The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 144

After the meal, Garrison excused himself to leave, but he had barely taken a few steps out of the private dining room when a man's voice suddenly called out behind him.

"Professor Foster, please wait a moment."

Garrison turned around.

It was Simon Yates.

He hurried over, stopping right in front of Garrison with a slight, respectful bow. When he lifted his head, his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation, as if weighing his words, before he finally spoke.

"Professor Foster," his voice was gentle and remarkably composed, "I was hoping to ask you something..."

"That patient who transferred to your care from our hospital, Ms. Sloane Taylor. How is she responding to the treatment on your end?"

Garrison's mind buzzed with a sudden, deafening static.

What on earth was this man talking about? Was this another corporate spy sent by Knox to dig for information?!

He stared coldly at Simon, his voice low, steady, and completely devoid of panic.

"Which Sloane Taylor are you referring to?"

Simon blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question.

"She's a 26-year-old woman," Simon replied, a hint of genuine confusion lacing his tone. "She was diagnosed with late-stage brain cancer three months ago. I actually called you about her case, but... you refused."

And you blocked my number... though Simon tactfully left that part unsaid.

"Later, she told me she managed to contact your team herself and enrolled in The Vitas Protocol clinical trials. I just wanted to ask how she was holding up. I've been quite worried about her..."

As he spoke, he pulled out his phone, pulled up a photo, and held it out for Garrison to see.

"This is her. Please, take a look."

Garrison looked down.

On the screen, a woman was crouching in a hospital courtyard, holding a treat out for a tortoiseshell cat. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a radiant, luminous glow over her profile.

It had a single desk, two bookcases, and an anatomical chart on the wall. A few potted pothos plants sat on the windowsill, their vines trailing down and glowing under the afternoon sun.

"Please, have a seat, Professor Foster." Simon pulled out a chair and sat down in front of his computer.

Garrison didn't sit. He stood rigidly behind Simon, his eyes locked on the glowing monitor.

"Pull up the file. Hurry."

Simon's fingers flew across the keyboard, bringing up a medical dossier.

"Ms. Sloane Taylor. She first came to our hospital in 2021." He clicked open a report. "It was a routine physical. Everything was perfectly normal."

On the screen was a health screening report from three years ago.

Every single metric was followed by the word "Normal" in reassuring green text. Blood pressure, blood sugar, liver and kidney functions, tumor markers—all flawlessly healthy, like a textbook example of a perfect immune system.

Garrison stared at her name, staring at those green words, as a cold sweat began to gather on his palms.