Genius Kids' Scheme Claiming Daddy's Billionaire Empire novel Chapter 173

Chapter 173

Irene pushed through the hospital doors before sunrise, yesterday’s caffeine buzz long gone. She’d been up since five, one last desperate attempt to make sense of those brain images that had other doctors running for the hills.

Matthew waited in the office, coffee ready and scans spread across the desk like crime scene photos. His face lit up when he spotted her.

“Morning, rock star,” he said, sliding a cup her way. “Black, two sugars.”

She grabbed it gratefully and gulped down a mouthful. “Lifesaver.”

Without wasting time on small talk, she zeroed in on the brain scan tracing the shadowy mass with her fingertip. A man’s life hung in the balance–pleasantries could wait.

“This border here,” she said, tapping where tumor kissed healthy tissue. “Talk me through it.”

Matthew leaned in close. “That’s our danger zone. Go too deep, and he loses speech forever. Too shallow, and we’re back in six month doing this all over again.”

Irene fell quiet, studying the image like it held secrets only she could see. Her finger traced a narrow, winding path between vital

structures.

“We go in here,” she said finally. “See this tiny corridor? Less blood vessels to fight through, and the speech center stays untouched.

He stared at the spot, then at her. “Damn. Everyone wanted to bulldoze through here instead.” He tapped the standard approach. “Your way is…” He shook his head. “How did I miss that?”

“You weren’t desperate enough,” she replied with a hint of a smile. Does wonders for creativity.”

The next three hours vanished as they mapped every step, troubleshooting problems before they had a chance to happen. The outside world faded completely. No kids, no Adam, no family drama just two surgeons tackling an impossible puzzle.

During a quick coffee break, Matthew watched her scribbling notes. I’ve shown these scans to surgeons on four continents. Not one saw the path you just found.”

Irene shrugged. “Different eyes, different perspective.”

“No way,” he said firmly but kindly. “It’s more than that. You see solutions where everyone else hits a brick wall. Something deeper flickered across his face. “That’s why I knew you were the only one I could call.”

Before she could respond, a nurse poked her head in. “Pre–op’s ready whenever you are.”

Time to get to work.

The next day, Irene stood perfectly still in the operating room, that familiar tunnel vision settling in. Monitors beeped steadily around her as she stared down at the exposed brain of a father with three young kids.

“Scalpel,” she said, voice clear despite running on fumes after barely sleeping.

The cool metal pressed into her palm. She made the first cut, hands rock–steady.

“Starting initial approach, 14:23,” she announced.

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Chapter 173

The next seven hours passed a blur of intense focus. Every move lculated, every decision weighed instantly. Sweat beaded on her temples, but she never no iced. Her world shrank to just the microscopic field in front of her.

“Bleeder at the back edge,” Matthew murmured from across the table

‘I see it. Suction.”

They moved in perfect harmony, reading each other’s minds. When she needed something, it appeared in her hand before she asked. When a vessel surprised them, his quick reaction bought her crucial seconds to adjust.

“Vitals holding steady. BP 112/70,” a nurse called out.

Six hours in, they hit the most critical phase–the hair–thin boundary between tumor and healthy tissue. The room went silent except for the steady beep of monitors.

Her hands remained impossibly steady despite her arms and back screaming in protest. One slip, one tiny tremor, and their patient would wake up unable to speak or understand language.

“Almost there,” she whispered.

Matthew leaned in, breath held. “Perfect,” he murmured as she teased the final tendrils of tumor away from healthy brain.

“Absolutely perfect.”

When she finally stepped back, her scrubs clung to her body, soaked through. Every muscle quivered with exhaustion.

“Procedure complete, 21:47,” she announced. “Close up standard.”

No high–fives, no celebration–just the quiet satisfaction of pulling off the impossible. A patient who’d been sent home to die now had a fighting chance.

Irene collapsed into her office chair, yanking off her surgical cap with trembling hands. Sweat had plastered her hair to her face and neck. Her legs ached like she’d run a marathon.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling the adrenaline that had kept her going finally draining away. Her fingers–normally so precise–showed angry red marks where instruments had dug into them for hours. Simply opening and closing her hands sent pain shooting through her knuckles.

A soft knock, and Matthew appeared with two steaming cups. “Thought you might need this more than oxygen right now.”

Irene grabbed the cup and downed half in one go, throat burning. “Thanks,” she rasped.

He settled against her desk, watching her with undisguised admiration. “That was… I don’t even have words. No one else could have pulled that off.

The location, the complexity, the razor–thin margins–every element had been a surgeon’s worst nightmare. Yet she’d navigated it with a grace that made it look almost routine.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he offered. “After that miracle, you deserve a proper celebration.”

Irene shook her head, barely able to contemplate standing up. “Rain check. My legs have basically gone on strike.”

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