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 ...