I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 127 The Powerful Parachuted Dean (13K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

When Richard arrived at the research center, he was surprised to find that almost everyone there was radiating an apostolic faith.

Aaron and Clara, in particular, had golden spots of light on their bodies that almost formed a continuous patch.

An undeniable miracle has occurred before our eyes; no one can ignore it.

This medical center is itself an experimental center for investigational drugs. All the patients who come here for treatment are terminal patients with cancer, Alzheimer's disease, etc., with cancer patients being the most numerous.

Over the decades, they have seen all sorts of failed drugs.

The idea that modern technology cannot cure cancer has been deeply ingrained in everyone's mind.

Therefore, Clara's gradual recovery was a miracle!

If it weren't for the strict confidentiality agreement, everyone would have wanted to film what was happening right now and spread it around so that the world could see that the saintess was real!

"Richard, Dai... Oh, Your Highness, can you save other cancer patients?" Dr. Summers asked breathlessly.

Doctors who can persist in working in this lifeless place for decades all possess a compassionate and humanitarian spirit.

If it were an ordinary person, constantly witnessing humans dying and wailing before their eyes while being powerless to do anything about it, the feeling of despair and oppression could easily crush their spirit.

Richard shook his head: "I doubt even the Holy Maiden herself knows how Clara was treated. Do you remember the Princeton shooting? Her Highness was unharmed, but 39 people died at the scene."

Everyone fell silent.

Yes, Her Highness seems unable to perfectly control her miracles.

Moreover, if miracles can be repeated, then they are no longer miracles, but technology.

Only two doctors scoffed: "What a miracle! This is Dr. Christina Shepard's magnificent achievement!"

Immediately, someone argued with them: "Even if the new drug can kill cancer cells, what kind of technology could possibly restore a person's lung and stomach functions so quickly overnight?"

"Well... miracles happen frequently in medicine. What makes a miracle a miracle is that it can't be repeated. And this case only happened once; who knows?"

"If we give Mr. Aaron one of those golden pills, perhaps we can get the answer."

"I don't think it will work! The biggest problem with targeted drugs is that everyone's genetic targets are different. I don't understand why Dr. Shepard chose Clara; perhaps her genes are unique. But Dr. Shepard didn't give it to Mr. Aaron, probably because Clara might have very specific targets in her body."

"Well, that's possible."

"It's possible that Dr. Shepard has found a very peculiar target that could be extremely effective against osteosarcoma, but not against other cancers. It's also possible that this target is only present in Clara. Human research on genes is still far too superficial."

Richard sat in the next room, and countless unclaimed beliefs took flight.

He silently absorbed it and transformed it into magic.

The magic quickly filled up, and there were a total of 9 units of fresh flesh and blood in the [Blood Corpse Box].

Richard begins to be corrupted by demonic energy [the living flesh and blood].

He felt a little dizzy when he increased the mana abundance of [Fresh Flesh] by 3 units to 20.

Richard stopped immediately.

.

He was unaware of the consequences of overexerting his energy and dared not go too far.

Let me recover this first, and I'll check back tomorrow.

This place is practically a magic spring!

Aaron approached gratefully, his voice filled with undisguised piety: "If Her Majesty the Saint comes again, I will certainly express my respect to her. My previous misunderstanding of God—I made a grave mistake. If Clara can fully recover, I am willing to donate 50% of my estate to the church she designates."

See, I told you even Western gods need to have a sense of political achievement.

Richard thought to himself.

They're quite realistic too.

Without miracles, I don't believe in God!

If a miracle occurs, I will donate my entire fortune.

That's so cliché!

God doesn't care about your little bit of money; he'd rather donate it to me...

Huh?

Richard thought that he could set up a foundation in Debbie's name and have Aaron invest the money in it.

That would work...

Go back and ask Brian how the powerful and wealthy run their foundations.

"Okay, I'll bring her over when I have the chance."

Richard left with ease.

Clara gradually recovered her health, which put him in a very good mood. He also received a fountain that could refresh magic power at a fixed location!

It feels amazing to have your magic power always at full.

The current situation is that there isn't enough fresh flesh and blood.

The Katrina Clinic is temporarily closed; it's time to get my blood drawn.

He had already obtained his blood-drawing license, and Evelyn had also helped him find a part-time job at a blood company.

Richard decided to go to the street to have his blood drawn; the "fresh flesh and blood" couldn't be cut off.

"Professor Shepard," Quentin Fisher casually surveyed his surroundings, a shrewdness typical of real estate developers playing on his lips, "you invited me to meet in an empty house belonging to a cancer patient, so you could let me experience the atmosphere of the 'curse'?"

Christina didn't say anything.

This was also her first time visiting number 1200 in Baytop Villa, the home of Aaron and his family of three who had been diagnosed with cancer.

Aaron was exposed to radiation here and developed three types of cancer.

Christina dared to stand there without any hesitation because she believed her master could save her life.

The luxury real estate developer in front of me clearly doesn't have that capability.

Christina looked around.

To be fair, this house is indeed very nice.

