I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 125 Drug Trial (13K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Brian had to admit that Killian Ronan was a repulsive negotiating partner.

The foolish city councilor, weighing over 280 pounds, leaned back in the leather chair at his private club, the chair back groaning under the weight.

However, Brian quietly cut his steak and ate it bite by bite.

The medium-rare steak, with pale pink blood seeping from the cut, stained the snow-white porcelain plate like a cruel abstract painting.

The ice ball in Killian's whiskey glass was still intact. He took only a sip and then put the glass down with his two short, stubby fingers.

Those eyes, squeezed beneath thick eyelids, stared warily at Brian, a hint of feigned arrogance playing on his lips.

He had been in politics for over twenty years and was well-versed in every dirty trick of the city council, but unfortunately, he was not dealing with his own kind.

Brian forked a piece and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. "Killian, this is truly a great place. You should try the steak here; it's absolutely amazing!"

"Brian, you didn't drag me here just so I could watch you eat steak, did you?" Killian's voice was filled with undisguised annoyance.

"You should eat too, Killian," Brian invited, pointing with his fork to the untouched steak in front of him.

Killian glanced at the plate with disdain. The steaks at this club cost no more than $200 each, and he never ate anything under $500.

His palate, like his political stance, only reacts to expensive things.

Moreover, the current situation made him feel that Brian was subtly in control of the situation, which made him extremely uncomfortable: "Listen! Brian, I don't have time to play games with you. Either you tell me directly, or I'm leaving."

Killian had absolutely no desire to deal with Brian.

Everyone in New York's political circles knows what a ruthless character this old guy is.

He started as a patrol officer and climbed his way up to police chief, then served nine consecutive terms as a member of the House of Representatives, a total of eighteen years!

This guy is far from being as mild-mannered as he appears on the surface.

Killian had witnessed Brian's various cruel performances and he had no desire to become a prop in Brian's hands.

That was ten years ago, but Brian's eyes haven't changed.

Those chilling eyes glanced up at him between bites of his steak, making Killian suddenly feel like he wasn't sitting in a private room, but in an interrogation room.

Politicians are always inferior to the police, no matter how expensive their chair is.

"Okay, forget it!" Killian couldn't take it anymore and just wanted to escape.

"Killian, you have no patience." Brian finally stopped eating, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and saw a trace of blood on the white napkin.

He tossed his napkin onto the table and said bluntly, "I'll help you push through the Hart Island Act. In return, I want 10% of K0M's shares, and everyone in your constituency has to support me."

"KOM has nothing to do with me!" Killian instinctively retorted. "Besides, the voters' choice is not something I can control..."

""

Brian raised his hand to interrupt him: "Don't lie to me. Killian, I know you grew up in that neighborhood, and everyone there listens to you. Don't make excuses! If you support me, I can win your district. In exchange, I'll help you push for the Hart Island Act. Everyone knows you wasted two years on that bill. If I don't help you, you'll waste another two years!"

City councilors and federal representatives are not on the same level of power at all.

A federal representative's district often covers the districts of more than a dozen city councilors.

The two sides both compete and cooperate, and it goes on and on.

Killian remained silent for a moment.

He picked up the whiskey, took a second sip, and placed the glass back on the table with a low, muffled thud.

Then, he changed to a more comfortable sitting position, leaning back in his chair to make himself look more imposing and to seize the initiative in the conversation.

"Hey Brian. To be honest, you're about to be out of a job. Marty's attacks are relentless, and while you've shouted that ridiculous 'speak for the people' slogan and won a few good battles, everyone knows politics isn't that simple."

"If those scumbags down there could sway politics, America wouldn't be where it is now. The real war is over there." Killian pointed in the direction of the Democratic Party headquarters: "Theodore Leon and the Democratic Party don't support you, and that's the most fatal thing."

Brian looked at Killian with an unperturbed expression, as if the person being talked about wasn't him: "Just a bunch of rotten fish."

No matter what he was thinking, this old guy always managed to project an image of overflowing confidence.

That's Brian's skill; even when he's drowning, he can still make people think he's just swimming a little too freely.

As Killian spoke, a hint of confidence crept into his eyes, a smug smile playing on his lips. "If it were fifty-year-old Brian, perhaps he could still sway the situation. But Brian, you're almost seventy. Once election season really begins, one campaign event after another will wear you down. I heard you mortgaged your assets for the campaign? Commendable courage. But..." He paused, his eyes narrowing, "...a bit too reckless."

I hate these useless, pretentious guys the most! Brian stared at him: "Stop with the nonsense and tell me your thoughts."

“I won’t stand with a gambler,” Killian said cautiously. “Brian, you know what? You’re a gambler who’s lost everything. You’ve staked everything on this election. It’s ridiculous. Even if you become a congressman, how much money will you get back? Everything you’ve done is for money, isn’t it? Everyone’s doing this for that damn Franklin!”

Franklin? I didn't do all this for the money! Brian thought to himself.

I did it to survive.

He couldn't imagine the fury Richard would inflict on him if he failed to secure a seat in the House of Representatives.

He wasn't gambling everything like Killian imagined; he was betting everything, including his life.

I must succeed this time!

Fear is the best advisor.

“Let’s talk about something more realistic,” Killian leaned forward, the chair groaning. “A congressman about to step down, talking to me about pushing through legislation?”

