You Are A Liar

The exact moment Torin’s figure emerged from the bustling street crowd, the heavy tension radiating from Robert Mercer vanished. The wealthy CEO rushed forward to eagerly greet him. A palpable sense of relief washed over the older man's tailored frame, loosening his rigid posture.

"You made it. This way, please," Robert said. He reached out, his demeanor servile and desperate, practically bowing as he guided the casually dressed young man toward the hotel entrance.

This display instantly drew curious and bewildered glances from the various wealthy hotel patrons lingering in the lobby. A man of Robert's immense financial stature acting so subservient to a scrawny twenty-year-old was a jarring sight, prompting hushed whispers among the elite guests.

Genevieve, however, firmly stood her ground. She crossed her arms and glared vehemently at Torin. Unable to contain her mounting skepticism, she furiously demanded to know what was wrong with him.

"What is your problem?" Genevieve snapped, her voice cutting through the lobby's quiet murmur. She pointed a trembling finger at her father's deteriorating, ghastly pallor. The color had drained from Robert's cheeks, leaving him looking like a walking corpse. "My father waited out here for you, and look at him! Do you even know the first thing about how to genuinely heal someone?"

Torin met her fierce gaze but remained silent, letting her vent her frustration.

"You are nothing but a filthy con artist trying to exploit our desperation!" she declared boldly to his face.

Hearing his daughter's blatant disrespect toward the only person who could save him, Robert's eyes widened in horror. He sternly and loudly demanded, "Genevieve! Stop this nonsense and apologize to our savior immediately!"

"No! I will not apologize to a scammer!" Genevieve fiercely refused to back down. "Look at him, Dad! He is barely out of high school!"

Her stubborn refusal caused a massive spike in Robert's fury. The intense emotional agitation hit his fragile system like a freight train. He gasped, clutching his chest as an agonizing coughing fit ravaged his frail body. The hacking sound echoed terrifyingly through the lobby.

"Dad!" Genevieve cried out.

Before she could reach him, Robert lurched forward, hacking up a sickening puddle of thick, black blood onto the pristine marble floor. He slumped, his legs giving out beneath him.

Torin furrowed his brows at the terrifying severity of the internal injury. He wasted no time.

"Get him inside, now! Find a private room!" Torin barked the order at the panicked Genevieve.

She froze in place, paralyzed by her deep distrust and rising fear. She stared at the puddle of black blood, unable to process the nightmare unfolding in front of her.

"Do you genuinely want to just stand there and watch your father die?" Torin ruthlessly snapped at her, his voice cracking like a whip in the silent lobby.

Jolted into action by his harsh words, Genevieve snapped out of her daze. Together, they quickly moved Robert inside the hotel, rushing past the staring onlookers until they found a quiet, secluded private room down the hall. They laid the gasping CEO onto a plush sofa.

Torin swiftly stepped forward and firmly checked Robert's erratic pulse. His fingers pressed against the older man's cold wrist. As he felt the chaotic internal energy raging through Robert's meridians, Torin's expression turned grim. The hidden damage to the left lung was far worse than it had appeared at the park.

Before Torin could even begin to proceed with his intended, complex treatment to stabilize the lung, the heavy room door was suddenly barged open.

A flustered man wearing a pristine white doctor's coat rushed inside, carrying a large medical bag. It was Dr. Gregory Finch.

Grasping desperately at this familiar sliver of hope, Genevieve shoved Torin aside with a desperate burst of strength. Her aggressive push nearly knocked the young man over.

"Dr. Finch! Thank god you are here!" Genevieve frantically pleaded with the newly arrived medical expert. She fell to her knees beside the sofa. "My dad just threw up black blood. His life is in your hands now. Please save him!"

Gregory wasted no time. He quickly knelt beside Robert, checking his fading pulse. The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence as the doctor concentrated. The longer Gregory kept his fingers on Robert's wrist, the deeper his frown became.

Finally, Gregory pulled his hand back and gravely delivered his professional diagnosis.

"Ms. Mercer," Gregory began, his tone heavy with medical authority. "Mr. Mercer's deeply hidden lung ailment is a chronic condition. It naturally requires slow, methodical treatment over a long period. However, someone has recently kicked his fragile immune system into a massive overdrive."

Genevieve's breath hitched as she listened to the damning medical assessment.

"While this abrupt stimulation might have provided a fleeting moment of relief," Gregory asserted, adjusting his glasses, "it has effectively plunged your father into his current precarious, near-death state. The strain is tearing his body apart. Who treated him before I arrived?"

Hearing this, Genevieve's eyes blazed with fury. She turned her wrath onto Torin.

"It was him!" she loudly roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Torin. "You malicious con man! I knew your little parlor tricks were a scam!"

Genevieve's chest heaved with boiling rage. She threatened, "If anything permanent happens to my father because of what you did, I will never forgive you! I will ruin you!"

She looked ready to physically lunge at Torin and tear him apart with her bare hands. The only thing keeping her restrained was the fact that she was holding her father's slumping body up, terrified that letting go would make him slip away.

Disgusted by her endless accusations, Torin let out a harsh, mocking snort. He crossed his arms, staring down at the furious heiress with cold indifference.

"How can you logically accuse me of being a con man?" Torin sharply demanded to know. "Take a good look around. Have I cheated a single dime out of your family? Have I asked for a single favor?"

Genevieve gritted her teeth but had no answer to that.

Torin bluntly pointed out the reality of the situation. "If it were not for my emergency intervention on the street earlier today, your father's lungs would have collapsed on the spot. He would have already become a cold corpse by now." He shook his head, openly expressing his sheer disbelief. "I cannot fathom how ridiculous and ungrateful you are acting right now. I bought him time, and your temper tantrum in the lobby just threw it all away."

Biting back her boiling anger, Genevieve realized she could not waste another second arguing. She had to prioritize her father's fading life.

She turned away from Torin, tears streaming down her face as she desperately begged Gregory. "Dr. Finch, please take immediate action. Ignore him. Just fix my dad."

"Do not worry, Ms. Mercer. I will stabilize him," the renowned doctor stated.

Gregory confidently pulled out a small glass vial from his bag. He extracted a medicinal black pill and carefully fed it into Robert's mouth, massaging the man's throat to ensure he swallowed it down. Next, Gregory unrolled a leather pouch on the coffee table. He quickly readied a sterile set of gleaming silver needles. His hands moved with practiced precision, intending to expertly pierce the CEO's critical acupoints to halt the internal bleeding and regulate the chaotic energy.

Watching the doctor's precise setup, Torin's face remained flat. He did not step forward to intervene physically, but he did not hold his tongue either.

"Executing this specific acupuncture technique won't save his life," Torin bluntly commented, his voice devoid of any warmth. "I am warning you right now. If you insert those needles into those specific meridians, you will only cause him further, irreversible harm."

Gregory stopped with a silver needle hovering just inches above Robert's chest. He slowly turned his head, knitting his brows together in profound offense.

The established medical expert scoffed loudly at the unsolicited critique. He looked Torin up and down, taking in the young man's casual clothes and youthful face. Gregory was convinced that a scrawny twenty-year-old was unqualified to doubt his seasoned expertise.

"And who are you to lecture me on traditional medicine?" Gregory demanded, his tone dripping with condescension. "Acupuncture is an art that requires an agonizing, grueling decade of study just to grasp the basics. You couldn't possibly have spent the time required to even begin mastering it. Keep your mouth shut before you distract me and get this man killed."