Some of the furniture was covered with white cloth, and there was a faint musty smell in the air, mixed with the salty smell of the sea breeze.

Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating every tiny speck of dust.

"I want to buy this house for five million," Christina said bluntly.

Quentin laughed and said, "Impossible, Christina. Since you've come to see me, you must know how many properties I own in this neighborhood. I can't accept my property values ​​plummeting by twenty to thirty percent."

He looked down at Christina with the arrogance of a billionaire.

Although this woman manages annual investments in the billions, most of the money has fixed expenditures, and her personal assets don't even exceed twenty million.

Compared to Quentin, whose assets exceed one billion, she is nothing but a pauper.

Quentin has an absolute psychological advantage.

Unlike those tech billionaires, Quentin is a pure real estate developer and doesn't need Christina's technology, so he doesn't have much respect for her.

Quentin is incredibly determined to protect his assets; no one can bring his property prices down!

"Really?" Christina looked around the room and then took out an analysis report from her briefcase.

The report cover bears the logo of the Princeton University Cell Biology Laboratory. It is very thin, about 30 pages, and neatly bound.

This report is a concise version specifically prepared for wealthy laymen like Quentin, without any obscure technical jargon: "I intend to publish this report in Nature, and I hope Mr. Fisher can offer some guidance."

"I'm just an ordinary person; I can't understand these complicated technical documents," Quentin said casually, flipping through the report.

After turning two pages, his smile froze.

This is an analysis report on nuclear waste contamination, and the subject of the analysis is Aaron's house.

The data is very detailed: Spectro-137 residues were found in airborne dust.

Next to each data point is a label indicating the upper limit of the safety standard for comparison. Yan-137 exceeded the standard by 470%!

Christina spoke calmly, her voice as steady and precise as if she were speaking at an academic conference, devoid of any superfluous emotion: "I wonder if Mr. Fisher could offer some advice?"

"I don't believe it!" Quentin snapped out of his shock and slammed the report back onto the coffee table, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"If it really is nuclear contamination, why are we all fine? Why didn't Aaron's whole family test positive?! That's impossible!"

Christina said calmly, "Are you sure Aaron didn't detect anything?"

Quentin was stunned.

He then realized something and realized a long-standing misconception he had held: Aaron didn't know the reason.

In fact, Aaron probably knows what's going on.

But he didn't say it.

If he tells the truth, his house will be worthless!

The current 500 million is the price of the news being exposed.

"FXXK! That damn bastard! He lied to all of us!" But Quentin still clung to a last shred of hope: "Christina, if you knew this place was contaminated with nuclear radiation, why did you buy it?"

Still don't believe me? Christina didn't say anything, she just looked at Richard.

Richard took a brand-new Geiger counter from the box and unwrapped it in front of Quentin.

He didn't need to say anything; the Geiger counter started screaming.

It wasn't the occasional faint ticking sound, but a series of dense and sharp popping sounds!

"OMG!" Quentin instinctively took a step back.

Richard pointed the detector at the windowsill: Scream.

Pointing to the door frame: Screaming.

However, there was no sound when pointing towards the kitchen.

He went outside and screamed.

Richard concluded, "The nuclear contamination came from the sea breeze. We just don't know where it originated. See those huge hedges? They blocked the nuclear dust, which is why our neighbors were spared. Also, Aaron's whole family is susceptible to cancer, so they were infected very quickly."

"Oh fuck!" Quentin's face went from rosy to ashen in just a few seconds. "We can't stay in this damn place!"

He retreated repeatedly.

Richard's choice of this time was deliberate; only at this time would the grayish-purple smog drift over from next door, all depending on the direction of the sea breeze.

"Don't worry, nuclear contamination won't affect your health so quickly."

"No! I don't want to stay here for even a minute longer! I don't want to get this damn cancer!"

Quentin hurriedly and scrambled out of Aaron's room.

He stood on the lawn outside the door, catching his breath, before saying, still shaken, "Dr. Shepard, I think—we really need to have a serious talk."

"No problem."

The group returned to Quentin's house.

Quentin's expression remained one of surprise and uncertainty.

"So that bastard Aaron fooled us all, didn't he?"

Richard shook his head: "I'm not sure. Nuclear radiation contamination is roughly related to the direction of the sea breeze. If the engineers Aaron brought didn't happen to be testing at that exact time, it's normal that they couldn't detect the nuclear contamination."

Quentin's face darkened. "No, he just fooled us. That damn actor, I knew Hollywood people were all liars! He could have easily found the cause of the illness at the hospital!"

Richard shrugged. "Maybe. But isn't this a good thing for you? If Aaron tells you, the houses here will become dirt cheap. Your loss won't just be twenty million."

Quentin certainly knew it wasn't twenty million.

If the curse is still just a vague rumor, they might lower the price.

But nuclear contamination is simply unacceptable to the wealthy.

No wealthy person would want to live next to nuclear waste!

Christina tapped the document lightly.

"If this report is published, your home price will drop by at least 80%, or $8000 million, within a year at most."

$8000 million! Quentin must be in pain.

"What exactly do you want?" Quentin's face was extremely grim.

