Wheel of Time: The Heir who isn't Useless

Chapter 3: The Golden Finger Fully Revealed

Lyon POV

"He is flatlining! Clear the bay right now!"

The emergency alarm shrieked through the glass doors of the Central University Hospital trauma wing.

Lyon did not flinch as four nurses pushed a gurney past his wheelchair. The rubber tires of his chair remained pinned against the wall of the crowded observation gallery. His hands rested on his knees, palms flat, his long fingers completely still.

"Who let this crippled student into the trauma hallway?" Dr. Paul yelled, waving a bloody clipboard toward the back doors. "Security! Get this spectator out of here! Master Lawrence is dying!"

Lawrence, the patriarch of Lawrence Global and the largest benefactor of the university medical school, lay on the gurney. His chest rose in ragged, violent spasms. Blood bubbled from his mouth, dark and arterial, splashing onto the white floor.

"Surgical airway failed," a junior resident screamed, holding a bent laryngoscope with shaking hands. "The neck tumor has crushed the trachea! We cannot intubate! SpO2 is dropping through forty!"

"Perform a cricothyroidotomy!" Dr. Paul barked, his face pale under the surgical lights. "Hand me the scalpels! Hurry!"

"The massive vascular malformation covers the entire anterior neck!" the resident sobbed, stumbling backward. "If you cut through the throat, he bleeds out in thirty seconds!"

Lyon's eyes narrowed. His neurodivergent focus locked onto Lawrence's neck. The anatomical grid inside his mind instantly reconstructed the patient's vascular mapping. The jugular vein was displaced three centimeters to the left. The carotid artery was pinched beneath the tumor's lower margin.

"You are going to kill him," Lyon said.

His voice was not loud, but the flat, emotionless frequency cut straight through the alarm sirens and the shouting staff.

Dr. Paul turned, his eyes wide with anger. "What did you say, you crippled trash? You are a third-year drop-out! How dare you speak inside my trauma center?"

"If your scalpel penetrates the skin at the midline, you puncture the anterior thyroid vein," Lyon stated, his gaze fixed on Lawrence's blue lips. "He has eight seconds of oxygenation remaining in his brain tissue. His pulse is forty. At thirty, his myocardium stops."

"Get him out!" Dr. Paul roared at the two security guards standing by the double doors. "Throw him into the street!"

"Look at the monitor," Lyon said flatly, ignoring the guards stepping toward him. "V-fib in three... two... one."

The heart monitor let out a continuous, high-pitched scream. The digital wave flattened into erratic, chaotic squiggles.

"Defibrillator!" Dr. Paul screamed, grabbing the paddle cords. "Charge to two hundred!"

"Defibrillation will cause cardiac rupture due to his underlying aortic aneurysm," Lyon said. He unlocked his wheels and pushed forward. The metal footrests slammed into Dr. Paul's knee, knocking the senior surgeon two steps backward. "Move."

"You crazy retard!" Dr. Paul yelled, reaching for Lyon's shoulder. "Touch that body and I will have you jailed for murder!"

Lancelot stepped silently out of the shadow of the doorway. His massive hand caught Dr. Paul's wrist, twisting it downward with a quiet, sickening crunch. Dr. Paul dropped to his knees, howling in agony.

"The Young Master is speaking," Lancelot growled, his body blocking the security guards like an iron wall. "Silence."

Lyon didn't look at Dr. Paul. He pulled a heavy seventeen-gauge spinal needle and a small plastic suction catheter from the emergency tray beside the bed.

"No sterile gloves?" the junior resident gasped, trembling against the wall. "You cannot do a needle tracheostomy with a lumbar puncture kit!"

"The subcricoid membrane is compressed," Lyon said. His hands moved with terrifying, machine-like speed. He did not look at the skin. His fingers felt the precise anatomical landmark through the swollen tissue in zero point two seconds. "The angle of entry must be thirty-five degrees off the lateral margin."

He drove the thick needle through the neck muscle.

A sharp, wet hiss echoed in the quiet room as trapped air burst out through the metal shaft. Lyon immediately inserted the plastic catheter through the needle lumen, attaching a standard three-milliliter syringe casing to the end to act as an emergency valve.

[Camera Cut: Dr. Paul stared from the floor in total shock, his jaw hanging open as the blue hue on Master Lawrence's face vanished instantly, replaced by a surge of healthy red blood flow.]

Lawrence gasped violently, his chest expanding as oxygen flooded his lungs. The continuous tone on the monitor broke. A strong, steady sinus rhythm flashed across the digital screen.

Pulse: sixty-four. SpO2: ninety-eight percent.

