Genius Kids' Scheme: Claiming Daddy's Billionaire Empire Chapter 200: When Will It Be Our Turn?

The elevator climbed to Luxury Vista's top floor, humming quietly as Irene's heart pounded. She rushed out as soon as the doors opened, gripping her medical bag tightly, with Adam and Thomas following close behind.

Something crashed inside the presidential suite at the hallway's end. Then silence. Then a thud that made Brandon flinch.

"She's here," he whispered to Henry, relief washing over his face.

Irene quickened her pace. "What happened?"

Brandon's fingers raked through his hair, leaving chaotic trails. "This morning—" A crash from inside cut him off. "Room was pitch black. He looked..." He swallowed hard. "Like death walking."

"Brandon," Irene pressed, eyes fixed on the door.

"I just tried to get him to eat something." Brandon's voice cracked. "He grabbed his head, started screaming, smashing it against the wall—" His breath caught. "After I called you, he started destroying everything. Henry couldn't hold him back."

Fear had stripped away Brandon's carefree mask. "What's happening to him? Is he—"

"Not until I see him," Irene said, already reaching for the handle.

The room went eerily quiet. Five people held their breath, waiting.

"I'm going in," Irene decided.

Adam's wheelchair slid between her and the door, his hand catching her wrist. "Wait." His voice was low, just for her. "Thomas first."

Their eyes met, a wordless argument passing between them before Irene stepped back slightly. Adam nodded to Thomas, who eased the door open.

A glass ashtray flew through the darkness, missing Thomas's head by inches. It exploded against the wall in a shower of glittering shards.

"GET OUT!" The voice from inside barely sounded human.

Adam's grip tightened imperceptibly on Irene's wrist. She found herself leaning closer to his shoulder, grateful now for his intervention.

Thomas vanished into the darkness. A scuffle, a thud, then: "Got him!"

Irene pulled free and rushed in, flipping switches as she went. Light flooded the room, revealing a hurricane's aftermath—glass glittering among splintered furniture, electronics gutted, curtains torn from rods.

Wesley thrashed beneath Thomas's grip, his skin ghostly against sheets spotted with blood. A deep gash on his forehead painted macabre trails down his hollow cheeks. His eyes—bloodshot, dilated, wild—locked onto Irene with an animal's terror.

"Henry, help hold him," she ordered, dropping beside the bed. Her bag opened with practiced flicks of her wrists.

Henry pinned Wesley's shoulders while Thomas secured his legs. Blood smeared across their hands.

Irene worked quickly, giving Wesley a shot in his neck and placing a small device near his temple. His fighting slowed, then stopped completely as he passed out.

She checked his pulse—racing and weak. When she looked at his eyes, her worried frown got deeper.

"Adam," she said without turning, "the silver box."

He found it instantly, placing it in her outstretched hand. Irene extracted a small pill.

"Under his tongue," she instructed Thomas. "This will buy us time, but that's all."

Ten minutes stretched like taffy before Wesley stirred. His eyes opened, clearer but haunted, scanning unfamiliar faces before finding Irene's.

"How long?" she asked simply.

Wesley's cracked lips curled. "Let go." The words rasped like sandpaper.

Thomas and Henry maintained their hold, muscles tense for another eruption.

"Still being stubborn?" Irene's voice sharpened. "I've seen five-year-olds with more sense. You want to die in agony? Door's right there." She paused, letting the words sink in. "But I'm not explaining to Joseph why we let his grandson destroy himself."

Something cracked in Wesley's expression—a hairline fracture in walls built over years.

"How'd you know?" he finally asked. A drop of blood formed on his cracked lip. "About the pain?"

"Nerve pain that's been ignored way too long." Her blunt words couldn't hide her concern. "Without help: you'll get worse attacks, lose control, hurt yourself more, and your mind will eventually give out." She locked eyes with him. "Keep going like this, and you won't see Christmas. So talk. How long has this been happening?"

Brandon moved closer. "When did it start, Wes? She can fix it. She's the best doctor anywhere."

Wesley let out a laugh that sounded more like glass breaking. "No point... saw doctors in... three countries. All said... can't be fixed."

"They were wrong," Irene stated, the certainty in her voice making Brandon's head snap up. "I can fix this. But you have to cooperate completely."

Wesley stared at the ceiling, something working behind his eyes.

"Please," Brandon whispered, all traces of the daredevil racer gone. "I can't lose you too." His voice broke on the last word.

The plea seemed to reach something buried deep. Wesley's eyes, empty for so long, flickered with the faintest spark.

"I..." The word came out strangled. He swallowed, tried again. "I want to live." His voice broke. "Help me."

Before Irene could answer, Wesley's body suddenly jerked and twisted. His back lifted off the bed, face frozen in a silent scream as the pain came back worse than before.

"Damn it!" Irene's hands moved fast, checking his breathing and heartbeat. "He's crashing. Thomas, get the car ready. We're taking him to my place now."

Her voice changed from doctor to boss in a heartbeat.

"His body can't handle much more of this. We need to start helping him right away or he might never recover."

Adam nodded his support, but something flickered across his face—there for a heartbeat, then carefully tucked away. Not quite disappointment, not quite resignation, but some complex middle ground.

His gaze followed Irene as she worked, issuing orders that Thomas and Henry jumped to follow. Her entire being radiated focus—that singular intensity that made her exceptional at saving lives.

Her attention—already split between her three kids, Sterling family problems, fixing Brandon's leg, and helping Adam walk again—would now include saving Wesley's life. Just when Adam had finally stood on his own for the first time, just when he'd started hoping for something more with her, life threw another curveball.

Adam watched her steady Wesley's shaking body. He knew the stab of jealousy he felt wasn't fair. He had no right to claim her time or her amazing talents.

But as everyone rushed around Wesley, Adam couldn't silence the question in his heart: *When will it be our turn?*