Chapter 2The True Heiress Who Sees Through Fake Innocence

The butler took me to a room at the very end of the second-floor hallway. Cold, damp, and smelling of long-term neglect. It faced north, and the view was just a blank gray brick wall.

Inside, there was only a single bed and an empty wardrobe. Not even a desk.

The butler avoided my eyes. "We have guests staying over, so the proper guest rooms are occupied. Please bear with this for tonight. I'll arrange for furniture tomorrow."

"It's perfect. A natural quarantine zone." I genuinely liked it. Isolated, few variables, great for data processing.

The butler blinked, nodded quickly, and retreated.

I drew the curtains, pulled out three micro-infrared cameras, and deployed them in the corners of the room within ten minutes. Prevention is key in academic research.

At dinner time, a maid knocked to invite me down. I headed down with my notebook.

The long mahogany dining table was laden with gourmet dishes. Richard sat at the head, Beatrice and Mark on the left, Beth beside Beatrice. On the right, there was a single empty seat.

I pulled out the chair and sat down. I noticed a fascinating detail: the four of them had gold-rimmed bone china settings. In front of me sat a cheap stainless steel cafeteria tray and a pair of cheap, splintering disposable wooden chopsticks.

Mark snickers. "What are you staring at? Be glad you're even getting fed."

Beth stood up, carefully carrying a bowl of soup to me. "Don't mind it, Gwen. Since you just came from the countryside, I was worried your stomach couldn't handle the family's regular dishes. We wouldn't want any H. pylori or stomach bacteria spreading to Mom and Dad." She placed the soup next to my metal tray. "I asked the kitchen to prepare this especially for you. It's clean."

Beatrice nodded. "Beth is always so thoughtful. You should thank your sister."

I looked at the splintered chopsticks. Instead of picking them up, I pulled a clear plastic folder from my bag and dropped it onto the middle of the table.

"Since we are being so hygienic, let's follow scientific protocol." I pointed to the folder. "This is a full-body medical report I got yesterday from Boston General Hospital. It covers blood work, metabolic panels, infectious diseases, and a C14 breath test for H. pylori. Negative across the board. Perfect health."

I leaned back, looking at Beth. "Now, your turn. Show me your medical report. Since you've been sickly since childhood, who knows what latent infections you're carrying? For Mom and Dad's safety, I suggest you switch to a disposable tray as well."

The air froze. Mark slammed the table. "Gwen! Are you trying to pick a fight? Beth was trying to help you, and you bring out some stupid medical report to show off? If you don't want to eat, get the hell out!"

I looked at him. Violent tendencies, high irritability, classic low-intelligence protective syndrome. I jotted it down.

Beatrice trembled. "Richard, look at her! How are we supposed to eat?"

Richard sneers. "Put those papers away. You don't set the rules at this table."

Beth's eyes welled up with tears. "Don't blame Gwen, Mom. It's my fault. I'll go get a disposable tray for myself." She turned toward the kitchen, looking incredibly fragile.

Mark grabbed her arm. "You're not changing anything! She's the one who needs to get out!" He glared at me. "You don't deserve this food!"

With a loud crash, Mark swept my metal tray and its contents straight into the trash can.

The maids shrunk back in terror.

I watched the mess. No anger, no sadness. Just excitement.

"Excellent stress response." I stood up, sliding my medical report back into my bag. "Subject Number Two has a remarkably low emotional threshold, making him extremely easy to manipulate. You make a perfect control group."

I walked toward the stairs. At the landing, I stopped and look back. "By the way, a quick tip. That plate of drunken crab on the table? It was made with dead crabs. The histamine levels are off the charts. Eat up, if you don't mind a night of severe food poisoning."

Mark yelled at my back, "Shut up! These are premium crabs flown in this morning!"

I shrugged and went to my room, where I ordered delivery on my phone.

Two hours later, chaos erupted downstairs. Sirens wailed. Mark was wheeled into an ambulance, clutching his stomach and screaming in agony.

Standing behind my curtain, I recorded the flashing blue lights of the ambulance. Beautiful data collection.