"I want to buy this house, and I need you to sign your name on the historic preservation committee."

Christina took out an agreement and placed it next to the report.

The terms have been drafted: "Quentin Fisher, as Vice President of the Historic Preservation Committee, agrees to Christina Shepard's purchase of property number 1200 under Aaron Hope's name. In return, Christina will keep his paper anonymous. The renovation period is one year."

A year. Quentin understood that this was the time he needed to sell the property.

"No, a year isn't enough. I'm in this business; if you want to sell such an expensive property, it will take at least two to three years."

"OK. No problem. As long as you keep it a secret, I will continue to revise my thesis."

"Not yet! If I don't abide by the agreement, I'll lose a lot of money, but it's not written in the agreement. What will happen if you don't comply?"

Christina replied without hesitation, "I won't promise anything. You have no right to make demands of me. You either agree, or you watch me smash your house price to zero. You have to believe in my influence in the medical industry. In fact, I don't need to do anything. Just have a few students with special backgrounds write a few reports on the adverse effects of nuclear waste on the human body, and that will be enough."

Quentin's lips twitched, but he had one last question: "Since it emits radiation, why did you buy it?"

He also suspected that the other party was lying to him.

Christina said calmly, "This project is a secret military research project."

Quentin's eyes widened, he opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Christina simply looked at him quietly, a calmness tinged with an indescribable sense of oppression, a feeling akin to:

You already know enough information to get your signature. If you want to know the rest, the military will have a proper chat with you.

"Damn the military!" Quentin cursed under his breath.

He repeated again, "Damn military!"

It has become commonplace for the military to experiment with various weapons regardless of the lives of others.

Drop an atomic bomb on a certain location and then let unsuspecting soldiers enter that location.

If even our own people can play like this, what about other people?

So when Christina said it, Quentin believed her.

But Quentin still did not formally sign the contract with the Historic Preservation Committee.

"I need to test it myself." He wasn't easily fooled; this involved tens of millions of dollars, and he had to buy the equipment himself to test it. "Don't worry, I'll keep it a secret. This involves my money."

"No problem, you can try it every day when the southeast wind blows." Christina nodded, picked up her briefcase, and glanced at her broken hand. "By the way, you have 72 hours to test this. Don't try to drag it out too long. If we still can't sign an agreement after 72 hours, I'll release the news, and I'll still be able to buy the property."

"Don't threaten me!" Quentin said angrily. "If that's the case, why don't you release the information now?"

Christina smiled and put the document back into her briefcase: "If possible, I don't want to face unnecessary risks, such as being inexplicably beaten to death in my car."

Quentin Pedro grinned.

He understood what Christina meant; if the news were leaked, the military would definitely be very angry.

If this matter involves the interests of a certain military leader, the other party is very likely to retaliate.

At that time, no matter if you're a Nobel laureate or an academic tycoon, the military leaders will all say "kill the weak, kill the weak."

Even the tax inspectors sent by the president died one plane after another, so what does a scholar amount to?

Similarly, Quentin, a small real estate developer, was no different from an ant in the eyes of those at the top.

Richard laughed.

But when it comes to the bad reputation of mold, it has to be this!

Quentin, without a shred of doubt in the face of Christina's deception, immediately became convinced.

The two got into the car and left.

Christina breathed a sigh of relief: "This time it's completely settled. We just need to wait for news, at most seventy-two hours, and Kunjiang will make a wise choice."

Richard nodded.

At least until Quentin sells all his houses, he won't reveal any information about the nuclear contamination.

Richard called Mann again: "How's the paperwork coming along?"

Mann paused for a moment, then asked, "What procedures?"

"What procedures? The purchase contract and purchase documents for No. 1200, Wanding Villa! We'll be signing the agreement in three days."

"What? The Historic Preservation Committee actually agreed?"

"This is none of your business. Three days from now, bring the agreement, and we'll finalize it!"

"OK! OK!" Mann hung up the lion's words, covering his head in confusion.

Oh fuck!

How exactly was this accomplished?

The other party told me so clearly, it couldn't be a lie.

Has Quentin gone mad?

How could they agree to such a request?

What methods did that seemingly ordinary boy from Tokyo University use to force Quentin, a local bigwig, to eat shit?

Mann suddenly understood.

The strength behind this Tokyo University boy is far greater than he imagined.

He quickly opened the file named Zhiyi and frantically began operating it.

Because of the delay of a few days, time is a bit tight, and I estimate that I will have to work overtime until two or three o'clock in the morning for the next two days.

"Oh fuck!"

The procedures for buying a luxury home are completely different from those for buying an ordinary house; they are incredibly complicated.

Mann dared not give Richard any perfunctory treatment.

The strength that could make Quentin bow down is truly terrifying!

Christina had barely left when Evan called Quentin.

"Hey Quentin, I see that East Coast kid here, the one named Richard."

"Yes," Quentin replied calmly.

"How did it go? What did he say?"

Quentin remained unfazed: "What else can I say? It's nothing more than coercion and bribery. If this were at Dongda University, I might show him some respect. This is our territory; he has no right to threaten me. I've seen it all before!"

