Genius Kids' Scheme: Claiming Daddy's Billionaire Empire Chapter 195

Irene walked through the hospital hallway, thinking about Brandon's next steps. Today they'd remove his cast, but the crash damage went deeper than anyone could see.

If the bones hadn't healed right, they'd need another surgery. Even with perfect bones, fixing the nerve damage would take months. The triplets had stayed home with Adam for his morning exercise routine, giving her time to focus completely on this case.

She pushed the door open, eyes landing first on Brandon in his bed, then on Nathan standing nearby. A third figure by the window caught her off guard—a stranger standing with his back to the light.

He wasn't particularly old, but something about him felt ancient. Long hair framed a face that might have been handsome if not for the hollow cheeks and shadows beneath his eyes.

He stood like someone who'd perfected the art of being invisible—present but somehow not quite there.

The family resemblance clicked immediately. This had to be Wesley, the wandering artist brother she'd heard about but never met.

Irene nodded briefly, keeping her greeting nonverbal. These "brothers" were still strangers, shared blood or not.

She moved to Brandon's bedside and began examining his leg while feeling Wesley's eyes track her movements, assessing but emotionally flat.

"If you guys need to talk, it'll have to wait," she said without looking up. "We've got tests to run."

Brandon's face brightened instantly. "Fine by me!" The relief in his voice made it clear that escaping the room's tension was a welcome bonus.

The examination room glowed with strengthening sunlight as noon approached. Irene focused on the monitor, fingers dancing across controls with practiced ease. She tracked each reading herself, making notes as Brandon's leg responded.

"Whoa," he murmured as current pulsed through his damaged leg. "Feels like lightning bugs got trapped under my skin."

"That's the treatment finding where the damage is," Irene replied, eyes locked on the changing numbers. "Try not to move—I need to get good readings here."

As tests progressed, Brandon filled the silence with stories of his racing days and the crash that landed him here. Rain-slicked tracks, the millisecond he knew the car was gone, the sound of impact that he swore echoed for minutes afterward.

Meanwhile, Nathan and Wesley waited in awkward silence, worlds apart despite sitting in the same small room.

When Brandon returned, wheeled in by a nurse as afternoon sun slanted low, both brothers jumped to help him settle—their only synchronized moment all day.

Irene followed with the test results, looking quietly satisfied. "Good news. Your bones have healed enough to skip another surgery, but we need to start the electric stimulation treatment right away."

She looked straight at Brandon. "You've got a long road ahead. Standing again? Totally possible. Racing again? At least two years, if I'm being honest."

Where others might have deflated, Brandon lit up like someone had flipped a switch. "Two years? That's nothing! Just being able to stand—hell, I was told I might never walk again!"

He beamed at Irene with uncomplicated joy. "My genius sister pulled it off! The best damn doctor on the planet!"

Nathan's mouth quirked upward, and even Wesley's perpetual gloom seemed to lift by a degree.

Irene rolled her eyes, failing to hide her smile. "Save the sweet talk for your next girlfriend. Might actually work there."

Brandon laughed, the sound filling the sterile room. "Just facts! Henry dragged me to specialists across three countries who all said the same thing—permanent damage. You looked at it once and found a solution. That's next-level talent, sis."

His sunshine energy made Wesley's dark corner seem even more shadowed by comparison—one brother radiated light while the other absorbed it.

"If today's readings hold," Irene said, shifting to practical matters, "we can discharge you. I'll come by daily for treatments."

Brandon's eyes sparked with sudden inspiration. "Hey—isn't your place in Emerald Garden crazy spacious? Joseph mentioned it has plenty of room."

He leaned forward, transparently eager. "What if I stayed with you? Saves you the commute, plus I get quality time with the kids! They love their Uncle Brandon, right?"

Nathan frowned, lines deepening between his eyebrows. "We have your room ready at home..."

Brandon shot him a look that could've wilted plants. *Seriously?* his expression said. *Read the room, big brother.*

Irene glanced between them, the suggestion hanging awkwardly. Her? At the Sterling house? Daily?

Nathan caught their matched expressions and finally understood. His words died somewhere between brain and tongue.

"I am *not* going back to that house," Brandon clarified, voice suddenly firm. "I want to hang with my nieces and nephew!"

He turned puppy-dog eyes on Irene. "Those kids are something else. And they actually like me!"

Irene's brow furrowed slightly, weighing the request.

"Plus," Brandon pressed his advantage, "Joseph's already staying there. You want the old man driving all over town every day to check on me?"

Irene's shoulders dropped in surrender. "You've got an answer for everything." She paused, then nodded once. "Fine. But my place isn't a charity. Room and board—you pay on time or you're out."

Brandon pumped his fist in victory, looking like he'd just won the championship race. "Done! You won't regret it!"

Wesley watched this exchange from his corner, something complicated passing behind his eyes. Family warmth seemed to reach him through glass—visible but untouchable.

He turned toward the door, voice barely audible. "Glad it worked out. I should go."

This was Irene's first time hearing Wesley speak—his voice sounded unused, like an instrument left in storage too long.

Brandon sighed dramatically. "Seriously? This again? You just got here! Every family thing that happens, you're a ghost. Do we even register as relatives to you?"

Wesley's hand froze on the half-open door. His breathing changed, becoming uneven and shallow. Without turning, he answered, "Of course you do."

"Then act like it," Nathan added, exasperation breaking through his usually controlled tone. "Brandon has an excuse for not coming home. What's yours?"

Wesley's hand fell from the door. His breathing grew more labored, and when he turned, the raw emotion in his usually dead eyes made everyone flinch.

"I said *no*." Each word carried ice but also trembled with something dangerous beneath.

The room went still. Brandon and Nathan exchanged startled glances. Neither knew how to handle this version of their brother who seemed one wrong word away from shattering.

Irene stood quietly and moved toward Wesley. From her coat pocket, she pulled out a small pill bottle and placed it in his pale hand with the casual ease of someone who knows exactly what's needed.

"Take one when you can't sleep," she said softly, noticing his wide pupils and shaky fingers. "I made sure it's the right strength for you."

She didn't elaborate further, just patted his arm gently before slipping past him into the hallway.

Wesley stood frozen, the unexpected warmth of the bottle seeping into his cold palm. Confusion, disbelief, and something dangerously close to hope crossed his face in rapid succession.

How had she known? How had she spotted in minutes what his family had missed for years? And why would she help him—a brother in name only?

The pills rattled as his hand shook. For the first time in years, Wesley felt a tiny crack form in the walls he'd built around himself. Someone had finally seen him.