Charles Linton's entire face was shrouded in white smoke. He took a fierce drag on his cigarette and said, "What counts as clear evidence? Do you think I'm deliberately making trouble or faking an accident for compensation? That was what people from their own hospital said! When Harold Thornton was doing the surgery, there were mistakes with the tendons and the suturing. He actually zoned out and daydreamed during the operation! Tell me, if you're not in the right state, why get on the operating table? Is that the place to prove yourself?!"

　　The Vault asked, "Who said that?"

　　"Their supervisor!" Charles Linton said loudly. "Their supervisor was scolding Harold Thornton. I originally wanted to thank him, but then I overheard all this. Later I found out that, during that period, a woman was accusing him of sexual assault. His reputation in the hospital was ruined, his chances for a promotion were basically gone, and he was just fooling us outsiders. The hospital wanted to give him time off, let him lay low at home, but he refused and insisted on performing surgeries. My family chose him because he looked kind and we trusted him. Who would've thought, in his eyes, we were just stress-relief toys."

　　"And with all this, do you think I wouldn't be angry? That I wouldn't make a fuss? We put a living person's life in his hands, and just one moment of distraction, a person's whole life is ruined! Patients are endlessly grateful to them, but to them, it's just a job to make money and climb the social ladder. Why? That's just not fair!"

　　The Vault looked at him seriously, a slightly mocking expression flashing across her face, though it disappeared quickly.

　　Julian Grant was a supervisor himself, and he felt that Charles Linton's thinking was a bit paranoid. He held back, but still couldn't help but defend Harold Thornton.

　　"When supervisors give lectures, it's always about setting impossibly high standards, wishing their employees could all shed their humanity and become emotionless, mistake-free robots. You just have to listen and let it go, you can't take it all seriously."

　　He personally believed that Harold Thornton wasn't as bad as Charles Linton made him out to be. The fact that he had such a good reputation in the hospital said something about his true character—a normal person can't fake it for that long.

　　Excellent surgeons are rare everywhere, and there are always patients waiting in line for surgery. Harold Thornton's decision to keep working surely wasn't just for the sake of appearances.

　　Julian Grant: "Isn't it more relaxing to take time off at home than to work? The fact that Harold Thornton could be up for associate chief at such a young age shows his surgical skills are really good—it's not just because he looks trustworthy. Didn't you know how serious your nephew's injury was at the time? Judging by the outcome, it probably turned out much better than you expected, right? Isn't your speculation about him a bit too dark?"

　　Charles Linton lacked confidence, but still forced himself to retort, "But that doesn't change the fact that he made a mistake during surgery!"

　　Julian Grant said, "The appraisal committee's conclusion is pretty authoritative. A surgery takes a long time—who can guarantee they won't get tired? If someone wants to find fault, they'll always find a reason to scold you. That's just internal admonishment, it doesn't mean there was a medical accident. Don't you get that?"

　　The Vault, with her itchy throat, added, "You're right."

　　Julian Grant raised an eyebrow, noticing her voice was even lower than before. Those four short words came out sounding like frosted glass—she must have inhaled too much secondhand smoke, making her already fragile throat even worse.

　　Julian Grant crooked his finger, signaling her to obediently go downstairs, then stepped forward and snatched away Charles Linton's cigarette, putting it out on the floor.

　　Charles Linton looked up in confusion. "What are you doing?"

　　"Our patient is right here," Julian Grant said, nodding toward her. "If we stay any longer, there'll be an accident."

　　The Vault moved behind him, but in the cramped stairwell, the air was just as bad everywhere. She didn't look well and coughed lightly twice.

　　Julian Grant reached over and covered her face with his hand, his fingers carrying a faint scent.

　　The Vault almost suffocated because of him.

　　This guy was so over-the-top, she was left speechless.

　　Charles Linton just wanted to ignore the strange interaction between the two and asked, "You at Trident will report the truth, right? You won't side with the hospital?"

　　The Vault pulled Julian Grant's hand away and asked, "How much compensation are you asking for?"

　　Charles Linton seemed to have been poked in a sore spot. His facial muscles twitched, but he kept his composure and asked, "What do you mean?"

　　"Aren't you asking for compensation?" The Vault asked. "How much did you ask Harold Thornton for at the time?"

　　Charles Linton: "Isn't that normal?"