Quentin acted as if he was used to it all along.

Evan was overjoyed.

Quentin is a real estate tycoon who specializes in luxury homes. He's notoriously stubborn and has seen all kinds of wealthy people.

A rich kid from Dongda University came here and tried to act tough?

"Then I'm relieved," Evan said happily.

Quentin waved his hand: "Don't worry."

"Huh? Right," Evan suddenly asked, "I think I just heard some instrument beeping? A beeping sound."

"Oh, this..." Quentin's mind raced.

FXXK!

How come this old man has such sharp ears!

He quickly launched into a long explanation: "That kid actually got a fake Geiger counter, trying to fool me into thinking it emitted radiation, but I exposed him on the spot! Didn't you see we left right away? The two of them even followed me home to explain. I've seen this kind of trick a lot; when we were building houses, there were far more despicable things than this."

"In order to lower prices, some competitors hire people to stuff dead rats into the air conditioning pipes of model homes. Potential buyers can smell the odor as soon as they enter, and the real estate agents don't even have time to explain."

"Some developers even hire private investigators to follow their competitors' executives during bidding, and then casually mention at the negotiating table which club the other party went to last night."

"The most outrageous thing is that a certain conglomerate, in order to acquire a piece of my land, bribed a local water quality inspector to forge a report showing excessive heavy metal levels, thus drastically reducing the land price by 7%."

Quentin's rambling successfully led Evan astray.

Evan's eyes lit up: "This part is great, can I swear it into my novel?"

"No problem," Quentin said casually.

Evan takes about two or three years to write a book. By the time he finishes writing, he's already sold all his houses, so whatever.

Even a group of billionaires couldn't do anything to him, let alone a worthless oath-taker?

Without you bunch of idiots stepping on my heels, how could I sell my property at a high price?

After hanging up the lion statue, Quentin leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, wondering where he could find some buyers for his house.

How can I sell four houses at once without arousing suspicion?

For real estate developers, the first priority is to abandon humanity and never show any compassion.

When news of nuclear contamination breaks, housing prices will plummet, and those buyers will definitely lose everything.

Therefore, you can't find an American; it's best to find a wealthy, unassuming immigrant.

Quentin has no illusions about the two-year timeframe.

Although he and Christina agreed on a two-year term, he dared not risk offending her reputation. Who knew when that ruthless woman would release the news?

To avoid attracting attention, it would be best to start a big project, make a show of it, and put on an act as if I'm going to raise money and go all in.

Quentin thought for a moment, then called his assistant: "Check if there are any large plots of land for sale recently. Also, check Warn Properties. Buy some short positions first, don't rush, build up the assets slowly. We have a year to operate."

"Yes, Boss."

Quentin felt that Christina had bought a house for $500 million, and now that she was in a hurry to sell it, she was bound to lose money.

That Fu wants to make it back from Warn Properties.

Once he left, Fu made the matter public.

Oak Ridge Residence and Bay Top Villa are both properties owned by Warn Properties, so Warn Properties' stock price will definitely fall.

Despite her cleverness, Vaughn managed to hold on and not fall, but wouldn't she spread rumors?

As for whether or not it will offend Governor Alger-Vaughn... how could it not!

But so what?

In business, you're essentially taking money from other people's pockets; how can you avoid offending anyone?

Alger is indeed very clever, but Quentin Fisher, who has dominated the Manhattan luxury real estate market for decades, is no pushover either.

He was calculating how he could use the crisis to recoup his losses from various angles.

"Oh yes! Come on!"

"Oh yes!"

After the battle, Isabella got out of bed contentedly and went into the bathroom.

Yili-Carter leaned against the headboard, feeling much more relaxed.

Although this slut is despicable and has no bottom line in her actions, she is indeed a stunner in bed.

The director had already been filmed by her, so he didn't care anymore. What difference did it make whether he was filmed once or a hundred times? Even so, when the sound of rushing water came out.

Yili immediately got up and quietly searched the room, trying to find the original video file that Isabella had hidden.

Soon, he found a built-in safe under the bedside table, but he couldn't open it.

"Fuck!" Yili cursed.

Uninterested, he rummaged through Isabella's bookshelf again.

Suddenly, he noticed a document tucked inside the file.

He opened it cautiously, and a rage surged within him: "That bitch! She's actually investigating Samuel! FXXK!"

Isabella is investigating Samuel!

Although no substantial evidence has been found so far, she has been collecting patrol records of the water police, Samuel's shift schedule and attendance records, and his personal financial statements. She has circled every suspicious time period with a highlighter.

Yili's blood pressure instantly spiked to its peak.

He suddenly pushed open the door to the crooked room.

A wave of hot steam hit her face as Isabella stood under the showerhead.

She looked at Yoshiri, who had suddenly barged in, without changing her expression: "What? You want to come again? Then come on."

She turned off the shower faucet.

Yili threw the documents in her hand on the ground: "Look what you're doing, you bitch!"

Isabella glanced down at the documents, then looked up again, completely unhurried: "Being a thief isn't a good chief."

