Jeremiah’s voice was low. “Sixty percent?”

Quentin tightened his grip on the phone, easily visualizing Jeremiah’s expression. Sixty percent was his limit. Even if lives hung in the balance, he couldn't honestly claim a higher success rate. He confirmed, “Mr. Chavez, sixty percent is all I can offer.”

Irritation creased Jeremiah’s brow; his demeanor grew colder. Quentin is only sixty percent confident. If something happens to Zachary, how will I explain it to Yvette? he thought. Tristan and his men instinctively shifted away from Jeremiah; his chilling presence felt like a refrigerator in the summer heat. Everyone heard Quentin.

Harold interjected, “Sixty percent isn’t low. Dr. Xander snatches people from the jaws of death. No one in the country could perform this surgery more successfully.”

Tristan glanced at the icy-faced Jeremiah, then carefully said, “Mr. Chavez, both Dr. Xander and Harold are top neurosurgeons. A sixty percent chance is already remarkable.”

Jeremiah’s gaze swept the group. He spoke into the phone, “Who else could achieve a higher success rate?”

If anyone else had asked, Quentin would have exploded. But it was Jeremiah, so he paused, then replied, “Yes, Mr. Chavez, there's Silas Walson. He's the world’s top brain specialist, my idol. Even at sixty, he’s in excellent shape. With him, the success rate could reach eighty to ninety percent. However, he’s extremely difficult to reach. He directs the Mysonna Medical Lab, is rarely seen publicly, and is under top-level government protection. Unless he volunteers, it's impossible.”

Quentin knew Jeremiah's ruthless methods. He feared Jeremiah might kidnap Silas—something he'd done before. But Mysonna wasn't Clusia, and Jeremiah was a Clusian major general. Such an action could trigger a conflict.

Harold adjusted his glasses. Silas was a maestro, a legend found only in medical textbooks. In recent years, Silas only treats heads of state. Why would he come to Seacrity for Zachary’s surgery? Harold thought. It was unthinkable, so he remained silent.

Jeremiah’s eyes flashed, his gaze fixed on the operating room. He ended the call, his fingers already tapping a new number. Before he could dial, a familiar voice called from behind.

“That’s unnecessary,” the voice said.

Jeremiah’s fingers paused, and he turned, his expression softening. The cold aura dissipated. The others turned towards the staircase. Lucas, dazed on the ground, leaped up.

Yvette, in simple sportswear and a backpack, approached. Her striking beauty drew gasps from the staff. Lucas scrambled towards her, crying, “Ms. Chambers, you’re back! Mr. Chambers…”

Yvette nodded impassively. “Got it.” Then she turned to Jeremiah.

Tristan and Harold, along with staff, heard Lucas address her as Ms. Chambers. They knew of the Chambers family's tumultuous past and the rumors surrounding Yvette. But her composure unsettled them. Her father is critically ill, with only a sixty percent chance of survival. How can she be so calm? Isn’t that unfilial? they wondered.

Jeremiah took Yvette’s backpack and gently held her hand. He murmured, “Pretty fast.”

Yvette raised an eyebrow. “Not bad.” If I hadn't dawdled with that pilot, she thought, I'd have been even faster.

Jeremiah checked his watch. Yvette was almost an hour ahead of schedule—impossible. Tristan was stunned by Jeremiah’s gentleness. This girl will undoubtedly hold a powerful position. Zachary has raised an impressive daughter. She's climbed the social ladder by associating with this notable figure, he thought.

One year later, Tristan would be mortified. Who was elevating whom? He wouldn't be able to tell.

Harold fumed, watching Jeremiah and Yvette converse unconcernedly. He addressed Yvette rudely, “Your father is in critical surgery.”

Tristan was surprised by Harold's outburst. He quickly intervened, “Ms. Chambers, our deputy director acted impulsively. Please accept my apologies.”

Harold’s face soured. He couldn’t understand Tristan’s apology. A girl unconcerned with her father’s plight, preoccupied with her love life, was simply unacceptable to him.

Yvette allowed Jeremiah to lead her. Lucas followed. Yvette now held the authority. Approaching Harold's group, she calmly asked, “May I have the medical records?”

Harold stiffened under Jeremiah's gaze. Tristan, anticipating trouble, answered, “Ms. Chambers, this is Dr. Anderson, your father’s surgeon. He’s temporarily stabilized Mr. Chambers and understands his condition best.”

Harold added, concerned, “Ms. Chambers, your boyfriend has found Dr. Xander, a top neurosurgeon. He’s flying back and should arrive in five hours. With him, there’s a sixty percent chance of success.”

Yvette glanced at Jeremiah, then back at Harold. “Medical record,” she said concisely.

Harold couldn’t understand her insistence. Medical records were filled with jargon an average person wouldn't understand.

Just as Harold hesitated, Tristan firmly grasped his hand. How could someone usually so sensible act so foolishly? Can’t he see she’s impatient? Tristan thought. He took the records from a nurse and handed them to Yvette. “Ms. Chambers, here are your father’s records. Take your time.” He didn't believe she’d understand, but it was a gesture of respect for Jeremiah.