He scoffed.

"Each term is two years." Brian held up two fingers, looking down at Killian.

His voice suddenly turned cold: "I was re-elected for nine terms. Eighteen years! In those eighteen years, I encountered countless challengers like Marty. There were countless cases where the situation was worse than it is now, but I won."

He straightened his tie, his fingers slowly adjusting its position.

"Now I'm giving you one more chance to choose, Killian Ronan. Will you choose to stand with me, the successful one, or support that weak, effeminate pretty boy?"

"A pretty boy with a sissy look?" Killian had been in the political arena for many years and was not a newbie who was easily fooled.

He scoffed, "That pretty boy can make you look like a piece of shit in a public debate. You can't escape him, Brian. You can't escape him."

Brian's expression finally changed.

Public debate is the battlefield he fears most.

When the election is close, major media outlets will hold public speeches similar to presidential debates, putting the two candidates on the same stage and tearing each other apart in front of a statewide audience.

We won, and nobody said anything.

If you lose, every stutter, every slip of the tongue, every moment when you are rendered speechless by your opponent will be edited into a video clip and played on a million times on the internet!

Although Brian looked down on Marty, the Harvard graduate, he had to admit that the other man was incredibly smooth-talking.

In the age of television, words can be more deadly than fists.

In the internet age, a slicing can tear apart the dignity of every politician.

The most violent interrogation Brian had ever conducted was less damaging than his three-second loss of composure during a debate.

Brian picked up the untouched glass of wine in front of him and gulped it down.

Killian looked up at him, waiting for his retaliation.

Brian spat the drink back into his glass: "The drink is awful today."

He put the cup on the table and turned to leave.

"Negotiations don't always need flowers and handshakes," Brian said to Doug, who was waiting in the hallway, as he stepped outside. "Sometimes, a knife is more effective at subduing those unaware of the danger!"

Doug hurried after him, lowering his voice: "Your approval rating is very low in Killian's district. He's an important pawn."

"I'll shove a gun in his mouth and force him to bow his head to me, SUCKME!" Brian said coldly.

This foolish city councilor has no idea how terrifying I will be when I receive the blessing of God!

If they don't cooperate with me, I'll make KOM suffer greatly.

If they still don't cooperate, then let that damn KOM company go bankrupt!

Since that's the case, let's launch it.

Does K0M Company provide that idiot with a donation of 150 million or 200 million every year?

Once I smash KOM to pieces, I'll see if he can still face me like this!

Inside the private room, Killian slumped alone on the sofa.

His massive body pressed a deep dent into the leather cushion, and his fingers tapped repeatedly on the armrest.

His mood was not as calm as it appeared.

He still couldn't tell if Brian was bluffing or genuinely brimming with confidence.

This old man served as a congressman in his district for eighteen years, eighteen years!

Even though Killian kept telling himself that Brian was about to be finished, he was still very nervous.

However, Killian will not allow anyone to take away the shares of K0M Corporation, which is his greatest asset after retirement.

As he himself said, all the people fighting over was Franklin, and Kom was his money bag.

He's over sixty and nearing retirement.

He must make a fortune by pushing through the Hart Island Act before retiring.

"Hmph! This guy's almost done for!" Killian muttered to himself, trying to cheer himself up, but he was still terrified inside.

Nobody knows what a congressman who's about to step down might do, but Brian certainly won't give up easily!

Damn it, Brian!

Another reason why Killian was unwilling to work with Brian was Marty.

That young Harvard elite is very likely to come to power and then serve as a member of the House of Representatives for another twenty years.

If we help Brian now, he will face retaliation when Marty comes to power.

He couldn't imagine how he would survive in New York if he faced decades of hostility from a congressman.

A politician's goodwill has an expiration date, but a politician's hatred never expires!

In comparison, Brian's hatred effect has a shorter duration.

Killian picked up his phone and called his assistant: "Gather information on these companies for me: Greenwood Memorial Park, Long Island Evergreen Cemetery, Sacred Heart Cemetery in Queens..."

I need the owner's contact information for Cape Atlantic Cemetery.

These are all small to medium-sized burial companies in New York, and direct competitors of KOM.

The assistant hesitated for a moment: "Should we contact them?"

Killian has been pushing hard for the Hart Island plan, making him the enemy of all small and medium-sized burial companies, and the two sides have a fundamental conflict of interest.

"Don't contact me for now, wait for my notification." Killian switched the phone to his other hand, looking at the glass on the table where Brian had spat out the drink.

I'm not someone to be trifled with. Don't mess with me, or I'll knock out your teeth.

If Brian dares to attack Killian, he'll expose Brian's support for his Hart Island Act in exchange for personal gain.

These companies that have been funding Brian for years must hate this traitor and cause him plenty of pain and trouble.

In the dangerous game of politics, everyone tries to bite others with their own teeth while praying that the other person has an old lady's dentures.

Three cars were parked by the sea.

Doug stood outside the car, calmly observing his surroundings, the sea breeze making the hem of his trench coat flutter.

Brian, O'Connor, and Isabella faced the sea.

As always, O'Connor was cautious, repeatedly looking around to make sure he wasn't being watched.

Isabella licked her red lips, looking at Brian's chest muscles.

The old man was just as hard in bed as he was off, which pleased her greatly.

