Vincenzo Dante Volkov:“Hello,” a soft knock sounded on the office door before it opened. The President’s daughter, Clara, stepped in, flashing a practiced smile.“Vincenzo,” she greeted, her tone overly familiar.I didn’t look up immediately, finishing my note before setting my pen down. “You’re late, Clara. That was not the agreement I had with your father.”Her smile faltered.I picked up the intern files from my desk and handed them to her. “Choosing you over other, more deserving candidates because of your father’s influence is already something I wasn’t comfortable with. Don’t give me a reason to regret it.”Straightening my suit, I walked toward the door. As I passed her, I paused and said, “Rule number one: when I move, you move. No exceptions. Get to work.”She blinked, opening her mouth to speak, but I didn’t let her.“Rule number two,” I continued, “as an intern, you’re here to learn, not to coast on your last name. You’ll observe and assist with patient documentation, foll
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