"Samuel is my chosen successor as Commissioner of Police! What are you doing? You're ruining him! If two consecutive Commissioners of Police are removed from their posts, I, as the Commissioner, will lose all face!"

"You think you still have any dignity left?" Isabella rolled her eyes. "What does that have to do with me?"

"FXXK! You can't do this!" Henry practically roared as he said it.

Everyone in the NYPD's Internal Affairs Department is now living in fear. If another candidate for Commissioner General is ousted, his position as Commissioner will be completely insecure.

Isabella stood there under the showerhead, hands on her hips, fiercely arguing her case about the pros and cons, finally forced to compromise: "OK! But you have to compensate me!"

"Damn it! I won't compensate you for anything!" Yili swept all the documents and evidence away, stuffing them into her briefcase. "That's it, you understand, bitch? No more investigation of Samuel! No!"

"Did this guy do something shady?"

"Everyone's doing something shady! Are you going to arrest them all?"

"Just because he did it, doesn't mean I can't investigate?"

"What more do you want? You're only thirty-one, and you're already the Chief of General Affairs at the IAB! Five more years and you might become Deputy Director, and within ten years you might even try to ask Manterson for the Director position!"

Isabella vehemently denied it: "I don't know Menterson, and I don't want to be any kind of chief."

"Don't lie to me, you bitch. I know you've definitely slept with Manterson. Every cop wants to be the bureau chief, you can't fool me, especially not you!"

Ten years? I can't wait ten years. I can't become the director when I'm forty. Isabella thought to herself without batting an eye.

Brian's direction was her direction; Brian became the director at thirty-nine, and she could not lag behind him.

She wants to take the director's seat now and then build up her reputation.

He entered politics at the age of forty and ran for Congress.

A 50-year-old challenging a senator!

She often talked with Brian, and the more they talked, the more she felt that this man was very strong, but not so strong as to be incomprehensible.

If that's the case, and the other person can become a congressman, why can't she do better?

Ambitions burned like wildfire in Isabella's heart.

"Damn it, I'm not talking to you!" Henry interrupted her angrily. "I order you to cease all investigations into Samuel, effective immediately!"

"OK." Isabella seemed to have conceded. "Then can I investigate everyone except Samuel?"

Yi Li took a deep breath and said angrily, "You've investigated enough already, do you want to investigate me too?"

Isabella grinned mischievously as she looked him up and down, the light slowly moving down his body and stopping at a certain spot, as if assessing a trophy she had owned many times before: "Checking you isn't out of the question. Your size is considered quite large by NYPD standards."

"Fk!" Yili actually felt like he was the one being taken advantage of: "Control your IAB, stop biting people randomly! At least for the next year, don't cause me any more trouble! There's already enough going on at the NYPD! I'm warning you, my tolerance has its limits!"

Isabella leaned against the headboard with a disdainful look: "So, did you find that video?"

Yoshito snorted coldly, finally regaining some confidence: "You're already the Chief of General Affairs at the NYPD, you won't release that video so easily. Don't try to intimidate me, you still want to climb higher, releasing it will ruin you too. We're in the same boat now."

"Quite clever," Isabella said coldly.

She wiped every crease on her body in front of Yili without any hesitation.

Yili slammed the door shut and left quickly.

Isabella put on her silk nightgown with a cold smile.

Yi Li is right. That video is a lose-lose situation, and it can't be used until the very last minute.

Therefore, she needs another piece of evidence, one that can remove Yi-ri from the position of director without harming herself.

There is now.

She pulled out a miniature recorder from behind the dressing mirror, which clearly recorded their conversation.

Just now, she turned off the shower to prevent noise.

Yili is such a fool!

After being tricked by himself once, he still speaks recklessly without any restraint. Has he given up on himself?

But that idiot didn't know that a broken pot can shatter every single piece even more!

The tape recorder clearly captured Yoshiri's voice: "Damn it, I'm not discussing this with you!"

"I order you to cease all investigations into Samuel, effective immediately!"

Isabella smiled with satisfaction.

With this evidence, as long as the gang members involved in the illegal arms deal are caught on Hart Island, it would be enough to send Yi Li to his doom.

The fact that militants were able to re-land on Hart Island indicates that the maritime police were providing cover.

What does it mean that Illy Carter forbade his subordinates from investigating Samuel, the police superintendent of the water police?

This shows that Yili and Samuel are in cahoots!

That Yi Li Fu is doomed.

However, there are still additional risks involved.

Henry might inform Samuel of his investigation, which would offend Samuel.

Therefore, for his own safety, Fu Suan could not drag Yi Li into this mess, and he had to completely crush Samuel.

In this way, O'Connor actually got a good deal.

He might actually take the opportunity to become the Chief Superintendent of Police.

That cowardly fellow spent his whole life chasing luck.

Isabella was already prepared with both hands.

If they successfully capture Dali, then Samuel and Illy will naturally be doomed.

Even if he hadn't caught Dali, he could still release this recording to protect himself.

If anything is discovered on Hart Island again someday, she'll have something to say: last time, it was you, Yili, who leaked the information!

