The morning after securing her alliance with Kaius and sending the bait to Julian, Anya Lin was a whirlwind of controlled motion. The Qi-Nourishing Tincture had cleared her mind, making the exhaustion of her double life manageable. She was no longer a timid pawn; she was a three-dimensional chessboard player.
Her first task was to ensure the success of the Matriarch's diagnosis.
At noon, a discreet Thorne Group medical van arrived at the Lin Mansion. Inside were two Thorne bio-analysts, disguised as a physical therapist and her assistant, equipped with advanced, non-invasive enzyme scanners. They were operating under Kaius's direct, highly confidential orders.
Anya met the "therapists" at the Matriarch's room. She spoke to them in clear, low tones, her glasses firmly in place, maintaining the image of the concerned, if uneducated, family member.
"The Matriarch requires deep tissue analysis on her legs," Anya instructed, reading the room's hidden cameras. "Please ensure you focus primarily on the liver and neurological sensors on the right foot. She's been complaining of stiffness there. I'll stay here to ensure she is comfortable."
Anya had used a simple misdirection: by focusing their attention on a visible, secondary task (the feet), she ensured the sophisticated Thorne equipment was scanning the specific organs she needed for confirmation (liver and brain—the targets of the slow-release cyanide).
Twenty minutes later, the lead analyst discreetly gave Anya a subtle head shake—a silent signal that confirmed the presence of accumulated toxins. The confirmation was enough. Anya had her proof, securing the final stage of her bargain with Kaius.
At 2:00 PM, Anya arrived at the imposing City Art Museum, escorted by Commander Stone's team. She was dressed in a stylish, deep emerald dress—a simple change, but enough to make her stand out from her usual muted palette. She wore her glasses, but her posture was subtly firmer.
Julian and Elena Lin were waiting on the grand steps, radiating impatient fury.
"You have five minutes, Anya," Julian snarled, his eyes darting to the Thorne security sedan. "Where are the antique boxes? You won't get away with stealing Matriarch's inheritance just because you married a CEO!"
"I didn't steal anything, Julian," Anya said, her voice carrying a soft but audible note of genuine sadness, perfect for the public setting. "You have been so stressed, jumping to conclusions. I only brought something beautiful to share."
She then dramatically produced a small, leather-bound portfolio. She opened it, revealing a single piece of parchment covered in stunning calligraphy. The artwork was an elaborate, emotionally resonant rendering of a classical Tang poem—a style that blended ancient Chinese mastery with a modernist understanding of spatial flow. It was signed with the simple, elegant seal: Xiao.
Julian stared at the calligraphy, utterly confused. "What is this? Scribbles?"
Elena, however, gasped. Elena was a social climber and subscribed to art magazines. She leaned closer, her eyes wide with shock.
"Julian, wait! That... that seal... I saw it! This is Xiao! The new anonymous art genius! Their work at the London exhibition sold for almost two million dollars! They're only known for a few pieces!"
Anya quickly closed the portfolio, drawing it protectively to her chest. "Oh, no! I shouldn't have shown you! I only wanted to apologize and show you the one thing that brings me comfort. It's a study piece, not a real Xiao, of course. I just copied the style..."
"A copy?" Julian grabbed the portfolio, his face contorted with greed. "Even a good copy is worth hundreds of thousands! You brought this here to prove you weren't stealing? You were trying to hide this!"
"No! Julian, please!" Anya played the part of the distraught victim being robbed.
A large, impeccably dressed man stepped forward from the crowd of onlookers—Ambassador Dubois, a powerful international art collector. He had been quietly observing the public spectacle.
"Good heavens, young man, release that piece immediately!" Dubois commanded, his voice booming with aristocratic authority. "That style, the mastery of the stroke! That is no mere copy! That flow... it holds the signature intensity of Xiao's 'Silent Rain' period! If that is authentic, it is priceless! And publicly assaulting a lady to seize it is utterly barbaric!"
Dubois's intervention—which Anya had subtly orchestrated by posting her arrival time publicly—instantly shifted the narrative. Julian was no longer chasing a hidden thief; he was publicly assaulting the CEO's wife to steal a masterpiece.
Julian, terrified of being exposed as an art thief in front of an ambassador, dropped the portfolio and backed away, sputtering. "It's hers! It's junk!"
"It is not junk, cousin," Anya said, recovering the portfolio and fixing Julian with a steady, unreadable gaze. "It is my personal property acquired through my own efforts. And it is the only thing I will ever discuss with you again."
The Oracle had successfully used Xiao to discredit Julian, solidify her "non-competitive employment" cover, and establish herself publicly as a woman with hidden, valuable resources—all without revealing the true contents of the storage unit.
Access Granted
That evening, Anya received the encrypted message from Kaius.
> K.T.: (Encrypted Reply): Diagnosis confirmed. The Matriarch's liver enzymes show significant cyanide accumulation. I've initiated the cover-up. You have secured Bio-Research Lab 4 access starting at 0200 hours. Commander Stone will escort you personally. Do not fail.
>
Anya closed her eyes in silent gratitude. The alliance was sealed. She had the high-tech lab she needed for Dr. A's complex synthesis.
At 2:00 AM, wearing simple black scrubs she had requested (under the guise of minimizing contamination), Anya walked through the sterile corridors of Thorne Bio-Research Lab 4. Commander Stone stood sentinel outside the pressurized door.
The lab was state-of-the-art—the perfect fusion of modern technology and ancient science.
Anya went to work. She wasn't synthesizing a basic antidote; she was synthesizing a slow-release, enzymatic counter-agent derived from the rare fungus component she had studied. This agent would not only neutralize the current cyanide but also protect the Matriarch against future, small-scale poisoning attempts—something a modern doctor would never achieve.
She worked with the precision of a seasoned scientist, operating the high-speed centrifuges and mass spectrometers with practiced ease. Her moves were efficient, her focus absolute.
Commander Stone, watching the internal security feed, was perplexed. He saw not the timid girl who stammered over legal clauses, but a master pharmacologist working with dangerous chemicals with breathtaking confidence. He tried to reconcile the two images, and a new seed of profound doubt was planted in his mind. Who, exactly, did Mr. Thorne marry?
By 5:00 AM, Anya held a single, small vial of pale blue liquid—the synthetic, self-stabilizing antidote. Dr. A had succeeded.
She emerged from the lab, exhaustion showing faintly, but her resolve was absolute.
"Commander," Anya said, her voice clear. "The cure is complete. I need to administer it immediately, before sunrise. And I need a small favor before we leave."
"What is it, Mrs. Thorne?" Stone asked, his tone now edged with reluctant respect.
Anya handed him a piece of paper. "I need you to run a full background check on a Swiss Private Bank and the shell corporation 'Goliath Financial.' I need to know every single entity that has accessed that account in the last five years. I will pay the usual consulting fee—from my personal, non-competitive employment account."
She was fully exploiting the CEO's trust. She had just secured the cure for the Matriarch and commissioned the first major intelligence gathering for the Shadow Syndicate's financial empire. The two missions were now inextricably linked.
"I will relay the request, Mrs. Thorne," Stone replied, his face expressionless, but his mental report to Kaius was already writing itself: The wife is a medical genius who is now running high-level financial espionage.