Chapter 177: Professor Miriam Caldwell Handed a Thick Stack of Files to Clara Whitmore

"Take these materials home and study them carefully." Professor Miriam Caldwell handed a thick stack of files to Clara Whitmore. "You should have a basic grasp of the research direction before starting in September."

Clara accepted the documents, her fingers tightening slightly. "Don't worry, Professor. I'll master them as soon as possible. I won't hold the team back."

Miriam couldn't help but smile at her earnest expression. "When have I ever doubted your abilities?"

"After watching your interview video, I finally feel at ease." She patted Clara's shoulder gently. "All these years, I worried you might struggle to keep up with today's research pace."

"But you've surprised me."

Especially during Elias Mercer's questioning—the depth of her thinking surpassed even many third-year graduate students.

"Remember, you're my student." Miriam's gaze was firm. "No one understands your talent and potential better than I do."

* * *

Their conversation was interrupted by a phone call. The professor hurried away, leaving Clara alone with the materials.

Walking along the tree-lined campus path, Clara's thoughts drifted. These years hadn't been smooth sailing—she'd faced self-doubt, fearing she might disappoint her mentor's expectations.

Especially after learning Professor Caldwell's long-researched project still lacked breakthroughs, she worried her participation might prove futile...

Flipping through the documents, Clara was surprised to find the papers neatly arranged by year.

The oldest literature dated back to the 1940s, when biology first emerged as an independent discipline.

Previously, she'd only understood the history of biology as a reader. Now, she was about to become a participant in that history.

This shift in identity stirred her emotions deeply.

Clara became completely absorbed in the documents until her phone rang abruptly.

"Are you Sloane Bennett's family?" A hurried female voice came through. "This is Beacon Hill Medical Center. She's been in a car accident. Please come immediately."

Clara's fingers jerked violently, her heart nearly stopping.

Hanging up, she frantically grabbed her wallet and jacket. Before leaving, she turned back to stuff several bank cards into her bag.

The elevator took too long, so she rushed for the stairs.

Just as she reached the apartment complex entrance, a taxi happened to pull up.

"Beacon Hill Medical Center, please hurry!" Her voice trembled noticeably.

The driver, a gray-templed man, glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Don't worry, miss. Thirty years behind the wheel—I'll get you there fast and safe."

Clara clutched her phone tightly, redialing Sloane's number.

Still switched off.

The car radio suddenly cut in with breaking news: "At 1:30 PM, a major accident occurred on West Street—a bus rear-ended a truck. Currently, ten injured and one fatality reported..."

West Street! That was Sloane's company district!

Tears instantly spilled from Clara's eyes.

The driver floored the gas, weaving deftly through traffic. The usual thirty-minute trip took only fifteen.