Actually, Isabella was still somewhat skeptical of Brian's information.

How could he possibly know such precise information as the time, place, and goods?

That's ridiculous!

However, she wouldn't easily give up such a good opportunity.

The adventure in the museum is also O'Connor's adventure, to see if he can pick up some scraps from his uncle's side.

Dylan Sterling invited Daniel to dinner at an Italian restaurant across from the hospital.

It's not one of those Italian fast food restaurants with a bar; it's the kind of upscale restaurant with white linen tablecloths, beeswax candles, and a wine list that takes three pages to read.

Dylan poured the wine for Daniel himself, making sure the bottle didn't touch the rim of the glass—a detail he had practiced countless times at business dinners, but never for Daniel.

He used it today.

"For the plastic surgery department, you'll need your own people." Dylan pushed his glass toward Daniel's, his tone as if he were a close friend confiding in him: "I've worked in HR for fifteen years, I know how to arrange people for you."

Daniel slowly cut his steak, not even looking up, and said, "Dylan, do you want to be the dean?"

Dylan did not deny it.

The restaurant was quiet, and he didn't have any colleagues from the hospital around. He chose this place so he could tell the truth.

"Daniel, I need your support. You have a huge voice throughout the hospital and the plastic surgery department, and you're the first person to quickly recover after the storm."

"With your recommendation, my chances of becoming the dean have increased by at least 30%!"

As he spoke, Dylan pushed a folder onto the table, inside which was a proposal to expand the plastic surgery department: a new operating room schedule, a new procurement list, and a new nurse allocation.

Each item was precisely placed in the position Daniel wanted most.

Daniel glanced at the document, and his lips twitched slightly.

Truly cunning!

No wonder he's the head of the HR department.

This is much more reliable than the empty promises made by that security chief, Jeremy.

He looked up at Dylan, his expression becoming sincere: "You're not the only one who's invited me to dinner. But I think your stuff is more reliable."

Dylan laughed. He picked up his glass and smacked Daniel's glass.

"We cooperate and achieve a win-win situation. There is no conflict. I am already fifty years old, and the dean will retire in a maximum of thirteen years."

You're only in your early thirties this year, and you'll be forty-six or forty-seven when I retire, just in time to take over my position. I'll help you rise to the top. Don't be offended by me; I'm a fickle and sentimental person!

"I'll hate you!" Daniel thought to himself.

However, this personnel arrangement really suited his wishes. Even if he had become the vice president, he might not have been able to make such a precise departmental layout.

Dylan was indeed capable, but his only miscalculation was that he couldn't possibly become the head of a plastic surgery department.

Therefore, this deal is of no value to him.

Just as he was figuring out how to get some more benefits, his phone rang with an email notification.

"Sorry." Daniel looked down at his phone.

Dylan feigned indifference, leaned back in his chair, and took a sip of red wine.

Then he saw Daniel's change in expression—not surprise, not excitement, but a subtle, brief pause, as if confirming that every word on the screen was not a figment of his imagination.

"What's wrong?"

Daniel turned his phone around to show him.

The screen displayed an appointment notice from the Queens Hospital Board of Directors.

The document is official and bears the electronic seal of the main hospital.

The gist is: In recognition of Dr. Daniel-Mason's outstanding performance during the hospital's crisis, the Board of Directors has voted to appoint Dr. Daniel-Mason as Vice President of Queens Hospital, effective immediately. Any objections may be submitted in writing within three business days. If no objections are raised, please sign the appointment letter by the designated date and complete the administrative transfer procedures at the General Hospital's Human Resources Department.

Dylan froze.

Vice Dean!

Damn!

Daniel unexpectedly rose to the top and became the vice dean!

Dylan stared at the few lines of text displayed on the screen.

How did he become the vice dean?

Dylan thought his biggest concern was whether Daniel would concurrently serve as the head of plastic surgery while holding the position of attending physician.

In that case, a head of surgery would indeed be worth spending a meal to bribe.

But the vice-dean? He can't afford to bribe him!

Jumping directly from a resident physician to the vice president is a terrifying three-stage leap!

How is that possible?

Has the board gone mad?

But then, a feeling of relief washed over me.

Not the dean.

It's not that the dean is incompetent.

Dylan almost said those words aloud.

Daniel's promotion to vice dean means that he will not compete with me for the dean's position.

Is the dean's position now insecure?

He never said that any hospital would appoint the head of the security department as its director. Jeremy, with his muscle-headedness, was destined to be a security chief his entire life.

Harvey, the deputy head of the finance department, was constantly suppressed and beaten by his superior, and couldn't even get the funds from the equipment resale into the system.

It's less a matter of luck and more a matter of incompetence.

These two could not possibly be Dylan's competitors; they were merely supporting characters.

The position of dean is for me alone!

When Dylan looked up again, a genuine smile was on his face: "Congratulations, Dean Mason!"

"Oh dear, this appointment is so sudden, I didn't expect it either." Daniel waved his hand dismissively, "I need to think about it some more, don't call me that."

"You'd never have thought of that!" Dylan thought to himself with a sneer.