Especially the ruthlessness of burning down the NYPD, that was just so manly!

The only pity is that she's a little old. If she were twenty years younger, she would be willing to marry Brian without hesitation, and the two of them would reach the highest peak together.

Brian's weak and helpless wife is not worthy of being a lion's mate.

pity..

Brian is too old.

By the time he reached his peak at fifty, Brian was too old to walk.

She can't tie herself to a car that might fall apart at any moment.

The wisest choice is to take advantage of the old lion's remaining fighting strength, make full use of its value, and then kick it away.

"How's the situation on your end?" Brian, unaware of Isabella's thoughts, fixed his gaze on O'Connor. "O'Connor, you go first."

O'Connor took a deep breath: "My situation in the race for Commissioner of Police is very bad. Warren-Fletcher is basically out of the running, but Henry is leaning towards Samuel-Stone."

He glanced around occasionally and said softly, "Samuel has been in charge of the Water Police Department for many years and has little influence on land, so he won't affect Henry's power. Once Samuel becomes the Chief Inspector, he'll have to rely on Henry's power to consolidate his strength. Henry can then use this opportunity to continue placing his own people at the sergeant and inspector levels. Since Mike's death, he's been anxiously cultivating new henchmen."

Brian nodded.

"That sounds terrible. How about you?" He turned to Isabella.

"Hmph! Henry won't let me do anything, he's a complete coward!" Isabella said bluntly. "He'll stop me from investigating anyone. Get that guy out of here, he doesn't deserve to be police chief!"

Brian did not refute.

He understood Henry's concerns.

Each position has its own considerations.

Isabella's power was confined within the NYPD, so she was completely unconcerned about the pressure exerted on the police department by city officials.

But as the primary person in charge of the NYPD, Henry had to respect the mayor's authority, as the mayor was the source of his power.

Henry was the head of the uniformed squad. He was completely different from the police officers who had fought their way up from the front lines. He had no roots or supporters within the police force; he was just a pawn planted by the mayor in the NYPD.

Henry's situation was completely different from Brian's back then. Brian rose from police officer to police commissioner, chief commissioner, and then director, completely dominating the NYPD.

This situation has been repeatedly occurring in the NYPD.

When the commissioner is in a weak position, the superintendent will kick the commissioner aside and take charge of all the major affairs of the NYPD himself.

If the police chief is powerful, the chief inspector will submit.

Now, Henry is under immense pressure and facing unprecedented weakness due to the NYPD fire and Mike's death, so he must place more trusted confidants within the police department to support his actions.

"OK, I get it." Brian's lips curled into a dangerous smile. "Now there's a good opportunity that we can both benefit from."

The two looked at Brian.

Brian said softly, "Hart Island is a key hub for smuggling and illegal trade. In seven days, there will be an arms deal on Hart Island. The Shadow Gang is going there to transport contraband! I don't know who the seller is, but Samuel Stone is definitely involved!"

O'Connor's breathing quickened: "So that means..."

""

Brian said quickly, "Hart Island has always been within the radar surveillance range of the water police. How could the water police not see it every time there's trade?"

Samuel had only two choices: either shut down the radar and pretend it was blind, or cooperate with Dali to bribe the radar technicians. I lean towards the former; the latter is too risky and could easily leave evidence against him.

O'Connor's breathing became more rapid, but she remained instinctively cautious: "Can this news be confirmed?"

Involving prohibited arms and smuggling, Brian actually managed to find out the time, place, and even the goods. How much information must the other party have leaked?

Is this child's play?

"Absolutely credible." Brian's voice was steady, as if stating a fact that had already occurred.

"You have no idea of ​​my Lord's power," he silently added in his mind.

O'Connor's fingers began rubbing the lighter's grinding wheel back and forth again.

If it's true, this is a good opportunity.

If they can get rid of Samuel, they can remove the biggest obstacle to his becoming Commissioner General.

The position of Commissioner General of Police cannot remain vacant indefinitely; failing to find a suitable candidate would be a huge blow to the reputation of the Commissioner.

How can you be a bureau chief if you can't even use people properly?

Henry is running out of time; he must make a decision within two to three weeks.

Isabella also saw her own opportunity.

If she can work with O'Connor to capture Samuel, she can establish tremendous authority within the Interior Ministry.

He used a police inspector, and one who was about to be promoted to chief inspector, as a stepping stone for his own advancement.

Isabella licked her red lips: "I love Samuel so much."

"So this is good for both of us." Brian crossed his arms, his gaze sweeping over the two men. "You can do whatever you want. My requirement is: this must be pinned on KOM. At least in terms of evidence, I need to see that KOM was involved. Then give me the evidence, and don't expose it."

"OK!" O'Connor replied immediately.

The three quickly reached a cooperation agreement.

Everyone got their share, which is how we can work together.

O'Connor immediately got up and left to prepare.

He and his men were the main force in this operation.

"Want to come over tonight?" Isabella asked, her voice sticky and affectionate, not in a hurry to leave.

Brian shook his head.

"I've been very busy these past few days. I haven't had any free time. Maybe in a few days."

"Hmph. Damn old man, his recovery speed is too slow." Isabella slammed the car door shut in disdain.

Brian's lips twitched. This woman is really annoying.

Suddenly, Isabella poked her head out again: "I have some medicine here, do you want some?"

