The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 560

The moment he heard there were no available beds, Travis’s face changed dramatically. “No beds? Then… what are we supposed to do?”

Manley shot his absent-minded son a sharp look before turning to his niece, his tone softening. “So, where are we headed now?”

Citrine replied coolly, “Crestwood Medical Research Center.”

Manley nearly thought he’d misheard her. He stared at her in shock. “Did you say Crestwood Medical Research Center?”

Citrine’s voice was quiet. “Yes.”

Both Manley and Travis were stunned into silence.

Manley couldn’t help but speak up again. “Do you mean that Crestwood? The place where doctors only take patients if they feel like it, and their surgical success rate is ninety-nine point nine eight percent?”

“Mm-hmm.” Citrine’s mind was already racing ahead, focused on getting to the research center as quickly as possible. Her answer was distracted.

It took Manley and Travis several minutes to process what she’d just said.

By the time the car came to a smooth stop outside Crestwood Medical Research Center, the two men still looked dazed.

It was only when Citrine called their names that they snapped out of it and climbed out of the car.

As they reached the front entrance, someone came out to greet them.

It was Nathanael, director of Crestwood Medical Research Center.

Travis didn’t recognize the man, but Manley did—he watched the news often and had seen more than a few international interviews with Nathanael.

Now, the middle-aged man strode purposefully toward them.

With that settled, she led Manley and Travis into the research center, striding ahead while the two men followed closely behind.

Everywhere they went, staff greeted Citrine with robust voices—“Good afternoon, Chairwoman!”—filling the halls with warmth and respect.

At last, Manley understood: his niece was the mysterious chairwoman of Crestwood Medical Research Center.

He suddenly recalled how, during his own treatment at Havencrest, everyone from the Viridis Medical Institute had been strangely attentive and friendly. A bold suspicion now took root in his mind—maybe the elusive benefactor behind both Havencrest and MagnoliaViridis Medical Institute was also Citrine.

For their convenience, Citrine arranged for Raymond and Weston to share a spacious suite.

Before leaving, she reminded them, “Uncle Manley, Travis, please stay in this suite. The research center is admitting flu patients today—there’ll be a lot of people, and the risk of infection is high. Make sure you wear your protective gear. I’ll have all your meals delivered.”

“What about you?” Manley and Travis asked in unison.