"He... he restored ventilation with a lumbar needle?" the junior resident whispered, falling back against the cabinet. "Without a surgical incision?"

The heavy double doors of the observation gallery slammed open.

Dr. Jessica, the chief of trauma and the youngest female professor at the Central Research Hospital, rushed into the bay with three senior department heads behind her. She took one look at the monitor, then looked down at the improvised catheter locked perfectly inside the deep cervical fascia.

"Who performed this central line access?" Jessica demanded, her sharp eyes scanning the room.

"It was him!" Dr. Paul yelled from the floor, holding his sprained wrist. "Dr. Jessica, arrest this man! He is a crippled Darlington parasite who trespassed into our ICU! He operated without a license!"

Jessica walked straight up to Lyon's wheelchair. She leaned down, her eyes inspecting the micro-angle of the inserted needle. Her breath hitched.

"This is the Blackwood double-bypass technique," Jessica whispered, her hands shaking slightly as she looked into Lyon's expressionless face. "It was published in the Royal Surgical Journal six months ago under a classified research handle. Only three people in the world know how to calculate the lateral trajectory."

Lyon adjusted his cuff. "The patient requires a definitive vascular resection within four hours. Do not let Dr. Paul touch the scalpel."

"Who are you?" Jessica asked, her voice filled with intense, burning curiosity as she blocked Dr. Paul from moving forward. "You are not a student."

"I am nobody," Lyon said quietly. He pulled his wheel rims back, turning his chair toward the exit. "Master Lawrence's family will receive my bill tomorrow morning."

[Camera Cut: Inside the VIP lounge upstairs, Lawrence's chief secretary bowed ninety degrees as Lyon rolled past the glass doors, holding an open satellite phone showing a pre-cleared wire transfer authorization.]

While the medical staff stood frozen in the hallway, Lyon pushed his wheelchair through the sliding glass doors into the main hospital lobby.

The central television monitors mounted on the lobby columns were playing a live press conference from the Darlington Group headquarters.

Dean Darlington stood behind a podium covered in golden microphones. Nathaniel sat to his right, wearing a grey designer suit, holding hands with Jennifer. Connie and Lydia were smiling brightly in the front row, holding glasses of champagne.

"Today marks a new era for the Darlington family!" Dean announced loudly into the camera, his voice dripping with supreme pride. "My true son, Nathaniel, has successfully assumed the position of Executive Vice President! Under his brilliant leadership, we have severed all ties with the dead weight that dragged our family down for decades!"

The reporters cheered, camera flashes lighting up the room.

"Mr. Darlington!" a journalist shouted from the crowd. "What about the rumor that your former adopted son, Lyon, was the one who managed the family's logistics accounts?"

Dean burst into a harsh, contemptuous laugh. "Lyon? That wheelchair-bound cripple? He was a parasite! He ate our food and did nothing! Nathaniel has already overhauled our entire financial structure in less than twelve hours!"

Nathaniel stepped up to the microphone, smiling modestly for the cameras. "It is true. My adopted brother was limited by his physical and mental condition. I have already authorized the complete closure of his old sub-accounts to clear our books."

Suddenly, a loud, panicked commotion broke out at the back of the press conference hall.

A man in an expensive suit pushed through the security guards, his tie loose, his face dripping with cold sweat. It was Daniel, the senior financial director of the Darlington Group.

"Mr. Darlington!" Daniel screamed into the live microphones, dropping a stack of red audit notices onto the podium. "Stop the broadcast! Stop it right now!"

Dean's smile stiffened. "Daniel? What are you doing? We are live on national television!"

"The grand debt note!" Daniel sobbed, his voice echoing through the speakers across the city. "The eighty-million-dollar construction loan from the Royal Commercial Bank! It was due at noon today!"

"What are you talking about?" Dean snapped, his eyes flashing with anger. "That loan was rolled over last year for a five-year extension!"

"It wasn't rolled over!" Daniel yelled, pointing a shaking finger at Nathaniel. "The extension was backed by a personal credit guarantee signed under the alias 'L. Blackwood'! When Nathaniel closed Lyon's sub-accounts ten minutes ago, the system flagged it as an illegal contract breach! The bank just triggered an immediate total recall!"

The entire press hall fell into dead silence.

[Camera Cut: Nathaniel's face turned instantly ashen, his hands trembling so hard he dropped his glass of champagne onto the stage floor, shattering it into a hundred pieces.]

"A recall?" Esther gasped from the front row, her face turning pale. "How can they recall eighty million dollars? We don't have that much liquid cash!"

