Chapter 4

I brought Jesse home and locked myself in the study all night.

That paternity test report sat on my desk like a red-hot branding iron, burning my eyes painfully.

The fortress I'd built around myself over four years cracked the moment I saw that report.

As dawn approached, Raven's call came in, her voice carrying unprecedented panic:

"Miss Annie, disaster! Thomas Group unilaterally tore up our previous agreement. They want to acquire us—otherwise they'll report us to the FDA for non-compliance!"

I snapped alert instantly, the confusion in my eyes fading to leave only coldness.

Kane Thomas indeed had ulterior motives from the start.

If he could chase me out of the Thomas family with two million years ago, today he could use capital to swallow the empire I'd fought four years to build.

I immediately convened an emergency meeting with the core team, only to receive even more devastating news.

Our core non-invasive cardiac function monitoring patent had been preemptively registered by Carter Medical. Their application was filed three days before ours, and the technical documentation submitted was almost identical to our core code.

The former technical director who'd jumped ship did it.

And behind Carter Medical stood Kane Thomas.

The team was in turmoil, but I remained unusually calm, methodically arranging countermeasures.

It wasn't until the meeting ended and I was alone in the office that I collapsed weakly against the chair back.

Just then, my work email received an anonymous message.

The moment I opened it, my whole body shook.

The email contained all the evidence of Carter Medical's patent fraud, including transfer records between the technical director and Kane Thomas, recordings of private dealings, and even backend credentials showing they'd falsified application timestamps when registering the patent.

The attachments also included internal documents about Thomas Group's Eastern regional channels, clearly marking all channel partners' bottom lines and payment period vulnerabilities.

I immediately had the tech department trace the sender's address. The only result: the address was encrypted, originating from Municipal Hospital's internal network.

My hand on the mouse trembled slightly.

Suddenly I recalled that over these four years, the company had faced more than one life-or-death crisis.

In the early startup days, I couldn't get medical device production certification. After countless rejected applications to various departments, just as I was about to give up, someone anonymously helped me submit supplementary materials, and certification was approved within a week.

The second year, the capital chain broke. Suppliers blocked the door demanding payment. A nameless angel investment suddenly hit the company account, exactly filling the gap.

Even last year, when competitors maliciously smeared my product, before I could act, their dirty laundry spread throughout the industry first.

I'd always thought I was just lucky. Only now did I understand—it wasn't luck.

Someone had been silently protecting me for four years from where I couldn't see.

Before I could process all this, the housekeeper's call suddenly came in, her voice shaking badly:

"Miss Annie! Come home quickly! Jesse suddenly can't breathe, his lips are purple—I've already called 911!"

My mind went blank with a "buzz."

I grabbed my car keys and rushed out, ran three red lights, driving like mad toward home, but still caught up to the ambulance carrying Jesse at Municipal Hospital's emergency entrance.

Jesse lay on the gurney, his little face deathly pale, lips blue-purple, breathing weak, already in semi-consciousness.

A doctor ran out holding examination results, expression grave:

"The child has congenital ventricular septal defect causing acute left heart failure. We must perform open-heart surgery immediately, or his life is in danger at any moment!"

My legs gave out. I steadied myself against the wall, voice trembling:

"Do the surgery! Who's your best doctor? I want the best doctor!"

The doctor answered:

"This surgery is extremely difficult. The child is young and the defect location is special. In the entire city, only Director Diego from Cardiac Surgery has successful experience with similar surgeries on patients under three years old."

Diego.

Those three words stabbed into my heart like a knife.

Four years of pride, four years of defenses, four years of gritting my teeth and persevering—all shattered to pieces before my child's life.

I didn't even have time to hesitate before hearing urgent footsteps behind me.

Diego ran over. He'd just finished a ten-hour bypass surgery and hadn't changed out of his surgical scrubs, sweat still on his forehead. Seeing my ashen face, he simply reached out and steadily supported my arm, voice firm as an anchor:

"Annie, trust me. I won't let anything happen to him."

Looking at those bloodshot eyes, the hatred and grievances I'd accumulated over four years suddenly collapsed completely in that moment.

I nodded, tears finally falling:

"Diego, please, save him."