Wheel of Time: The Heir who isn't Useless

Chapter 8 – The First Debt Falls Due

LYON POV

"Why are three of our primary operating accounts frozen?" Dean Darlington’s voice echoed sharply through the marble corridors of the Darlington corporate headquarters.

Lyon sat quietly in his wheelchair near the back entrance of the grand conservatory, his thin fingers adjusted on the smooth push-rims. His face remained completely expressionless as he observed his father raging across the room.

"It is a matured short-term loan, sir," the financial controller stammered, holding a trembling tablet. "A fifteen million dollar principal line issued seven years ago. The holding firm, Apex Capital Solutions, pulled the call option at eight this morning. They refused any extension."

"Apex Capital?" Dean slapped his hand against the glass conference table. "I have never heard of them! Lyon, where is that useless parasite? Did he leave his transfer documents signed before we threw him out?"

Esther Darlington smoothed her silk dress, her lips curled in cold disgust. "Why are you even mentioning that cripple's name, Dean? He probably doesn't even have money for lunch right now, let alone know anything about corporate finance. Nathaniel is the one who handles our capital lines now."

Nathaniel Darlington adjusted his tailored Italian suit, though a fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead. His throat tightened as he looked at his phone screen, where three red warning symbols flashed in sequence.

"Don't worry, Father," Nathaniel said, forcing a smooth, charming smile. "I will call Jennifer’s father immediately. The Vance Group has plenty of liquid capital. A simple short-term bridge loan from my future father-in-law will cover this minor glitch before the market opens tomorrow."

Lyon did not say a word. He shifted the manual wheels of his chair, backing into the dim shadow of the hallway where Lancelot waited silently in a black suit.

"Did the transmission reach the Vance Group?" Lyon asked quietly, his voice flat and even.

"Yes, Young Master," Lancelot replied in a low whisper, leaning down slightly. "Director Vance received the complete audit of the Darlington family's actual debt-to-equity ratio ten minutes ago, sent directly from the Blackwood Medical Group executive portal. He has blocked Nathaniel's number."

Inside the room, Nathaniel placed his phone to his ear, his smile widening for his audience. "Hello, Mr. Vance? It's Nathaniel. I wanted to discuss a quick financial bridge for—"

Nathaniel froze. His face drained of all color within two seconds.

"Mr. Vance? Hello?" Nathaniel pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen in utter shock. "He... he hung up on me. He blocked my line."

Connie Darlington gasped, clutching her designer handbag tightly. "What? Why would Jennifer's father block you? You two are getting married next month!"

Lydia Darlington pointed an angry finger at the doorway where Lyon was rolling away. "It must be that freak's fault! He cursed us before he left! He’s always bringing bad luck to this family!"

Lyon ignored the noise behind him. He rolled out to the waiting black sedan, where Mandolin opened the door with practiced grace.

"The Grand Palace Hotel charity gala begins in two hours, Young Master," Mandolin said, holding out a dark velvet box containing a solid gold lapel pin stamped with the crest of Blackwood Medical. "The medical elite of the entire province have gathered. They are all waiting to meet the legendary Founder."

"Let's go," Lyon said simply, allowing Lancelot to lift him into the plush leather rear seat.

Two hours later, the grand ballroom of the Grand Palace Hotel was bathed in crystal light and filled with the low hum of high-society chatter. Top surgeons, pharmaceutical titans, and investment directors stood in circles, holding champagne flutes.

Near the entrance, the Darlington family arrived, looking tense and desperate. Dean, Esther, Connie, and Lydia flanked Nathaniel, trying to force artificial smiles as they scanned the room for potential investors to fix their frozen accounts.

"Look over there," Dean whispered harshly, nodding toward the head table reserved for the evening's primary guest of honor. "That is the regional director of the Medical Board. If we can get him to endorse our new artificial joint line, the banks will unfreeze our accounts instantly."

Before Dean could step forward, the heavy double doors of the VIP entrance swung open.