"I'm 68! I don't want to die young!" Brian said angrily.

"Heh heh heh. A man's laughable pride." Isabella's car drove into the darkness.

Brian frowned.

This woman is really crazy; she might be difficult to control in the future.

Isabella gripped the steering wheel, her mind racing.

She keenly realized that this operation was a good opportunity to take down Henry while she was at it!

O'Connor needed a stepping stone, and so did she.

But her appetite was bigger; the Chief Superintendent wasn't big enough, Henry was about the same!

Moreover, once Henry is removed, the position of director will be vacant.

Even now, Henry is still using the ridiculous title of "Acting Secretary of the Interior" to keep her hanging on.

acting!

Damn agent!

"Since you like acting as a proxy so much, let me be the acting director."

She looked at herself in the rearview mirror and slowly smiled.

When Daniel-Mason walked into the Queens hospital, he felt like he was in another world.

Two days ago, he was suddenly taken away by the FBI, shoved into a car without explanation, and spent a day and a night in fear in a small room.

Two days later, he returned to Queens Hospital and became the temporary manager of the entire hospital, while also serving as the acting head of the Department of Plastic Surgery!

"Hey, Daniel!" the pretty nurse greeted him warmly.

The head nurse stopped and smiled at him: "Hey, Daniel."

In hospitals, the speed at which news spreads depends on what the nurses say.

With all the high-ranking officials arrested and all the senior doctors summoned for questioning, Daniel gained the support of Acting Dean Noah Godwin and temporarily took charge of all affairs!

In everyone's eyes, he has become the best candidate for director of plastic surgery.

Perhaps in less than five years, Daniel will become the official director.

Such a young director!

In the eyes of a group of female nurses, Daniel suddenly became a hot commodity.

As Daniel walked into the office, at least twenty people greeted him.

Doctors, nurses, and support staff—it seemed like everyone in the hospital knew him overnight.

He took the elevator to the top floor. Height and floor represent status; the top floor is the territory of the entire hospital leadership.

When Daniel used to come here, he would smile at everyone he met.

Now, the dozen or so remaining officials are looking at him with different expressions.

No one understands what price this resident doctor paid to rise to the top and obtain the acting dean's appointment.

Fortunately, Daniel is just a clinician and won't steal their profits.

Daniel's skills are renowned. Two attending physicians and one chief physician in the plastic surgery department have all been arrested, and other highly qualified doctors are still under investigation by OMIG.

Let him be the director.

"Stupid Daniel," haha.

As for the dean's seat... the three potential candidates exchanged glances and immediately looked away, with a faint sense of impending conflict hanging in the air.

Dylan Sterling, the head of human resources, was in his early fifties. He survived the storm because he was in charge of people, not equipment.

Jeremy Hayes is the head of security, a retired Marine, and a physically imposing man. He is responsible for security at the hospital.

Firefighting and emergency response.

He was repeatedly questioned during the investigation, but monitoring the fire exits was indeed not within his scope of responsibility, and the monitoring room belonged to the IT department, so it had nothing to do with him.

Harvey Powell, the deputy head of finance, was in his forties, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and was as shrewd as a fox constantly calculating pros and cons.

His immediate superior, the head of the finance department, was a key figure in the money laundering scheme and has already been arrested.

Havic miraculously escaped being implicated.

It wasn't that he was honest, but rather that he was constantly suppressed by the finance manager and couldn't make any money.

The three of them are the most likely to succeed as dean.

The board of directors is reportedly still discussing whether it would be good to let the young Daniel manage things for the time being. Right now, the hospital is in a state of chaos, and chaos makes it easy to make mistakes, which in turn leaves evidence against us.

They will pick the fruit once everything has settled down.

Sparks, almost invisible, flickered in the eyes of the three people.

Daniel saw right through their thoughts.

Who is Daniel?

He can read people's expressions better than he can read an electrocardiogram.

But Daniel didn't say anything.

He knew these people's fantasies were unnecessary; the higher-ups had already divided up the spoils.

Christina secured a crucial vice-dean position for Daniel from the board of directors.

The dean is someone else, reportedly parachuted in.

These people are destined to continue as department heads.

There's nothing I can do, I'm just a stupid Daniel.

"The situation is very bad right now." Daniel cleared his throat and began to deal with the mountain of administrative tasks.

The heads of several departments were taken away, the operating room schedule was completely paralyzed, and more than a dozen patients who had scheduled surgery were left on the waiting list for more than 48 hours.

The head of the anesthesiology department is still under suspension pending investigation. The person acting as the anesthesiologist is a middle-aged doctor who was urgently transferred from another hospital and is not yet familiar with the work.

The nursing department is relatively complete, but the head nurse is gone.

The equipment department was also empty; the department head and three staff members had gone inside, leaving behind an equipment administrator who had only been with the company for six months to face 0MIG.

The sealed entry left them speechless.

Daniel flipped through the emergency contact lists for each department while calling the acting head of each section.

He obtained a list of temporary staff seconded from Noah to the main hospital, consisting of seven attending physicians and twelve resident physicians. Combined with the surviving nursing team from Queens Hospital, they could barely resume emergency and basic inpatient services.

The most challenging part is the operating room, where all elective surgery patients need to be rescheduled, with priority given to post-operative patients already hospitalized, and then patients re-triaged according to the urgency of their condition.

