Chapter 5574

Anticipating relief, Bruce was dismayed to find the ice cubes utterly ineffective. The agonizing pain and
severe swelling persisted unabated.

His face contorted in anguish, Bruce, once a formidable warden, now crumpled to the ground,
resembling a little girl soiling her skirt and weeping in a muddy puddle.

Concerned, Camilla queried, “Mr. Warden, is it any better?”

Bruce shook his head between sobs, despairingly admitting, “Help me think of something. I can’t endure
this. It’s too much…”

Flustered, Camilla stammered, “I can’t think of anything…”

Then, she suggested, “What if I call 911 for help? Should I?”

“No!” Bruce blurted, realizing the consequences. “Calling 911 would ruin all of us!”

Bruce comprehended the peril of being in a federal prison, with the Rothschild family connections. A
scandal tonight could ruin his career and relationships.

Enduring the torment, he pleaded, “Go to my pocket, get my phone. I need to make a call, find someone
to help.”

Relieved at the thought of assistance, Camilla hurriedly retrieved Bruce’s phone.

Bruce’s call for help wasn’t directed at Charlie, the recent acquaintance, but at a friend, a physician at a
nearby hospital.

Impatiently, Bruce exclaimed, “Mark, where are you?”

A middle-aged voice responded, “On duty at the hospital. What’s wrong?”



Bruce urgently revealed, “I’m in trouble. You might be the only one who can help me!”

Mark, alarmed, inquired, “Bruce, are you injured?”

Bruce confessed, “Worse. It’s a life-threatening situation, and you’re my last hope.”

Mark, realizing the gravity, offered, “Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

Knowing Mark alone might be ill-equipped, Bruce insisted, “Prepare a private treatment room. No other
doctor should touch me. I’ll come to you.”

Mark sought details for targeted preparations. Bruce hesitated but courageously disclosed, “It’s my little
brother… It’s at least two or three times bigger than usual. I feel like it’s about to burst and I��m going
to die.”

“Holy shit!” Mark exclaimed, “Did you take any medication?”

“No,” Bruce insisted, “It just swelled suddenly, like it’s possessed. It’s on the verge of bursting!”

“Shit!” Mark cursed, urging, “Hurry to the hospital. I’ll prepare the room. If it’s as bad as you say, time is
of the essence. Hurry!”

Bruce Weinstein trembled uncontrollably, his fear palpable as he stammered, “I…I’ll be there right away!”
He tossed the phone aside, locking eyes with Camilla and the other girl, urgency in his voice, “Quickly,
help me get dressed and drive me to Manhattan Hospital!”

Camilla, her concern evident, unconsciously uttered, “Warden, you… I’m afraid you can’t put on pants in
your current situation…”

Bruce Weinstein looked down, a sinking feeling in his heart. The awkward posture made wearing pants
impossible unless he opted for overalls.



In a sudden burst of inspiration, Camilla suggested, “Warden, how about I get you a bathrobe?”

“Okay!” Bruce Weinstein agreed without hesitation, urging, “Go quickly, fetch it for me!”

A few minutes later, two Miss Universes, donned in sunglasses and masks, flanked Bruce Weinstein,
hastily wrapped in a bathrobe. The trio hurriedly made their way out of the room.

Bruce Weinstein’s excruciating pain showed no mercy, each step delivering torture akin to needles
relentlessly piercing him. Yet, he understood the gravity of the situation, he had to endure, avoiding any
hint of pretense.

In the underground garage, Camilla, behind the wheel of Bruce Weinstein’s car, skillfully navigated
toward Manhattan Hospital.

Ten minutes later, the car halted at the hospital entrance. Bruce Weinstein’s close friend Mark awaited,
pushing a wheelchair alone.

Spotting Bruce Weinstein’s car approaching, Mark hurriedly approached and opened the door.
Witnessing Bruce Weinstein curled up in pain, Mark questioned, “Bruce, are you sure this isn’t a prank?”

Bruce Weinstein, on the brink, retorted, “Mark, it’s not April Fool’s Day. I don’t have the energy for
pranks. For God’s sake, get me to the hospital and find a treatment room!”

Mark, realizing the severity, swiftly assisted Bruce Weinstein out of the car. Observing Bruce’s silhouette
through the bathrobe, Mark was momentarily stunned. He inquired, “Bruce, is this for real?”

Bruce Weinstein, exasperated, exclaimed, “Mark, I’m not here for jokes! Do something!”

Mark, preparing injections, reassured, “I’ll administer relief drugs first. Then, we’ll perform an angiogram
to check for clots.”



Bruce Weinstein, in agony, veins protruding, urged, “Hurry up!”

Mark, concerned, tested Bruce’s vitals and warned, “You must endure the pain. I need to examine you.”

Bruce Weinstein, desperate but resolute, underwent tests as Mark conducted thorough examinations.
Mark, perplexed, admitted, “No blood clot, nothing unusual. It’s puzzling.”

Surveying Bruce Weinstein seriously, Mark explained, “Your condition is unique. The intense congestion
is uncontrollable, leading to tissue hypoxia and necrosis. Immediate removal is the only option to prevent
systemic sepsis and potential fatality.”

Bruce Weinstein, outraged, implored, “Find a way to cure it without amputation! Surely, your hospital has
encountered such cases?”

Mark, gravely, stated, “Your tissue shows signs of necrosis. We can’t save it. Amputation is the only
recourse for such cases.”

Bruce Weinstein, desperate, queried, “What about the remaining 10%? Is there hope?”

Mark, shaking his head, clarified, “The remaining 10% face certain death. Accepting amputation is their
only chance. It’s a harsh reality.”

Bruce Weinstein, refusing to concede, pleaded, “I can’t accept it! Find another solution!”

Mark, suggesting consultation with experts, cautioned, “Most have gone home. Can I take a video for
remote consultation?”

Bruce Weinstein, defeated, consented, “Film it. Carefully.”

Mark quickly recorded a video and reached out to experts. Responses flooded in, unanimous in
recommending surgical removal.



Bruce Weinstein, in despair, exclaimed, “I just met Miss Universe, and now I’m facing becoming a
eunuch!”

Mark, resigned, and informed him, “You have 24 hours to decide. Necrosis will set in, leaving no choice.
It’s a dire situation.”

As reality sank in, Bruce Weinstein’s eyes sparked with a realization. He whispered, “Maybe what Mr.
Jagoan said is true. Is there a cure?”

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