A silent wave of deference washed over the room. Renowned doctors, senior hospital directors, and billionaire investors immediately stopped their conversations and parted like the Red Sea.

Lyon rolled into the ballroom. He wore a tailored dark grey suit that concealed the lean frame beneath, his expression calm, cold, and entirely detachment from the glamour around him. Beside him walked Dr. Jessica, the brilliant young trauma surgeon, her sharp eyes scanning the room protectively.

"Is that... Lyon?" Connie muttered, her jaw dropping as she stepped backward into Lydia. "Why is that useless cripple here? Who let him in?"

"Security!" Dean shouted, his face darkening with intense embarrassment as nearby guests turned to look at him. "Security, drag this parasite out! He is a disgraced outcast of the Darlington family! He has no right to be in a high-society event like this!"

Two hotel security guards stepped forward, but before they could reach Lyon, Lancelot stepped into their path, displaying a black credentials badge. The security guards paled, immediately bowing their heads and stepping back ten paces.

Dean’s face turned bright red. He marched directly toward Lyon’s wheelchair, his finger pointed accusingly. "Lyon! How dare you show your face here after everything this family gave you! You are a parasite! Apologize to Nathaniel right now for causing trouble, or I will make sure you starve on the streets!"

Lyon did not raise his eyes to meet Dean’s gaze. He did not flinch, nor did his heartbeat accelerate. His fingers adjusted the armrest of his chair with absolute control.

He turned his head slightly toward the senior waiter standing by the head table.

"Please move my seat," Lyon said. His voice was not loud, but the clear, flat tone carried effortlessly across the silent ballroom, echoing off the marble pillars. "I prefer not to share air with people who throw out their own blood."

The entire ballroom fell into a dead silence.

Standing nearby, a billionaire pharmaceutical CEO stared at Dean with disgust. "Are you out of your mind, Dean Darlington? Do you know who you are shouting at? That is Chief Surgeon Blackwood, the sole patent holder of the neural prosthetic system!"

Dean felt as if a heavy hammer had smashed directly into his chest. His knees wobbled, his eyes widening in complete, horrific realization. "What... what did you say?"

Esther stumbled back, clutching her chest, her lips trembling uncontrollably. Connie and Lydia covered their mouths in sheer terror as the surrounding elite began snickering and whispering in clear contempt.

"He... he is Blackwood?" Nathaniel whispered, his body shaking violently as his phone slipped out of his fingers and shattered against the hard marble floor.

Dr. Jessica stepped smoothly to Lyon’s side, sitting down next to his wheelchair by choice and turning her notebook toward him.

"Director Blackwood," Jessica said loudly enough for the surrounding tables to hear clearly, "the board has approved your micro-vascular reconstruction protocol. The international medical journal wants to publish your paper as the lead cover story next month."

"Proceed with the publication," Lyon replied calmly, his eyes remaining entirely fixed on his tablet interface, ignoring the Darlington family who stood frozen in public humiliation just ten feet away.

Across the room, hidden behind a tall floral arrangement, Nathaniel picked up his cracked phone with trembling hands.

The screen lit up with an incoming encrypted call from an unlisted number. He quickly backed into a quiet service hallway and answered, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Hello? Please, you have to help me!" Nathaniel pleaded into the receiver, sweat running into his eyes. "Lyon is Blackwood! He’s destroying the Darlington accounts! Everything is falling apart!"

A cold, distorted voice rasped through the speaker.

"We saw the live report," the handler said, completely lacking any warmth. "You are compromised. Accelerate the takeover immediately tonight. The fake heir is becoming a liability."

Nathaniel swallowed hard, his throat dry. "What do you mean liability? What are you going to do?"

"Check your suit pocket," the cold voice commanded, and then the call abruptly disconnected.

Nathaniel’s hand shook as he reached into his inner suit jacket. His fingers brushed against a cold, sharp silver syringe that had not been there an hour ago.