You must have secretly applied for an administrative position, and I wonder who you went through to pull some strings and actually got it done.

Fortunately, the board of directors is not a bunch of incompetent fools. It would be too shocking to directly promote a resident to the position of hospital director.

But the jump from resident physician to vice president is also an astonishing three-level leap.

If it weren't for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity at Queens Hospital: the entire upper management was purged by the Buddha, the middle management was taken away for investigation, and the remaining people were either not qualified enough or had dirty hands.

Daniel won't even get close to that position for the next fifteen years.

Now he's actually become the vice dean!

A vice dean in his early thirties!

Dylan quickly adjusted his posture, lowered his guard, and picked up his glass again: "Congratulations, Dean Mason. I think we can discuss our cooperation further."

The price to bribe the vice president would naturally be much higher.

Daniel smiled and nodded, not in a hurry at all.

His status is now higher than Dylan's, and the dean will eventually be taken away by someone else, Lan, and it has nothing to do with Daniel.

Dylan was furious but couldn't find any responsibility for his actions.

Neither of them had any appetite left. They finished their meal quickly and returned to the hospital, their minds heavy with worry.

Upon reaching the top floor, the secretary suddenly stopped them: "The dean has called a meeting for everyone."

"What! A dean? There's already a dean?" Dylan's eyes widened.

"Yes, you're new here, waiting for you in the conference room."

A huge sense of disappointment welled up in Dylan's heart. He clenched his fist, his knuckles pressing several white marks into his palm.

That meticulously planned dinner, that hastily drafted expansion proposal, that sincere promise about retirement and succession—all the plans remained unchanged.

The dean has already decided; it's not him!

He glanced at Daniel, whose surprise didn't seem faked.

So he didn't know either.

Daniel is so lucky.

In this whole affair, the resident physician is the biggest winner, while Dylan Sterling didn't even come in second.

Daniel smiled and said, "It seems the situation has taken us by surprise."

The two entered the conference room.

A young man, who looked to be only thirty-four or thirty-five years old, was sitting in the main seat, not much older than Daniel.

He was wearing a dark gray turtleneck sweater and black trousers, but no white coat, no suit, and no name tag.

He was not one of the familiar faces sent by the main hospital to assist with the work.

He sat there, casually flipping through the documents on the table with one hand, his posture somewhere between relaxed and scrutinizing, like a majestic figure surveying his own territory.

The chief physicians of each department and the heads of each department took their seats one after another. Everyone looked at the new man and whispered among themselves.

"Alright, let me introduce myself," the young man said after everyone was seated.

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was crystal clear in the conference room: "My name is Eugene Jaeger, and I'm your new dean. I'm here to help you clean up this mess."

Before anyone could react, Daniel's expression changed slightly.

Eugene Jaeger!

He remembered the state attorney general's name was Corbin-Yager. He stared intently at Eugene; the resemblance to Corbin was striking!

Eugene continued, "In addition, Mr. Daniel Mason will serve as Vice Dean. This is a decision made by the Board of Directors."

"WTF!" Everyone looked at Daniel in shock.

Some people had long suspected that the plastic surgery department would fall into his hands, thinking that Daniel would at most become an attending physician and then a director in a few years. Unexpectedly, he jumped directly to the position of vice president!

That was a three-stage leap, from a resident doctor to sitting in the dean's office signing reimbursement forms!

Some people have waited for ten or twenty years at each of the intermediate levels and still haven't reached their goal!

Jeremy Hayes couldn't resist.

boom!

He slammed his hand on the table, his voice not loud but loud enough for everyone to hear: "He's the vice dean?!"

"This is a decision made by the hospital's board of directors," Eugene said coldly, his tone offering neither explanation nor reassurance. "If you're not satisfied, you can sit down and submit an application to the board later, or I'll teach you a lesson!"

Everyone looked at each other.

Envy and jealousy fermented simultaneously on both sides of the long table.

This resident doctor, who was arrested and released during the storm, and this young man who spent his days tinkering with liposuction procedures at a private clinic, is now their vice president!

He was only in his early thirties, and it only took him a few days to go from a resident doctor to the vice president. He actually climbed up by stepping on everyone else's corpses!

Eugene looked up and glanced at everyone: "There are still two vice-dean positions available. I will choose two from among those present. The specific selections will depend on everyone's performance. I also need time to assess everyone's abilities."

Dylan, Jeremy, and Harvey exchanged glances.

The dean is indeed gone.

They had no choice but to accept this reality.

But the vice dean is good too!

The new dean immediately recognized Fu as a second-generation member of some powerful family, someone who had been parachuted in to boost his political achievements.

I'm frustrated, but it's no use.

Jeremy slapped the table again, got up, and walked out of the meeting room.

Eugene watched his departing figure coldly, saying nothing: "Meeting adjourned. That's all."

Eugene's style is very decisive.

Daniel had just stood up when Eugene spoke again.

"Daniel, come to my office for a moment."

"OK."

Daniel took a deep breath and followed Eugene into the office under everyone's watchful eyes.

The door closed behind him.

