The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 292

"Search the place!"

At his command, the men scattered like hounds let off their leashes.

One officer yanked open a filing cabinet, pulling out binders one by one and tossing them onto the floor after a cursory glance. Another tore through the drawers of the lab bench, violently shoving aside pipette tips, centrifuge tubes, and reagent bottles.

Another pulled open the glass door of the clean bench, holding the petri dishes up to the light before slamming them haphazardly onto the counter.

The sound of rustling paper, slamming drawers, and clinking glassware blended together, creating a chaotic and grating noise in the cramped office.

Garrison stood rooted to the spot.

He watched them tear his office apart inch by inch. The veins on the back of his hands bulged, but his expression remained as calm and frozen as a winter lake.

He had prepared for this. All the core data for the Vitas Strain was safely stored on an encrypted server, and he was the only one with the key. The physical samples had already been moved to a secure location. There was absolutely nothing in this office for them to find.

But right now, all he could do was endure it.

And he did. He had endured it when they trashed his filing cabinets the first time. He had endured it when they copied his experimental data the second time. He had endured it when they cut the power to his ultra-low temperature freezer, ruining two batches of cell samples. He endured it all.

Because the Vitas Strain research required time. Synthesizing the cancer drug required time, and time was the one thing he couldn't afford to waste.

However, just as Garrison's eyes were locked on the lab bench, a grubby hand slowly reached for the glass cabinet behind him.

The young officer looked about twenty-five. He was rough, perhaps frustrated that he hadn't found anything, or perhaps he was just plain stupid.

The four strings had lost their tension and lay limply curled over the body of the instrument. The thinnest E string had completely snapped and vibrated gently in the air, letting out a final, dying hum.

Garrison froze. For a split second, the blood in his veins ran ice cold.

He stood before the broken cello, staring down at it like someone had hit the pause button on his life. Then, he slowly bent down and scooped up the fractured neck and the main body of the instrument, gently running his fingers over the break. Wood splinters pierced his fingertips, drawing beads of blood, but he felt no pain. He just cradled the ruined cello to his chest, holding it like he was holding someone he couldn't save.

"You're dead."

Garrison lunged, grabbing the young officer by the collar. His fingers locked in a death grip, twisting the dark blue uniform fabric.

Before the guy could even react, his feet were lifted off the ground. Powered by a sudden, terrifying surge of adrenaline, Garrison hoisted the man into the air with one hand like he weighed absolutely nothing.