Chapter 166
Chapter 166
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Lyra leaned back with a smirk curling her lips. “Well, Uncle Raymond, I’m not sure you resemble anything in particular… but I trust Alex’s opinion on the matter.”
Raymond snorted so hard it nearly rattled the phone line. “uh! I have no idea how that tiny fraud managed to brainwash you. What’s his secret?”
She shrugged with practiced indifference.
“Beats me. Maybe it was just meant to be. Anyway, the clock is ticking. You’ve got half a day left before our bet closes. If you’re still as healthy as an ox by sunset, I’ll hand over the goods I promised. But I hope you’ve set aside your ‘payment‘ for the cure if–and when–you need it.”
Raymond’s voice turned coarse. “Payment? You’re not talking about those rare herbs from my vault, are you?”
Lyra’s eyes rolled skyward as if she couldn’t believe his stupidity.
“Don’t get confused, Uncle. The bet is simple: I wager my entire herb plantation; you wager that precious stash of yours. That’s separate from any cure you might suddenly find yourself begging for.”
Raymond burst out laughing, the sound harsh and biting. “Oh, you think you’ll make a quick buck off me? Fine, let’s entertain your nonsense. If I do end up poisoned–and that’s a pretty big ‘if‘–what’s your asking price?”
Lyra’s smirk grew predatory. “I hear you own Cheval Blanc, the biggest fancy hotel and restaurant in all of Vancouver. Let’s have that.”
Raymond scoffed, though there was a nervous edge to it. “My Cheval Blanc Hotel? Aren’t you ambitious!” 1 “Go big or go home, right? Shoot for the stars, and if you fail, at least you land on the moon,” Lyra quipped. He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Sure, sure. But don’t come crying to me when you lose your precious herb plantation. I’m guessing you’ve already prepared the contract?”
Lyra let out a quiet chuckle. “All drawn up and ready. Just waiting for your signature later today. And I hope you’ve done the same–wouldn’t want you to keel over before you transfer Cheval Blanc to Alex, right? Could be messy finalizing that paperwork after you drop dead.”
“Funny,” Raymond said through clenched teeth. “Laugh all you want. In half a day, I’ll prove that your little miracle worker is nothing but a worthless con artist!” He ended the call with a slam.
Still fueled by his own amusement, Raymond dialed another number right away.
“Hey, Joe Thompson, it’s your old pal. Get that plantation contract ready. Because by tonight, it’s going straight into my pocket.”
Joe chuckled on the other end. “No worries, old friend. My daughter’s got the papers all set. One signature from you, and it’s done.”
Raymond poured himself his usual supplement tea, rolling his eyes. “I don’t get it, Joe. Your daughter’s brilliant, but she still sticks by that puny swindler. What on earth does she see in him?”
Joe just laughed. “It’s called love, my friend,”
“Love? Spare me.” Raymond snorted, then paused. “By the way, Joe, your daughter says she wants my hotel. You really think I’m handing that over?”
“You will,” Joe said.
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“Old Pal Joe, ever since you got outplayed by Kingston, you’ve been getting sloppy,” Raymond teased.
‘Shoppy? Don’t push your luck.” Joe barked a short, humorless laugh.
Raymond tossed back his tea–only to freeze when a stabbing jolt shot through his chest like someone driving a spike into his rib cage.
At first, he tried to ignore it, but the pain swelled, gouging deeper and deeper until he was gasping
He crumpled to the floor, eyes wide and sweat pouring down his face as if he’d just run a marathon in a desert. It felt like a twisted blade was burrowing into his heart.
“T–Tony!” he croaked, calling for his bodyguard, face contorted in agony,
“Could that damn kid actually have been right?” Raymond seethed through gritted teeth, clutching his chest. As his vision blurred, he saw Tony rushing over.
“What’s going on, sir?” Tony asked, alarmed.
Raymond’s voice came out as a ragged wheeze. “Hospital! Now!”
Within minutes, they scrambled for the helicopter, heading to the best facility in Vancouver.
Raymond’s mind spun with a hundred thoughts as he writhed in pain.
This can’t be a poison. Maybe bad food. Why the hell would sign away my hotel just to get some second–rate quack to treat me?
When they landed on the hospital’s helipad, Tony practically dragged him through the doors, shouting at staff like a madman.
A flurry of tests followed, but the conclusion was as humiliating as it was baffling: Raymond was, in the doctors‘ words, “absolutely fine.”
The doctor looked at him uncertainly. “Are you sure you’re in pain, sir?”
Raymond’s fury erupted in a raspy snarl. “You think I’m faking this? My chest is on fire! Why in hell would I make this up?”
The doctor stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “We… we can’t find anything wrong. You might want a second opinion elsewhere.”
“Worthless amateurs!” Raymond spat, storming out.
He tore across town to two more hospitals, but each time, it was the same conclusion: perfectly healthy, with no explanation for the searing pain.
They only gave him a painkiller, but it was ineffective.
“How the hell can they all be clueless?” Raymond hissed, sweat soaking through his shirt as the relentless agony twisted in his chest.
He prided himself on decades of healthy living, but this pain was impossible to endure.
His vision blurred again, and he feared he’d lose his grip on reality if it didn’t stop soon.
Desperate, his bodyguards huddled around, hands trembling with indecision. “Sir, the hospitals can’t figure it out … what do we do?”
Raymond’s lips curled back in a snarl, blood pounding in his ears. “Damn it… that rascal… maybe he really is the
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only one who can fix this.‘
He snatched his phone and punched in Lyra’s number.
When she answered, her voice was maddeningly calm. “Yes Uncle Raymond?”
He could barely choke out the words. “Lyra! My chest… it’s killing me. Get that conniving brat over here right now!”
She took her time responding, as if his agony was pure entertainment. “Uncle Raymond, it looks like Alex was spot–on after all. He said you’d be down for the count within the week. Doesn’t seem very fair to keep calling him a swindler, does it?”
Raymond clenched his jaw so hard, he thought his teeth might crack. “Fine! I was wrong–he’s not a swindler. Just get him here, to Vancouver’s First Hospital!”
Lyra’s tone was smooth and icy. “So, about that payment… You know, the paperwork for transferring Cheval Blanc?”
“Damn it, why would I hand over a hotel and restaurant worth a hundred million just to fix one person?”
Her laugh was downright cruel. “Suit yourself. We’re not forcing your hand.”
Raymond let out a ragged breath. “I’ll find another doctor then. We’ll see about your boy’s so–called miracle.” “Sure,” Lyra said sweetly. “Best of luck. Call us before you die, though–you can’t exactly bring your hotel and restaurant to the afterlife, can you?”