He wrote these arrangements one by one on the whiteboard and had all department representatives take photos and send them back to their respective department groups.

Throughout the morning, he handled scheduling adjustments for seven departments, signed fourteen temporary authorization documents, and made three phone calls to Noah to confirm several uncertain decisions.

By noon, the hospital's basic operations were finally stabilized.

Daniel seemed to be naturally good at these things; he found them much easier than cutting meat at the operating table.

People's hearts were somewhat calmed down, and they felt that Daniel was not so stupid after all, and was even a bit shrewd and capable.

Daniel leaned back in the leather chair in the dean's office and breathed a sigh of relief.

He excitedly spun around, finding the chair more comfortable than any he had ever sat in before.

Outside the window is the Queens skyline, and in the distance, the Manhattan skyscrapers appear as gray-blue outlines in the daylight.

Unfortunately, I can't sit in that position yet.

This seat belongs to another old man; I'm just warming up his chair for him temporarily.

I need to take advantage of this time to get my own things done!

Daniel turned on his computer and used his administrator privileges; although he was using a proxy, his system permissions were genuine.

He used his director privileges to review all historical cases from the past ten years in the Department of Plastic Surgery.

The data on the screen jumped out in lines, and his fingers flew across the keyboard.

1782 clients who have undergone liposuction or filler treatments more than twice in the past decade.

Of these, 198 people had done it more than three times.

These people will definitely keep doing it!

After the change, an additional 35 people were selected who had sufficient financial resources to afford expensive beauty treatments.

Together, there are 233 people.

This will transform the Katerina Clinic into a valuable seed customer resource!

Daniel copied the data by hand without hesitation.

Downloads will be recorded by the system, but copying by hand will not.

Once an A4 sheet is full, flip it over and start copying the next sheet.

With these records, the Katrina Clinic can start operating immediately once it's back up and running.

The Katrina Clinic is poised for a crucial leap forward in development!

Daniel also didn't give up on those 1782 core clients.

It would have been much easier to copy everything at once, but tempted by the dollars, Daniel worked from noon until midnight, only ordering a sandwich to be delivered to his office.

The only sound in the office was the scratching of pens on paper.

He finally finished copying at 2 a.m.

The entire folder felt heavy in my hand, like a thick stack of yellow stains.

With these things, we're rich! Daniel waved his hand at the empty office.

He immediately drove home, photographed and packaged the data, and then sent it directly to Richard.

Richard replied quickly: "Well done. You deserve your shares."

Daniel chuckled: "I've always done a pretty good job!"

Richard sent another message: "I've already forwarded it to Catherine."

Daniel's fingers paused on the keyboard for a moment: "She wouldn't sell me out, would she?"

"Don't worry. She won't."

"Do you really trust her that much?" Daniel thought to himself. "Does she really want to wear your mother-in-law's clothes?"

In any case, gaining Richard's approval made things more important.

Throughout the entire Katrina Clinic, Richard is always at the core.

Richard closed his phone and walked to Debbie's room door.

"I need your help with something in a couple of days."

"What's up?" Debbie nestled on the sofa, lazily hugging her shadow. The shadow's tail was wrapped around her wrist, snoring softly.

"There was a girl, she was very cute."

Debbie's ears perked up. She looked at Richard warily, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"She has terminal cancer and is on her deathbed. She loves you very much and hopes you will pray for her. Also, she hopes you will offer her last prayers."

Debbie was a little scared: "Me? I can't! And what's the use of me praying?"

"As long as you believe you are wearing the Saintess dress, God will listen to you."

"Want to wear it?" Debbie put down the shadow and asked cautiously, "I've heard that late-stage cancer is terrifying."

Her voice was a little softer than before.

In any case, Debbie was still just a seventeen-year-old girl, and was well protected by her family.

A gold digger's mother and a police chief's father—this kind of family wouldn't let her suffer any hardship, and she would rarely face any real danger.

Do you want me to go?

"Yes. I promised that girl. You need to go three times. Do me a favor, and it will save me a lot of money if you go see her."

""

Debbie's expression hardened: "A huge sum?"

"Clothing. A large sum of money."

"Okay, for our money, I'll go!" Debbie said without hesitation.

"What do you mean by 'for our money'?!" Richard was speechless.

You're so young, yet you already have your mother's potential?

What does a man's money have to do with you?

Debbie pouted, "Okay, to save you money, I've decided to go check it out. But you have to come with me; I'm a little scared to wear it."

"Don't worry. I'll go with you."

Baytop Villa.

At Quentin Fisher's home, three members of the community's historic preservation committee held an impromptu meeting.

Outside the window, the setting sun casts its orange glow across the strait, spreading across the calm sea, as a sailboat slowly passes by.

But nobody was in the mood to appreciate the scenery.

"We can't let Christina move into the rubbish!" Bestselling author E.J. Sanders was the first to speak.

He lived at number 1500, separated from Aaron's number 1200 by only a hedge.

His reason for choosing Wanding Villa was simple: it was quiet and convenient for writing.

The tranquility here is something money can't buy. In winter, apart from the sound of the waves, the neighbors are far enough apart that you can't hear anything at all.

Now that Aaron is gone, his house is even quieter, like a deserted island.

