddy's here."

Clara Hope lay on her sickbed, receiving oxygen.

Richard carefully observed the other party.

She was 17 years old, and her osteosarcoma had metastasized to both lungs, causing pleural effusion three times.

Her hair had long since fallen out, and the pink woolen hat in the house was knitted by her mother, Margaret, before her death.

Her face was so thin it was almost transparent, her bones protruding high, and her arms were so thin they looked like tree branches that could be snapped in the wind at any moment.

It's clear that she must have been a beautiful young woman when she was healthy, but now she probably only weighs about 50 pounds.

The person was curled up in the blanket, and it was almost impossible to tell that there was someone under the blanket.

But her eyes were still bright.

When those eyes fell on Richard, they suddenly lit up: "I know you. You're the boy standing next to Saint Debbie."

Her voice was soft, but clear.

"I really like Her Highness. She can dance. I've seen her cheerleading on TV, and it's so beautiful. At the Princeton Hat Memorial, when the veil fell on her head, I knew that the Virgin Mary must have chosen her."

Clara hadn't spoken so many words in a long time, and after she finished, she began to breathe heavily, as she didn't have the strength to keep talking for so long.

Aaron's hands began to turn blue: "Saintess? No! I don't want to see any saintess! The Cup Master is a fraud! She doesn't exist!"

His voice suddenly rose in pitch.

"If this is God's test, why test you? You're only 17! This isn't fair! Margaret is dead! The test should end! Does our whole family have to die?!"

Clara shook her head gently and said weakly, "Father—I want to see the Saintess. I'm going to the Cup Kingdom soon. I'm a little scared. I don't know what it's like there. I want the Saintess to tell me herself; she wouldn't lie to me."

Aaron fell silent, his eyes bloodshot, his shoulders slumped.

This man, who once stood on the Oscars stage and smiled confidently at the cameras, is now powerless to do anything.

He looked at his daughter's thin, ugly face, and saw the faint but still burning light in her eyes.

He no longer believed in God, but he could not take away his daughter's last solace.

Richard was silent for a moment, then realized this was a perfect opportunity.

He didn't need to completely cure Clara; he only needed to significantly alleviate her symptoms, and this devout girl and her desperate father would be transformed into the most loyal believers.

But this requires a more secure outer shell.

"Debbie? No problem." Richard finally spoke up. "I can bring Debbie along. She should like you; you're the same age."

He paused for a moment: "However, I still believe I owe you more specialized treatment."

"No more treatment!" Aaron's voice was as heavy as a dried-up river: "It's too painful. After so many years of treatment, we still can't find the cause. Margaret is dead. Clara too—it's too painful, stop it all."

He didn't finish speaking.

In his eyes, the medical group, like the Catholic Church, was a bunch of swindlers.

Aside from swindling the last dollar out of their own pockets using various excuses, they did nothing to save any workers.

Richard continued calmly, "Professor Shepherd's lab has a cancer research project and is studying a new targeted drug for treating cancer."

""

Christina glanced at him.

She doesn't have this topic.

But Richard said yes, so now we have it.

Richard continued, "I acknowledge that the project is very promising. If you'd like to volunteer in Ms. Christina's lab to participate in new drug development, I can visit your daughter, Petby, often. Believe me, although I'm very close to the saint, I still believe in science."

This is a perfect solution.

Christina could easily set up some secret laboratories and then inject the father and daughter with whatever they wanted, like glucose.

Once the father and daughter's condition improved, they came up with all sorts of excuses to cover it up.

Christina could claim that she has found a new target, but it only works on a very small number of people. The research is still in a very early stage and requires further experimentation. It will not be made public for the time being.

At that time, those who believe in scientific research will say it is the power of scientific research.

Those who believe in the saint will say it is the power of the God of Cups.

Adam and Clara regained their health.

He got the house.

Everyone has a bright future.

Aaron was still hesitating.

He didn't believe in the project whose name he'd never heard of, but what difference did it make between here and there?

Cage Cancer Hospital is indeed renowned, ranking among the top 5 in the world in the field of oncology, but it still couldn't save his wife, could it?

Now, his daughter and he himself are going to die.

He no longer cares; it doesn't matter where he goes for treatment.

It's all useless anyway.

He no longer had any expectations for science or faith.

Perhaps this is fate.

But Clara was watching him.

There was still a glimmer of light in her daughter's pleading eyes.

"Okay." Aaron lowered his head.

That's fine.

Richard was willing to bring Debbie on the condition that the house be sold to Christina.

Sell ​​it, it's good to sell it. That's a place that makes Pi and his whole family feel sad.

Adam had already calculated that he would need 200 to 300 million in medical expenses before he died.

So for Aaron, it makes no difference whether it's 2000 million or 500 million.

Even if he were to work as hard as a craftsman, it wouldn't cost him that much money.

Rather than leaving that money to relatives who are waiting to devour his body, it's better to use 1500 million to fulfill his daughter's last wish.

Christina said, "Okay, then. I'll draft an agreement that incorporates everything we just discussed. $500 million for that house; Debbie will come to visit Clara; I'll conduct my research and, incidentally, help you find the source of the nuclear waste; also, you two will both be transferred to my cancer targeted drug research project as volunteers."

