The young officer's back slammed into the filing cabinet behind him, the metal doors letting out a deafening crash.
Thud!
A potted pothos plant tumbled from the top of the cabinet, the ceramic pot shattering into a dozen pieces on the floor.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?"
Garrison's face was less than three inches from his, spitting out every word through clenched teeth. A murderous rage burned in his eyes. He radiated a suffocating wave of pure, lethal fury that sent a chill down everyone's spine.
The young officer dangled in the air, his toes barely scraping the floor. His hands instinctively grabbed Garrison's wrist, desperately trying to pry it open, but it felt like trying to bend a steel pipe welded into concrete.
His face flushed crimson, his lips trembling as he failed to utter a single word.
"Stop! Have you lost your mind, Garrison? Assaulting a federal officer—" Director Garrett was the first to react, rushing forward to pry Garrison's arm away.
Garrison didn't even turn his head. He threw a vicious backhand with his left arm, his elbow slamming precisely into Garrett's chest. Garrett let out a muffled groan and staggered back three steps, his lower back crashing into the edge of the desk. The monitor wobbled violently, nearly toppling over.
The other inspectors exchanged nervous glances. A few instinctively reached for their batons, but no one dared to make the first move.
They had raided plenty of people who cowered and groveled, people who were furious but too terrified to speak out. But they had never encountered a man like this. His eyes weren't bloodshot with erratic rage or out of control. They were cold. Lethal. Like a scalpel freshly pulled from liquid nitrogen—completely devoid of warmth, dissecting everyone he looked at with surgical precision.
Still holding the young officer with one hand, Garrison threw him toward the glass cabinet and let go. The guy stumbled several feet before catching his balance.
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