Resurrecting the Genius Within (Calypso Rain) novel Chapter 172

Chapter 172 Barking Up the Wrong Tree 

The undercover operatives and protectors of the Harris clan have maintained a spotless record devoid of any dubious dealings over the past couple of years, with no fresh faces joining their ranks recently. 

Seems like the handiwork of Dark Shadow, or maybe even that elderly fellow Heart K, Isabelle mused silently. 

“This toxin isn’t your typical stuff. It’s a slow burner. Perhaps your father is not the target here. Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree, Isabelle reflected. 

George nodded, sharing her sentiment. 

Facing her, George remarked, “I’ve also been tackling the company’s cleanup, but it’s a Herculean task.” 

The upper echelons of the Harris Group are filled with family members and trusted allies, making them easy targets for investigation. The real challenge lies in scrutinising those lower down the ladder. 

Given the vast scope of subsidiaries and the sizable employee base, pinpointing a handful of moles is no walk in the park. 

George scoffed. “Bold move, going after my Harris Group. They’ve got guts.” 

“I’ll let them come at us. They’ll be in for a rough ride. If the Harris Group’s their target, I’ve got time,” George asserted, his confidence bolstered by the Harris family’s financial might. Plus, he had multiple Harris Groups under his belt. 

Isabelle chimed in, “Exactly, or else they’d go for you directly. Why bother poisoning your dad unless they’ve 

at some scheme up their sleeve.” 

George cautioned, his worry evident. “By stepping in to save my old man and throwing a wrench in their plans, you’re bound to stir up trouble for yourself.” 

Isabelle smirked disdainfully, not bothering to dignify that with a reply. 

George thought he finally had a valid excuse to take charge of her safety, but Isabelle brushed it off without a second thought, not even allowing him to get a word in. 

As Sam arrived, he caught sight of Isabelle resting on Uncle George’s shoulder in the hallway. 

Pausing briefly, he quietly turned and departed. 

Mr. Garth reappeared at the hospital, lugging a hefty bag of herbs, while Dylan trailed behind with two iron cages concealed beneath the cloth. 

All that could be heard was the rustling sound coming from inside the cage. 

From the tense expression on Dylan’s face, as if he wished his arm could stretch two metres long and he could throw the cage away at any moment, it seemed like the cage contained a rather unpleasant little 

creature. 

Dylan inquired, “Miss Jenkins, can these rattlesnakes and scorpions serve as remedies? Can old Mr. Harris 

consume them?” 

Isabelle accepted the cages and responded, “These are beneficial items, particularly the rattlesnake. Every 

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Chapter 172 Barking Up the Wrong Tree 

when consumed, especially during the winter.” 

“I’ll grab these, George remarked, reaching for the cages that Isabelle held out. 

Mr. Garth, poised to jot down the details, found himself stunned by Isabelle’s remark about “winter melon in winter.” He hesitated, retracting his pen, attentively absorbing her unusual statement. 

Dylan asked, “What kind of remarkable benefits?” 

Isabelle replied, “It’s capable of altering the human genetic structure, boosting intelligence, and elevating IQ by twenty points.” 

Dylan’s eyes widened incredulously. “Seriously?” 

Isabelle bluntly declared, “Total hoax.” 

George shook his head, shooting Dylan a glance before striding 

off, almost conveying, You’re beyond help. 

As he trailed behind Isabelle with the cage, George couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Can’t believe this. 

Mr. Garth quickened his pace to catch up, unable to contain himself, and reminded Dylan in simpler. terms. “Winter melons don’t grow in winter.” 

Dylan was confused. 

Following a brief meal, Isabelle plunged back into the laboratory, fully immersed in her tasks. 

Despite Mr. Garth’s usual delivery of medicinal herbs, Isabelle bypassed them entirely, instead focusing her efforts on clearing out all the poisonous herbs and toxins. 

George, noticing her finish, reached for a test tube from the nearby table. 

In the vial rested a pristine white liquid, akin to water in appearance. 

Yet Isabelle cautioned, “Take heed. This poison packs over twenty times the punch of the one detected on your father’s corpse.” 

George regarded her with wide eyes, taken aback by the revelation. 

It dawned on him then that she was brewing poison, explaining her earlier actions in extracting toxins from his father’s body. 

Rubbing her achy neck, Isabelle offered reassurance. “Relax. It’s not meant for your father.”