The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 547

But when she reached the floor where Garrison's office was located, she was greeted by two white strips of police tape crossed over the doorframe.

The tape bore black official seals, and the red "SEALED" stamps glared like cold, indifferent eyes, just as piercing as the egg that had smashed against his temple on the news.

The lab doors were taped shut, too. The hallway was unnervingly quiet. A few nurses hurried by with their heads down, none of them daring to take a second glance.

Sloane turned the corner to the reception area.

In the quiet lounge, Assistant Dawson was crouched on the floor, packing things into a cardboard box.

The table was cluttered with unfiled medical records, the black thermos Garrison had used for years, a few worn-out medical journals, and a potted pothos plant with wilting leaves.

Dawson placed the items into the box one by one, moving slowly, as if packing up a place he could never return to.

"Dawson."

Sloane stood in the doorway, panting, her voice trembling but every word forced out deliberately. "What exactly is going on?"

Dawson looked up, his eyes as red and swollen as walnuts. The moment he saw Sloane, fresh tears spilled over.

He bit his lip, shook his head, and stuffed a thick anatomy atlas into the box. "Ms. Taylor... it's just like they reported on the news," he mumbled.

"That's impossible."

Sloane crouched down in front of him, gripping his shoulders, her tone rushed and absolute.

"Garrison would never do something like that. Did he do it to save Vivienne? Did he do it to protect me from getting dragged into this?"

Her panic grew with every word, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "Dawson, you've worked with him for years. You know what kind of man he is better than anyone—say something!"