He didn't want anyone to move into the house next door, no matter who they were.

The other two remained silent.

Ai Yu shouted, "We must stop this deal! Five million, only five million? That's a joke! The house cost fifteen million when it first went on sale, and after all these years, the price has actually dropped?"

Eyu deliberately ignored the special nature of Aaron's family and steered the conversation toward housing prices.

Luxury real estate developer Quentin Fisher leaned back in his armchair, his fingers interlaced on his knees, and remained silent.

Emma Blanchard is the North American president of a high-end fashion brand, earning an outrageously high annual salary. She spends most of the year traveling around the world and has no need for quiet.

She didn't care that a member of the academic elite had moved into the neighborhood. In her opinion, it was actually a good thing that someone could sell the cursed house.

But Emma didn't want to directly confront Aaron, so she carefully phrased her words: "Aaron's house is known as the cursed house," and the whole family's cancer was common knowledge throughout Long Island. It didn't seem unreasonable for him to sell his house at a low price. Besides, if the new landlord moves in and is fine in a few years, will that prove Aaron's problem? Our house prices might not fall then; they might even rise."

Ai Yu's expression was rather unpleasant.

But he couldn't refute it.

So far, no other cases of cancer have been reported in the other households in the community, so it seems to be a problem with Aaron himself.

It is said that Aaron spent a lot of money to have various experts inspect the house, but they found nothing wrong with it.

He could only rack his brains for a reason: "This is a purely white neighborhood, we can't let East Asians into it! That would be disrespectful and would lower the property rating!"

'

Emma's expression immediately turned from hesitation to indifference.

She dated a guy who was studying at the University of Tokyo during college. That jerk slept with her best friend behind her back, and her best friend got pregnant.

Decades have passed since this incident, but when the words "University of Tokyo" are mentioned, her expression still looks like she has swallowed a fly.

"Are you sure you want to wear Tokyo University?"

Ai Yu was secretly delighted, not expecting her to be so sensitive to this topic. She immediately said, "Of course. A few days ago, I was taking a walk on my lawn when I saw the property manager bringing people into Aaron's house to view the property. The buyer was a guy from East University named Richard. I recognize that guy; when I went to Congressman Anderson's house for a dinner party, Christina took him on as her student on the spot. He's dressed as Christina's academic successor. In other words, this house isn't actually bought by Christina, but rather by her for her student."

"He's wearing Christina's illegitimate child's clothes?" Quentin interjected incredulously. "Buying something worth tens of millions of dollars like that?"

"It must have been that guy from Dongda University named Richard who gave the money, but he bought it through Christina to avoid racial screening." Evan snorted in dissatisfaction. "They know it's very difficult for Dongda students to buy houses here. It seems like the two sides have a very close relationship."

Quentin stroked his chin.

To be able to put tens of millions of dollars in someone else's pocket without worry, what kind of trust does that require?

Or rather, Richard has the ability to get the money back at any time.

The essence of trust is not believing that the other person will not steal your money, but believing that the other person knows what the consequences will be if they steal your money.

Emma spoke coldly, "So, Mr. Quentin, what's your opinion?"

Their eyes fell on Quentin.

According to the default rules of the Historical Preservation Committee, members have veto power over real estate transactions involving the communities where they reside.

If there are multiple committee members in the same community, the one with the higher status and longer tenure shall be selected.

This is an unspoken rule that has been established over many years, and other committee members usually do not interfere.

Evan and Emma wore the uniforms of ordinary members, while the real decision-maker wore Quentin's uniform, and he wore the uniform of the senior vice president of the community.

Quentin, of course, disagreed.

He is a luxury real estate developer who owns three properties in Baytop Hill, with a total value of over one hundred million US dollars.

It's just that most homeowners don't know that.

If someone were to reduce the transaction price from 20 million to 5 million, it would mean that other property prices would also plummet. Based on this new benchmark, they would lose at least 20 million.

No one can stand by and watch their assets shrink by tens of millions out of thin air.

Quentin finally spoke, his voice not loud but every word carrying weight: "I'll only talk about one statistic. Gentlemen, once the five million transaction price is confirmed, the entire Baytop Manor's asset value will be dragged down. Although we can use rhetoric like 'Aaron's house is cursed' to hedge against it, the drop will definitely exceed 20% to 30%. Trust me, I'm a professional, I'm in this business."

"Rich people don't care about quality; they can afford to wear money. But you can't make them feel like they've lost face. Once the price of apartments in Baytop Villas drops below ten million, it means we're not even considered luxury homes anymore, no different from those poor bastards over there. Rich people will lose face! And the price will continue to fall!"

"Those penniless bastards from Oak Ridge Mansion!" Ai Yufu gestured, and the two chuckled simultaneously.

The house next door that became more expensive only cost $680 million, but there's one in my own neighborhood that costs even less?

They couldn't tolerate living in such a community.

Emma stood up abruptly, straightened her coat collar, and said, "OK, since everyone agrees, shall we leave this to Mr. Fisher?"

"No problem!" Quentin replied immediately.

The three of them reached a consensus.

Emma left decisively; she had a lot of work to do. As the North American Vice President of a luxury goods company, every minute was filled with various business matters.

Ash-Sanders, on the other hand, was more relaxed. He patted Quentin on the shoulder and said with satisfaction, "Get that academic tyrant out of here, Quentin!"