"They didn't just recall the debt," Daniel wept, holding up his tablet screen for the cameras to see. "Because we defaulted on the primary note, the bank has seized our main supply warehouse in the northern district! The Lin Group supply contract is completely void!"

In the hospital lobby, Lyon watched the screen with cold, unblinking eyes.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.

A text message from an unknown encrypted number appeared on the screen:

“Master Blackwood, the Darlington Group's primary debt note has been fully transferred to your private holding account. You now own sixty percent of their commercial assets. Would you like us to enforce immediate asset liquidation?”

Lyon typed a single word in reply:

“Wait.”

He placed the phone back in his pocket and turned his wheelchair toward the private elevator bay.

Lancelot walked behind him, holding a dark leather folder. "Young Master, Kelly's father is waiting in the VIP reception room down the hall. He has been begging to see the regional director of L. Blackwood Medical for three hours. He brought Kelly with him."

Lyon stopped his wheelchair outside the double doors of the private reception suite.

Through the frosted glass, he could see Kelly sitting on the leather sofa, wearing a tight white dress, applying lipstick while looking at her phone. Her father, Mr. Vance, was pacing back and forth, holding a thick contract file.

"He wants to sign the exclusive distribution agreement for the new surgical gel," Lancelot whispered. "He put his entire house and family factory up as collateral to secure the initial deposit."

Lyon clicked his wheel locks into place. "Open the door."

Lancelot pushed the door open.

Mr. Vance immediately spun around, a broad smile on his face. "Director Blackwood? Is that—"

His voice cut off instantly.

Kelly dropped her lipstick onto the floor. Her eyes widened in absolute shock as she stared at the man sitting in the wheelchair.

"Lucas?" Kelly shrieked, her voice high and full of disgust. "What are you doing here? How did you get into the L. Blackwood private suite?"

Mr. Vance's face turned bright red with rage. "You? The Darlington trash? Get out of here right now! I am waiting for the regional director of a twelve-billion-dollar medical empire! If you ruin this meeting for me, I will have Oscar break your other leg!"

Lyon looked at Mr. Vance, then slowly turned his eyes to Kelly.

"You are waiting for Director Blackwood?" Lyon asked softly. His voice was completely flat, completely cold.

"Of course we are, you stupid loser!" Kelly spat, stepping forward to yell in his face. "My father is signing a fifty-million-dollar deal today! Oscar arranged this contact for us through his connections! What are you doing here? Did you come to beg me to take you back? You make me sick!"

Lancelot stepped into the room, holding a heavy black stamp and a stack of legal termination notices. He did not look at Kelly or her father.

He walked straight to Lyon, dropped to one knee, and handed him the gold seal of L. Blackwood Medical Tech.

"Young Master Blackwood," Lancelot said loudly, his deep voice filling the small room. "The cancellation papers for the Vance Family Distribution License are ready for your signature."

Kelly froze.

Mr. Vance's eyes bulged out of his head as he looked from Lancelot to the gold seal in Lyon's hands, his chest heaving as if he couldn't get any air.

"You..." Mr. Vance stammered, his body shaking violently. "You are... L. Blackwood?"

Lyon picked up the heavy stamp. He did not look at Kelly's white, terrified face.

He pressed the seal onto the document with a sharp, heavy thud.

"Your application is rejected," Lyon said.

"No!" Mr. Vance shrieked, falling to his knees on the carpet, his hands clawing at Lyon's footrest. "Lucas! Please! I put everything into this lease! My factory will go bankrupt by tomorrow morning! Kelly, tell him! Tell him you're sorry!"

Kelly stood frozen, her phone slipping from her hand and crashing against the floor. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out of her mouth.

Lyon unlocked his wheels and backed away from Mr. Vance's grasping hands. He turned his chair toward the hallway, his face completely devoid of mercy.

As he reached the doorway, a tall man in a dark suit holding a sealed silver box stepped out from the private elevator. It was Lawrence's chief butler.

"Master Lucas!" the butler called out, bowing deeply in front of the wheelchair. "Master Lawrence has regained consciousness. He sent me to deliver this personal gift to his savior."

The butler opened the silver box.

Inside lay a heavy, blood-red jade token carved with the ancient symbol of the Lawrence Family Crest—the single highest authority token in the entire Northern Province.

"Master Lawrence said this token grants you absolute veto power over any business operated under the Lawrence Group umbrella," the butler announced loudly.

Lyon looked at the red token.

Beside the token lay an official letter sealed with dark blue wax.

The butler leaned down, whispering in a low voice meant only for Lyon:

"Master Lawrence also asked me to give you this private note... regarding the real reason your spinal cord was severed fifteen years ago."