The assistant holding the infrared thermometer hesitated. Was there really a need to snatch up such a simple task? Politely declining, he said, “It’s fine. It’ll only take a moment.”

But Archie forcibly took the thermometer. Though he was talking, his forceful actions felt more like snatching. “I’ll do it,” he declared.

The assistant was speechless, rubbing his injured wrist. Rolling his eyes, he muttered, “Fine, suit yourself.”

Archie ignored the others. He had long since grown accustomed to cold stares and disdain, caring little for their opinions. As long as he achieved his goals, he was willing to pay any price. He had carefully cultivated an image of loyalty, even if it meant being treated like a dog. It didn't matter.

Clutching the thermometer, he walked toward Stephan, positioning himself to block the others' view. Swiftly, he produced a syringe, removed the cap, and injected its contents into Stephan's IV drip. The toxin seamlessly mixed with the solution. Within 30 minutes, Stephan would succumb. There would be no visible wounds or signs of foul play; the blame would fall on the medical team.

Afterward, Archie calmly capped the syringe, hid it, and, holding up the thermometer, reported, “Done. It’s 97.8 degrees. Normal temperature.”

The assistant nodded, recording the temperature. Archie, breathing a sigh of relief, found an excuse to leave Stephan’s room. The syringe needed immediate disposal.

Hurrying away, Archie didn't notice Stanley enter. Standing respectfully by the bed, Stanley bent over and said, “Mr. Russell.”

The figure on the bed, supposedly comatose, opened his eyes—sharp and clear. Stephan casually removed the IV needle. His low chuckle sent chills down anyone's spine.

Stanley lowered his head. “Mr. Russell, I never imagined your ruse would lure out Archie! And he’s considered part of the Russell family!”

“Who said he’s part of the Russell family?” Stephan sneered, discarding the needle.

If Archie had been less nervous, he might have noticed the needle wasn't even inserted. It was a ruse.

“Mr. Russell, this means Archie never actually died! No wonder our search failed. It was all an act!”

Stanley frowned, noting another inconsistency. “But the box with the map… How did it end up with Dexter? If Archie faked his death, who helped him?”

Stephan offered a faintly amused glance. “What do you take me for? An encyclopedia?”

Stanley, realizing he’d overstepped, fell silent.

Sitting up, Stephan said casually, “To fake his death, he’d need a scapegoat. Dexter was likely chosen due to his presence. Another possibility is that Archie’s backers have a grudge against the Fuller family. As for the map, it’s probably the Camell family. They were involved in the rainforest incident. Archie likely aligned himself with them, or struck a deal with Pete. They’re working together.”

Though speculative, Stephan’s words rang true. Stanley slapped his thigh. “I knew it! Those rainforest explosions… Archie, that traitor, stirring up trouble!” He'd noticed the explosives' model was from the Russell family's inventory, suspecting a traitor all along.