Genius Kids' Scheme: Claiming Daddy's Billionaire Empire Chapter 238

It was barely daylight when Irene's house came alive with excited footsteps. For once, she didn't have to drag anyone out of bed.

"Mom! This headband or the bow?" Lily twirled her options in front of the mirror, hair flying.

Alex stood nearby, meticulously straightening his collar. His face screamed calm, but his fidgety fingers betrayed him.

"Are we late? Did I miss breakfast? Will there be famous artists?" Lucas zoomed into the kitchen, words tumbling out between breaths.

Irene poured herself coffee, knowing she'd need the caffeine. "Breathe, wild thing. Nobody's getting famous on an empty stomach."

"Oh crap!" Lucas gasped as milk splashed across his shirt, making a huge wet stain. "My lucky shirt!"

"Language," Irene said automatically, setting down her mug. "Come on, fashion disaster. Let's find you something less... milky."

Upstairs, helping Lucas change, Irene caught her reflection. The bruises had faded to yellow smudges, but sometimes she still felt phantom hands grabbing her in that dingy apartment. She shook it off. Today belonged to her kids, not her nightmares.

She ran her fingers over the careful packaging of their artwork. Each piece showed exactly who they were—Lily's colorful feelings splashed across the page, Alex's perfectly balanced designs, and Lucas's wild but brilliant ideas captured on paper.

The doorbell's chime triggered what sounded like a herd of elephants racing for the door.

"Uncle Adam!" Three voices crashed together in a perfect storm of excitement.

Adam waited at the bottom of the porch steps, wheelchair positioned with military precision. Thomas stood by the car, face professionally blank as always. But Adam—Adam was smiling. Not his boardroom smile that never reached his eyes, but something real that transformed his face.

"Ready to blow everyone's minds?" he asked, voice lacking its usual edge.

"First place is mine!" Lucas pumped his fist, nearly smacking Alex.

"I just want to see all the other art," Lily said sweetly, bouncing on her toes like she had springs in her shoes.

Alex, ever the observer, studied Adam. "Are you nervous for us, Uncle Adam?"

Adam's eyebrow ticked up—caught. "With you three? No chance." His eyes found Irene's over the kids' heads, something warm and electric passing between them.

The exhibition hall was packed and noisy. Kids in fancy private school uniforms and parents in expensive clothes were everywhere. People stopped talking when Irene walked in with her three kids, Adam wheeling in behind them.

"Those triplets are gorgeous," a woman stage-whispered. "Like little celebrities!"

Lucas, never missing a beat, flashed his million-dollar smile. "Thanks, pretty lady! My mom's beautiful, right? You're super pretty too!" He fired off a wink that belonged in a 1950s sitcom.

Irene bit back a laugh, squeezing his shoulder. "Thanks," she murmured to the woman, feeling Adam's presence behind her like a warm shadow.

At the registration desk, they collected name tags with the efficiency of a bank heist.

"You'll rock this," Irene told the kids as they prepared to set up. Alex squared his shoulders like a tiny businessman, Lucas practically vibrated with excitement, and Lily smoothed her dress for the twentieth time.

"We'll be right out here," Irene promised, watching them disappear into the exhibition hall.

She and Adam claimed seats in the waiting area, surrounded by the quiet buzz of parental anxiety.

"Nervous?" Adam asked, studying her face.

Irene leaned back, surprisingly chill. "For what? I'm not here for trophies. Dr. Jonathan was right—this stuff builds character. Way more valuable than some plastic medal."

Adam nodded, though his eyes never left her face, completely ignoring the stage where the MC was testing the mic.

Private school cliques huddled together, occasionally shooting curious glances at Irene and Adam. A woman wearing tons of jewelry sat beside them, talking so loudly everyone could hear.

"Oliver's composition is simply extraordinary," gushed one of her admirers. "Gold prize has his name all over it."

The jewelry woman—Mrs. Lancaster, according to her enormous name tag—arranged her face into what she probably thought was modesty. "Well, the competition is... varied. My Oliver barely takes painting seriously—three, maybe four hours of lessons weekly." She sighed dramatically. "I keep telling him to practice fundamentals, but he'd rather visit galleries. If he places today, I might finally sleep at night."

Another parent glanced toward the exhibition area. "Those three adorable children have pretty creative pieces. Dark horses, maybe?"

Mrs. Lancaster's face pinched up like she'd tasted something sour. "This is about artistic merit, not a cuteness pageant. Pretty faces don't make pretty paintings."

Irene's lips twitched at the thinly veiled insult. Adam, however, shot Mrs. Lancaster a look cold enough to flash-freeze hell.

An hour after judging ended, the audience hushed as the host returned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our judges have reached their decisions." He paused for drama. "Bronze goes to... Lucas Sterling, for 'The Financial World Through a Child's Eyes.'"

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Mrs. Lancaster's smile froze in place.

"Silver goes to... Alex Sterling, for 'Patterns of Thought.'"

Mrs. Lancaster's program crumpled in her grip.

"And our gold winner... Lily Sterling, for 'What Mozart Sounds Like'!"

The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop before people slowly started clapping. Irene's face remained neutral, but her tapping fingers betrayed her pride. Mrs. Lancaster looked like she'd swallowed a wasp.

"Should we collect our champions?" Irene asked, chest tight with unexpressed emotion.

"Wouldn't miss their faces," Adam replied, something soft in his eyes that made Irene's heart stutter.

They'd barely made it halfway to the backstage area when they heard it—the unmistakable sound of entitlement in full meltdown.

"Get your supervisor NOW!" Mrs. Lancaster's voice could have shattered glass. "This whole thing is rigged! My son attends Montgomery Art Academy—THE premier youth arts program five years running!"

Pushing through the crowd of onlookers, Irene found her kids backed against a wall, medals clutched in white-knuckled hands. Mrs. Lancaster loomed over them, face twisted ugly with rage.

"These CHILDREN?" she spat, gesturing wildly. "They can't possibly understand composition! How did they sweep all three prizes? You little CHEATERS!"

Alex stood super straight in front of his siblings, calm but unyielding beyond his years. Lily clutched his shirt with tears pooling, while Lucas's tiny fists clenched, ready to throw down despite being half the woman's size.

"That's enough." Irene's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. She stepped between the woman and her kids while Adam positioned his wheelchair as a physical barrier, his knuckles bleached white against the armrests.

"This is an art exhibition, not a tantrum competition," Irene said, voice dangerously even. "If you're throwing around accusations, you better have more than hurt feelings to back them up."

"My son is ACCOMPLISHED!" Mrs. Lancaster hissed. "Regional and state awards! This little exhibition should have been nothing! You MUST have connections!"

"Without proof, you're just a sore loser throwing around accusations—which, by the way, can cost you big in court," Irene shot back, heat rising in her voice.

Mrs. Lancaster faltered but didn't retreat. The crowd had swelled, phones discreetly recording the drama.

"Montgomery!" Mrs. Lancaster suddenly shouted, spotting a distinguished man hovering at the edge. "Mr. Montgomery, come explain this travesty! This is THE renowned art educator who personally trains my son!"

The man approached reluctantly, wincing at the spectacle.

"Mr. Montgomery?" Adam didn't raise his voice, but everyone stopped to listen. "I must be behind the times. Never heard of him."

He continued, casual as discussing weather. "Haven Enterprise dropped five million on the Children's Arts Foundation last year. I think I know who's actually supporting arts education in this city."

Mrs. Lancaster's face drained of color as realization hit. "Oh my God," she whispered to her neighbor. "That's Adam Haven..."