"Don't worry, we're in the same boat," Quentin chuckled.

Ai asked curiously, "So, should we just refuse outright?"

Quentin shook his head: "No. I've decided to talk to Christina face-to-face and make her back down."

It was clear to Ai Yu.

Everyone dresses like socialites, and when it's not necessary, they dress in a way that makes them happy to save face.

If the Historic Preservation Committee publicly rejects Christina, it will be a huge embarrassment for her, and she might do something drastic.

Therefore, it would be best to let Christina back down on her own, so that everyone can save face.

"It's up to you now."

Don't worry.

After Eyjafjalla left, Quentin sat alone in an armchair, a cold smile playing on his lips.

A poor wretch wants to live in a shack?

What a load of bull!

His thinking was clear and ruthless: Eyu needed quiet, he needed housing prices, and Emma needed to get away from Dongda people.

Everyone has their own reasons, but the goal is the same.

that's enough.

Christina arranged a medical center for Clara and Aaron, located in an unmarked private park.

Surrounded by dense oak forests, the only entrance requires dual biometric authentication: fingerprint and iris scan.

After entering, you pass through a three-story building. From the outside, it looks more like a low-key law firm, but inside it is equipped with the world's top medical and monitoring facilities.

This isn't a hospital; it's a private medical center that's FDA and GCP compliant, specializing in Phase I new drug trials, including first-time human administration, dosage testing, and drug safety testing.

It is extremely small, with only ten beds in total, and it is almost never fully occupied. It also has no general departments.

Four new drugs have been produced here in the past thirty years.

Some of Christina's experimental drugs undergo initial clinical trials here, under a very high level of secrecy.

First clinical trials of investigational drugs are often conducted here, and participants can receive medication and basic medical assistance for free, as well as compensation of $3000 to $8000.

Therefore, patients from disadvantaged backgrounds often risk enrolling in the program as a last-ditch effort to undergo a transformation.

This was also the place Richard had wanted to introduce to Simela's mother.

This place is completely controlled by Christina, and everyone there is dressed as her employee.

Clara's room was arranged in a larger single room at the end of the corridor.

Her hospital gown hung loosely below her collarbone, and her hands rested on the blanket with her fingers slightly curled.

Because of the transfer to another hospital, her health condition seems to have deteriorated considerably.

Aaron sat by the bedside, enduring his own pain, and nervously held Clara's hand.

A laptop was placed on a mobile cart, with a camera pointed directly at Clara's bed.

A portable sleep lamp was placed next to her, its warm light illuminating her face and revealing every detail.

The screen shows an FDA commissioner in her forties wearing frameless glasses, with the background showing the blue-gray partition walls of an FDA standard office.

Holding a stack of documents, she asked, "Miss Clara Hope, are you sure you want to participate in individual end-of-life compassionate medication extension?"

Most investigational drugs require a rigorous FDA approval process before their first human trials can begin.

However, for terminally ill patients who have tried various treatments and found them ineffective, there is a special channel called "compassionate use," which allows the government to directly provide patients with investigational targeted drugs.

To put it bluntly, it's a gamble with your life after you've run out of options.

Essentially, it's not much different from things like voodoo.

Many drugs in development have no chance of having any consequences unless they are tested on humans.

This medication requires extremely strict consent, including from the patient, their guardian, a lawyer, and a doctor. An FDA commissioner witnesses the entire process via video and records it for future reference.

The purpose of this procedure is not to protect patients, but to protect pharmaceutical companies, laboratories, and the FDA from being sued after a patient's death.

The "compassion" in compassionate medicine is worn for the living, not for the deceased.

When Aaron heard the term "compassionate medication for the dying," his knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white.

The lawyer placed the document in front of Clara.

Clara said weakly, "I agree."

The lawyer handed Clara a Montblanc pen. Clara tried to grip the pen, but her hand ached, and her strength was surprisingly weak; she could barely hold it.

The pen tip traced an unusually straight diagonal line on the paper, slowly writing the crooked "Clara Hope".

After writing those words, she seemed to have exhausted all her strength, leaning against the pillow and panting.

"Please have the guardian sign." The lawyer turned the pen to Aaron: "Mr. Hope, are you sure you approve of your daughter Clara-Miss Hope receiving extended medication in hospice care?"

Aaron desperately wanted to regret it.

But when he looked into his daughter's expectant eyes, he gritted his teeth and wrote her name on the paper with trembling hands.

FDA commissioners followed standard procedures to verify patient identity, confirm diagnostic reports, obtain informed consent, and confirm that the patient was not coerced.

"You are personally responsible for any irreversible organ damage that occurs."

"I do."

"if...

'

"I agree."

Clara answered very softly, but each word was spoken very clearly.

After the transaction was completed and all procedures were finished, the female clerk on the other end of the screen remained silent for a few seconds before a hint of warmth finally appeared in her cold eyes: "Good luck, Miss Clara."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Christina took out a combination safe, entered the long password, and retrieved an exquisite bottle containing a variegated genus.

There was only one pill in the bottle, mottled in color, gleaming softly under the lamplight.

No one will ask who manufactured this drug, as that is a trade secret of pharmaceutical companies and laboratories.

Nobody knows what the fabric composition of this outfit is.