Eugene sat behind his desk and didn't offer Daniel a seat.

He leaned back in his chair, looking very relaxed, as if he were chatting with a subordinate.

Then he spoke in a tone completely different from the others in the meeting room: "We're both young. Facing a bunch of seasoned veterans, I have to be a bit strict."

Daniel gave an awkward smile: "Yes."

Eugene Jaeger suddenly said, "No need to guess. Corbin Jaeger is my father."

Daniel's smile froze.

He hadn't expected the other person to be so honest, and all the clues in his mind instantly clicked together.

Why did Corbin-Yager launch such a massive investigation at Queens Hospital?

An investigation of this scale would offend not only people within the hospital, but also stakeholders throughout the healthcare system who receive profits from equipment procurement.

Those bigwigs are now enraged, and Corbyn is taking all the pressure.

In order to promote his son, create obstacles for him, and make room for him to demonstrate his abilities, Corbyn overthrew the entire senior management of Queens Hospital!

After sacrificing a meal of executives, he finally burned a dean's chair!

"You don't need to guess anymore." Eugene didn't give him time to process this nasty news, and threw an unnamed folder onto the table.

The first page contains the testimonies of eight people, all of whom say the same thing: Daniel Mason played a key role in the Queens hospital equipment resale case.

"You're able to stay here safely because you're young and Dr. Shepard recommended you." Eugene leaned back in his chair, giving him a look that showed he didn't take him seriously at all. "Otherwise, these statements would be enough for you to spend several Christmases in federal prison."

Daniel did not move.

He had considered many ways to start, but Eugene immediately tore away all pretense. It wasn't negotiation, it wasn't appeasement, it wasn't "Let's do something big together."

It was a forced takeover.

Eugene put Daniel's dirt on the table and told you that he could crush it anytime, but he wouldn't because he needed you to do the work.

Eugene retrieved another document.

Daphne's post-operative recovery file includes photos of her with a smooth and firm waist and abdomen, showing no signs of surgery.

"Daphne is a stunning girl. I know her." Eugene turned a page and lightly tapped the photograph with his finger. "The four-day recovery was perfect; your skills are outstanding."

Daniel watched the rich kid warily, wondering what he was up to.

"You'll be the vice president. Your most important task is to make plastic surgery the top department in New York." Eugene closed the file, crossed his hands on the table, and said in an unquestionable tone, "I know your clinical skills are outstanding. This is my core achievement for the next five years. I won't be here for long." Eugene paused, deliberately giving Daniel time to respond: "You know who I am. I'm here to prevent you from making a misjudgment."

He stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Daniel: "I know you've been practicing medicine outside. I don't care. But not anymore. Suppress those damn little thoughts and bring your skills back to Queens Hospital. I'm going to build a plastic surgery clinic here that's even better than Derson Precision."

Daniel had to admit that Eugene was ruthless and had a keen eye for talent.

Plastic surgery is safe, profitable, and affiliated with a public hospital, naturally possessing a level of public influence that private hospitals cannot match.

Anyone who wants to investigate a hospital's internal affairs should first consider the bureaucratic protective layer behind public hospitals.

Eugene turned around and looked at Daniel: "I'll dismantle Derson precisely and dig out the people inside."

Arrogant! Daniel scoffed at this.

He had absolutely no hope for the delusions of these rich kids.

Dr. Desen is accurate; Dr. Austin can earn three million dollars a year.

How could he possibly come to Queens Hospital to work for you?

With the fixed salary and performance bonuses of a public hospital, it's impossible to even reach three million.

"Don't worry about that little bit of money anymore. You won't make much anyway." Eugene seemed to see through his thoughts, waved his hand dismissively, and pointed to the dean's chair: "Come here. In five years, the dean's chair will be yours."

They've started making empty promises. Daniel scoffed.

Eugene’s tone was devoid of any sincerity, only a condescending contempt typical of elite children towards all those inferior to themselves.

He's not trying to win people over; he's trying to make you kneel down and act like a dog.

"Or, I can give this document to my father."

After saying that, he sat back down behind his desk, opened another document, and stopped looking at Daniel: "Alright, you can leave now. I hope you can give me a satisfactory answer as soon as possible."

There was no room for negotiation. There was no discussion. There was no option to refuse.

Eugene was just waiting for a "satisfactory answer".

Daniel walked out of the office and stood in the hallway, his face grave.

I originally thought that being promoted to vice dean would be a great start.

Now it seems like this is a huge problem!

Eugene has his eye on him. His goal is to build a top-notch department, and he can't even afford to resign.

Eugene isn't one to just threaten; if I'm gone for too long, he'll definitely send that damned confession to Corbin.

In reality, Corbyn may have known all along, but he suppressed everything to pave the way for his son.

Only then did Daniel understand why he had so easily escaped involvement in the equipment sales case.

It's because Eugene recognized his skill!

Eugene needs hands that can sculpt fat into works of art in the operating room.

Damn!

I simply don't have that skill. Daniel was completely numb.

He stood in the corridor, looking at the lights on the ceiling, his only chip being Richard.

Brother, help me!

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