　　Julian Grant chimed in, "If it's normal, then it's just a simple question—what's so hard about answering?"

　　Charles Linton raised his voice, "Two million! My nephew is still young, that's not too much to ask, is it?"

　　"What methods did you use privately to pursue this 'normal' two million?"

　　The Vault's tone was still calm, but it made Charles Linton extremely uncomfortable.

　　Julian Grant thought to himself, as expected, once she finished asking, The Vault's gentle side was over. This woman was always ready to burn bridges.

　　If, before, Charles Linton had been doing his best to play the innocent victim, after The Vault asked this sensitive question, he couldn't keep up the act.

　　His avoidance of the question put a crack in his perfect victim mask, and he wasn't as good at lying as he thought.

　　While he was still thinking, The Vault nodded. "I understand."

　　She didn't ask further, eager to get away from the smoke-filled place, and quickly pulled open the wooden door in front and left.

Chapter 92 Quinn Foster

　　The Vault sat in the car for half an hour before Julian Grant came back, looking glum.

　　He opened the car door and smelled the scent of Golden Throat lozenges, his mouth twitching as he said, "Such a nostalgic smell."

　　The Vault generously offered to share, but Julian Grant declined, "Forget it, you enjoy it yourself."

　　The Vault blew a breath in his direction from afar, and Julian Grant inexplicably felt the smell in the car got even stronger.

　　"Do you think you're an air freshener?"

　　The Vault: "You reek of smoke, it's drifting over here."

　　Julian Grant lowered his head to straighten his wrinkled sleeve and said, "The Vault ma'am, next time before you drop a bomb, can you think about your teammates? Charles Linton kept dragging me to explain, pouring out his tragic life story. You change your face the fastest, and you're the quickest to run away too—it's too much."

　　The Vault sincerely accepted the criticism and promised to improve next time.

　　But as for "next time," who can guarantee that?

　　Julian Grant still felt a bit apprehensive. He hurried to drive the car out of the complex, and only after they were on the main road, sure that no one could catch up, did he relax.

　　He cracked the window a bit to let the breeze in and clear the air. Once his ears got used to the whistling wind, his mind turned to business.

　　With one hand on the steering wheel, Julian Grant chatted with the person beside him: "Charles Linton's testimony is completely different from what those two at the hospital said. Who's lying?"

　　"It's not completely different. It's just that everyone is speaking for themselves," The Vault took out a bottle of ice water, coughed twice, and continued, "If you balance it out, maybe that's the truth."

　　Julian Grant glanced at her. Hearing how hard it was for her to speak, he didn't really want to talk, but couldn't help asking, "How do you balance it?"

　　The Vault: "Look at what each of them is deliberately emphasizing."

　　Julian Grant waited for her to finish, but the car fell silent.

　　"That's it?"

　　The Vault raised an eyebrow and pointed at her throat, signaling for him to figure it out himself.

　　Time for another guessing game.

　　Julian Grant used to think The Vault was always saying shocking things, and her obsession with dry humor had become a barrier to their communication. Now that she was half mute, he realized that without mutual understanding, people still need words to build a bridge.

　　A The Vault who could talk was really adorable.

　　All that stuff about subtle spiritual communication—people should just be honest with each other.

　　While driving and searching for a familiar route, Julian Grant tried to piece together both sides' testimonies again.

　　He was a bit slow in reviewing, because traffic was as jammed as usual today, and the weaving cars kept interrupting his thoughts.

　　After passing two traffic lights, Julian Grant finally figured it out.

　　"The doctors and nurses at D University Affiliated Hospital kept emphasizing Harold Thornton's popularity and reputation, highlighting that he's a good person, cares about patients, and has enough professional skill and ethics. When it came to whether there was a mistake during the surgery, both said we should trust the appraisal committee's conclusion. The doctor acted very neutral, deliberately distancing himself from Harold Thornton, while the nurse was more emotional, constantly questioning us with social controversy points. To some extent, both avoided the issue."

　　The Vault nodded.

　　The surgical error wasn't really the point of contention. The medical staff believed Harold Thornton's minor mistake was a normal risk and didn't constitute a medical accident.

　　Julian Grant: "So the story about Harold Thornton being scolded by his supervisor is probably true. Charles Linton really did overhear their conversation, and that's when he started making trouble."