The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 470

A week later.

Assistant Dawson pushed open the door to Garrison's office, clutching an investigative report with a grim expression.

He slammed the report onto the desk and lowered his voice. "Boss, we figured it out. Deep Blue is the one sabotaging us. They put the word out in the industry that anyone who takes the encapsulation order for Vitas-1 is making an enemy out of them. Now all the pharmaceutical companies are refusing to work with us. If we don't find a packaging firm soon, forget the large-scale clinical trials—the treatments for our current patients will grind to a halt."

Garrison flipped through the report, his finger pausing on the edge of the page. "How long can the current drug supply sustain the patients?"

"Two weeks, tops."

Garrison closed the report and fell silent for a few seconds. Outside the window, the winter sky was a dull gray. A few dead leaves were caught by the wind, tapping faintly against the glass.

Two weeks. It took him ten years to get to this point, and now he only had two weeks left.

If the drug supply was interrupted, this clinical trial would end in failure—just like the one five years ago.

Everything they had worked for would go down the drain!

Deep Blue's move was within his expectations. If he hadn't made a promise to his mentor, he never would have pushed The Vitas Strain into the market so early. But he had already reached this point.

Just then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID. It was Jackson.

Garrison answered the phone, and before he could speak, Jackson's rushed but coherent voice came through.

"Garrison, I heard about the encapsulation issue with Vitas-1. Taylor Manufacturing Corp might not be as big as those massive factories, but you can trust our encapsulation technology. I built my fortune on precision encapsulation. No one knows this process better than I do. I've already told my deputy to contact you. He's my most trusted man."

He started coughing again, this time harder, as if trying to expel the last bit of life from his lungs.

Faintly, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor echoed through the phone. He was likely calling from his hospital bed.

Garrison looked down at the report on his desk, listening to the voice of an old man nearing the end of his life. His chest felt heavy, as if a bitter, scalding cup of tea had been poured over his heart.

"Which hospital are you at? I'll come visit you."

*

Metropolitan General Hospital, VIP Ward.