Seeing how serious Christina was, everyone knew that this medicine was very expensive, and the exact amount would be astonishing.

If a new drug is developed through manual laboratory testing, it's normal for its price to exceed 1000 million.

It's basically just starch and sugar coating, Christina thought to herself.

Many drugs are essentially just packaging and processing.

The ingredients of the medicine are not important; the thickness of the packaging is.

Clara picked up the medicine under everyone's gaze and carefully put it to her lips.

Her hands were too weak, and Aaron's tears blurred his vision, before he finally saw her put the medicine into her mouth.

Clara took a sip of warm water and swallowed it with a gulp.

Aaron held his daughter's hand tightly, unaware of what kind of predicament awaited him.

The FDA commissioner's video has been shut down.

"Everyone, leave now. The rest of you, just wait quietly." Christina gestured for everyone to leave.

No one has any hope. At least a hundred new cancer drugs are developed globally every year, but so far, very few have been successful.

Only Aaron and his daughter, Richard and Christina, and a supervising nurse remained in the room.

"Debbie will come to see you this afternoon," Richard said, smiling as he stroked the girl's forehead. "She's still in cheerleading, she needs to train. You know what? She wants to go to the Super Bowl."

"Really! I really want to see her dance in the Super Bowl." Clara's voice was soft, but there was a kind of sleepiness in her eyes that was out of place with her frail body.

You'll see.

Aaron couldn't help but sob.

The Super Bowl is held on the second Sunday of February each year.

He didn't know if his daughter could hold on until then.

Richard stroked Clara's forehead while secretly circulating his flesh and blood remodeling techniques.

Clara's riddled body came into his perception.

Cancer cells spread throughout her body, devouring her bones and muscles. The primary osteosarcoma lesion was located in the distal left femur, with metastatic lesions throughout her lungs and thoracic vertebrae.

Her bone marrow is being gradually replaced by cancer cells, and with every breath, the tumor is pressing on her alveoli.

Richard pinpointed the critical locations precisely: the bone marrow, brain, and several bones.

He used magic to transform the cancer cells into "fresh flesh and blood," which he then extracted into the Blood and Bones Box.

Then they transform into healthy bone and muscle cells and are reinjected into her body.

Clara gradually felt the endless dull pain in her bones subside.

That kind of pain, a dull, throbbing pain that radiates from deep within the periosteum, like being repeatedly scraped by a dull knife, has been with her for many years.

Now it's suddenly gone.

Her exhausted body finally got a much-needed rest, and she slumped onto the pillow and closed her eyes.

"Daughter! Clara, what happened to you?" Aaron was terrified and rushed to the bedside.

Clara simply hummed softly.

"She's alright," Richard said calmly.

The heart rate on the monitor was stable, the blood oxygen saturation steadily increased, and the respiratory waveform was as uniform as the example on Yan Kekui.

The nurses were somewhat surprised.

Is it under the influence?

Patients with advanced osteosarcoma often find it difficult to go to the hospital. Bone pain keeps them tossing and turning in bed all night, and they can only get a moment of peace by taking large doses of opioids.

The medicine is already so effective right after it was taken?

"Let's observe her further. Let her get some rest."

Christina and Richard walked out of the room and down the corridor to the floor-to-ceiling window at the end.

Everyone present signed a confidentiality agreement and will not disclose to the outside world what kind of drug was used to treat sleep deprivation.

"How is it?" Christina asked in a low voice, still somewhat worried.

If Clara were to remain at this medical research center after taking the medication, she would not be held legally responsible, but the FDA would scrutinize her future applications for new drugs with higher standards.

It will cause a lot of trouble.

Richard smiled and said, "She'll be fine."

Christina immediately relaxed.

This girl is incredibly lucky; she actually met my Lord!

With so many cancer patients in the world, how many can Richard save?

When it was her turn, she was really lucky.

"Debbie will be burnt this afternoon."

The phone rang.

"Okay." Richard took out his phone and listened with interest. "The Historic Preservation Committee rejected your application to buy the house. A homeowner named Quentin, the vice president of the Historic Preservation Committee, wants to talk to you."

"Quentin?" Christina asked, puzzled. "Why did he reject me?"

The voice of Hu Mann came through the phone: "Quentin is a luxury real estate developer, specializing in high-end residences. Besides his own property in Baytop Hills, he has three other properties, with total assets exceeding one hundred million US dollars. He can't accept the sale price being driven down to five million, which means his three properties will lose at least twenty million in value, possibly even thirty million!"

Mann thought the deal was probably going to fall apart.

No one can get past this hurdle unless the Historic Preservation Committee agrees.

"Arrange a meeting. We'll meet with him in person." Richard's voice was calm. "He'll agree. Mann, you continue with the paperwork."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone. Mann responded in a tone that suggested, "You people from Dongda University know our situation better than anyone else," and then hung up.

Buying a 500 million yuan house with 2000 million yuan?

That's possible.

Quentin is not someone to be trifled with.

Mann leaned back in his chair, looked at Christina's home purchase application on the computer screen, and sighed.

However, he also sent Quentin a meeting invitation as requested by the client.

"I should meet with them," Mann muttered to himself. "That way I can find peace of mind."

After making the contact, Mann put Christina's home-buying process aside and did not follow up further.

This deal is definitely not going to go through; any further effort will be wasted.