Adam added, "Debbie comes every three drinks. That's Clara's wish."

Richard shook his head: "I can't agree to such harsh conditions on behalf of another free person. How about this, I can bring Debbie three times."

If he were to treat her, Clara would live a long time; he absolutely could not agree to such a condition.

Adam thought for a moment: "Three times? That's fine. Once we're transferred to another hospital, Debbie can come right away, then again within three cups. The last time... we'll see what the doctor says."

Adam's meaning is very simple.

When her daughter was on her deathbed, she hoped that Debbie would owe Clara a send-off.

"it is good."

Richard walked over to Clara's seriously ill side and squatted down.

Her wrists were so thin they looked like pencils, and the skin was so thin you could see the bluish veins underneath.

"When will Debbie come?" Clara's voice was weak, but her eyes were full of anticipation.

"She will come to see you as soon as you transfer to the new lab."

"That's great!" Clara smiled.

Richard gently stroked her forehead and checked the girl's body.

They can hold on for at least two or three months, so they won't die immediately.

He cannot treat Clara immediately here.

If the condition were to reverse now, the doctors would be frantically researching this case and would never let the father and daughter leave again.

As Aaron walked out of the ward, he followed her to the door and asked softly, "How much longer do you think she has to live?"

Christina quickly checked the monitoring data she had casually photographed.

"Median survival: 2 to 4 months."

"Hmph. Two to four months." Aaron scoffed.

He doesn't believe in the median, nor does he believe in God.

"You will survive," Richard said. "You will see her get married, have children, and build a happy family."

Aaron stared blankly at the end of the corridor, as if speaking to the very air of the mansion: "Is there really such a cup?"

"You must believe in the saint. Believe in her like your ugly daughter."

"I used to be a devout Christian," Aaron said. "Unfortunately, God never paid attention to me."

Aaron's voice was filled with utter despair.

"God will look to you. Trust the saint!" Richard patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave.

Aaron acted quickly; after making the decision, he immediately went to the attending physician to request that Fu be discharged from the hospital.

My daughter doesn't have much time left.

Dr. Mitchell, the attending physician, was bewildered: "I heard you're transferring Clara? To some unknown research lab? Listen to me, Aaron! Either you're a fraud, or you're being used as a pawn."

"Don't act superior just because you owe Christina Shepherd a name. She has countless projects under her belt; she can't possibly owe you treatment personally. Besides, she's not a cancer specialist at all!"

"Our most professional experts are here! They estimate Clara has at least six months to live. If she leaves, she'll only live two months at most."

Mitchell said this while thinking to himself.

In 6 months, he can earn at least another million from Clara.

Aaron sighed. "That's it. I need to transfer to another hospital."

"Okay, if you insist." Mitchell could only agree.

He has seen too many terminally ill patients desperately grasping at all sorts of strange and desperate remedies in their final moments.

I've seen all sorts of junk, from shamanic voodoo and Eastern herbalism to African curses.

But it didn't work.

Mitchell stopped trying to persuade him and went to process the paperwork for Aaron.

Soon, the news spread.

"The Hope family is being transferred. They're being transferred to Christina Shepard's for some mysterious targeted drug program."

Executive Director Aiden raised an eyebrow: "You mean Shepard from Princeton?"

Mitchell scoffed, "It's her. You didn't know she got a bargain on a house, did you? The Hope family's house in Baytop Manor, she asked for $50..."

0? That's practically taking advantage of someone's misfortune.

"She really is a vicious woman."

"Otherwise, how would she have control of a laboratory with 10 billion in funding?"

Aiden shook his head, his tone half contemptuous and half envious.

Mitchell said casually, "That girl has at most two months to live after leaving us. Adam Lang even won an Oscar back then, and now he's confused too, isn't he? I'll be able to attend his funeral this Christmas."

"The Oscars," Executive Director Aiden chuckled. "That's a huge arena of fame and fortune. Adam's been gone for a long time, and even though he's an Oscar winner, nobody cares about him anymore. He's just a nobody."

The two chatted for a few minutes and then went their separate ways.

In the VIP ward, Adam silently watched the servants pack their luggage.

The ticking of the monitor was a steady, almost unsettling, countdown to death.

Richard sat in his car and dialed the number of real estate agent Mann.

With Aaron's approval, the only remaining step in buying the house is the historic preservation committee.

However, according to Mann, given Christina's status, it would be easy for her to pass, and she might even receive preferential treatment.

The call connected: "Mann, we've reached an agreement with Aaron, and we can proceed with the formalities. You can apply for the purchase in Ms. Christina Shepard's name."

Mann's voice was filled with surprise: "OK! I'm ready to serve you anytime!"

He didn't expect to become a father so quickly.

"How much does it cost? I need that number."

500.

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

"500 million?"

500.

"—This is not good news." Mann chuckled. "You did indeed rip Aaron off, but the other masters—they will be very unhappy. I can only wait and see."

A transaction at a price far below market value would cause a significant drop in the property prices of Baytop Villa.

Other homeowners won't easily agree.