Yvette's slender, pale fingers held the medical records. Since Zachary had only been admitted that morning, there were few pages. She skimmed them quickly, finishing in two minutes.

Witnessing this, Harold believed she hadn't understood, suspecting she was merely feigning confidence. Tristan and the other doctors and nurses shared his assessment. Lucas, though anxious, trusted Yvette's purpose. Jeremiah, however, focused solely on Yvette, oblivious to everyone else.

After reviewing the records, Yvette subtly shifted, a hint of coldness on her brow. Looking up, she declared, “Prepare the operating room. I will perform the surgery.”

Disbelief washed over everyone, yet Yvette remained calm. Even Lucas was taken aback, though trusting Yvette, this seemed unbelievable. Jeremiah calmly asked, “What's the success rate? Should we wait for Quentin?”

In the hallway, Tristan, Harold, and a dozen medical staff were speechless. Their expressions were indescribable. The idea of Quentin's assistance only compounded their bewilderment.

Yvette sincerely shook her head. “No surgery needed; acupuncture will suffice. The brain clot isn't significant,” she stated.

Their conversation continued to astound the onlookers. Tristan, concerned about the patient's life, felt compelled to intervene, even if it meant offending Jeremiah.

“Mr. Chavez, Ms. Chambers, you mentioned acupuncture? Traditional medicine? That seems unlikely. We should wait for Quentin’s return. I’ll ensure all the hospital’s doctors do their utmost to save Mr. Chambers,” Tristan said, striving for politeness while deeply distrustful of Yvette. He considered traditional medicine's efficacy greatly diminished.

Harold, his face stern, interjected, “Ms. Chambers, stop jesting. Acupuncture? Did you even read the report? Do you know the clot's location? Surgery isn't guaranteed, and you claim acupuncture is sufficient? This is preposterous! Wait for Dr. Xander's return and sign the consent form then.”

The other doctors and nurses, brought by Jeremiah from Betrico, only dared to silently dissent, aware of Jeremiah's influence.

Jeremiah's gaze turned cold. His tone brook no argument: “Prepare the operating room.”

Tristan, unable to dissuade Jeremiah, emphasized the risks to Yvette. “Ms. Chambers, if you insist on personally treating your father, please sign this consent form before entering. Seacrity Hospital will not be held responsible for any complications.”

Yvette, displaying impatience, nodded. “Very well. If anything goes wrong, you bear no responsibility.”

Lucas wanted to speak but sighed instead. Harold remained impassive. Yvette, Zachary's sole heir, held the ultimate authority.

Yvette, leaning against a chair, calmly asked Jeremiah, “What of the culprit?”

Jeremiah, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, whispered, “Don't worry; I've dispatched Andrew. No one escapes.”

Yvette's icy gaze intensified. “Fine,” she replied.

Seacrity Hospital's efficiency was remarkable. Ten minutes later, preparations were complete. Tristan, Harold, Lucas, and Jeremiah's staff waited outside.

All eyes were on Yvette and Jeremiah, particularly Yvette, who had confidently proclaimed acupuncture's efficacy. Tristan held Yvette’s signed liability waiver.

“Ms. Chambers, the operating room is ready. Mr. Chambers is inside. You may proceed,” Tristan said, his unease evident. “You may now perform acupuncture on your father.”

Harold, informed of Jeremiah's connections, was both apprehensive and disapproving of Yvette's actions.

Yvette walked to the operating room, her expression unchanged. Jeremiah gently warmed her cold hand. “I'm here; don't stress,” he murmured.

Yvette smiled, her confidence momentarily stunning Jeremiah. Pausing by Lucas, she said calmly, “It’s a minor procedure. I’ll be out soon.”

Lucas, wiping away tears, nodded. “Ms. Chambers, you must save him,” he pleaded.

The onlookers were speechless. Even Quentin, a leading neurosurgeon, would claim only sixty percent confidence. How could they reconcile this with Yvette's certainty?

A wave of apprehension washed over them; they feared Yvette’s return would herald Zachary’s death.

The operating room door closed. Harold remained seated, his gaze fixed on the door. Tristan approached Jeremiah cautiously.

“Mr. Chavez, if Ms. Zeller’s acupuncture fails and Quentin doesn’t return in time…”

Jeremiah, a chill enveloping him, stated coldly, “It won’t happen.”

Tristan was stunned, wondering at Jeremiah’s unshakeable confidence. He silently questioned the plausibility of Yvette's method, considering blood circulation too simplistic.