The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 485

"That is enough."

The sudden voice cracked through the office like a peal of thunder.

Howard Harrison took a large stride forward, placing himself between Willa and the employees' desks. His face was livid, his gaze piercing.

He had worked at Taylor Manufacturing Corp for thirty years, climbing the ranks from a floor supervisor to Vice President. He had practically raised these employees, and none of them had ever seen him this furious.

"Willa, I need you to leave the premises immediately."

His voice was low, but every syllable carried unquestionable authority. "This is a place of business, not a stage for your tantrums."

Willa spun around, refusing to back down. "Howard! I am Jackson Taylor's lawful wife! I am the wife of the founder! You're just a Vice President. What right do you have to kick me out? Let's see who dares to touch me."

Howard stared at her. He remained silent for two long seconds before letting out a weary sigh.

"Willa, I'm sorry. Before Mr. Taylor passed, he left all his shares in the company to Sloane. You do not hold any equity here, nor do you hold any position. Legally speaking, you have zero ties to this company. I apologize, but those are the facts."

"Howard Harrison! How did my husband treat you when he was alive? You were nothing but an errand boy in the workshop! He built you from the ground up! He gave you your power, your position, and his body isn't even cold yet, and this is how you treat me? Do you have no conscience?" Willa shrieked.

Tessa held onto her mother's trembling arm and sneered. "Howard, my father trusted you for thirty years. Thirty years of loyalty, destroyed by a forged will. Your devotion certainly pivots quickly."

But Howard was no longer looking at them.

Garrison let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He was just turning to check on Sloane when his arm suddenly bore her heavy weight. She slumped against him, as if every ounce of strength had been drained from her body.

He looked down. Her face was terrifyingly pale, a sheen of cold sweat beading on her forehead. Damp strands of hair clung to her temples. Her lips were completely bloodless, parted slightly as she took shallow, rapid breaths.

"Sloane, what is it?" Garrison's voice tightened with panic. He gripped her shoulder firmly with one hand while the other instinctively checked her jugular. Her pulse was erratic and weak. Her skin felt clammy.

Sloane weakly shook her head. "I'm fine."

"I'm taking you to a quiet room." Garrison draped her arm over his shoulder, wrapping his other arm securely around her waist. Half-carrying, half-supporting her, he ushered her away from the crowded office floor.