Ray Barrett was seething with jealousy, his emotions churning in a bitter, toxic swirl.
How could Fortune Kensington, who was nothing more than a janitor under his management, possibly have a granddaughter who outshone his own son? The thought gnawed at him. His son might not have received the absolute best education money could buy, but Ray had still hired two private tutors from top universities. That alone put his son miles ahead of Caitlin, Fortune's granddaughter—or so he'd always believed.
Now, seeing Caitlin surpass him, Ray felt utterly humiliated. It was a slap in the face, an insult he couldn't swallow.
He watched as Fortune's figure receded down the corridor, then spat on the ground in disgust.
"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath. "They're nothing."
One day, he swore, his son would prove himself a thousand times better than Caitlin—he'd make sure of it. He'd see Caitlin crushed underfoot.
***
Meanwhile, Caitlin was following Principal Blake and Director Prescott to Central Academy.
As Caitlin smoothly completed her enrollment, Lanny Blake finally relaxed. No one would be able to snatch this prodigy away from their school now.
Beaming, Lanny clapped Caitlin gently on the shoulder. "Caitlin, take some time to prepare at home. At the opening ceremony, I'd like you to give a speech on behalf of the senior class."
"Of course, Principal Blake." Caitlin nodded politely. "I'll head home now."
Lanny quickly grabbed his car keys. "Let me drive you, Caitlin! We can't have our star student getting tired."
Caitlin smiled, shaking her head. "Thank you, Principal Blake, but I have plans to meet someone."
Hearing this, Lanny reluctantly put down his keys and walked Caitlin to the office door. "Take care on your way, Caitlin."
He watched until her figure disappeared down the hallway, the proud smile never leaving his face.
What a wonderful student—brilliant, polite, the kind teachers dreamed of. Central Academy had struck gold.
People were talking in hushed, worried voices.
"Did someone call an ambulance?"
"Yes, but there's a traffic jam on the overpass. They said it'll be at least fifteen minutes!"
"Oh God… Can she really wait that long?"
Fifteen minutes for an ambulance? Caitlin's brow furrowed.
She quickly assessed the situation. Classic medicine relied on careful observation, and it was obvious to her—the woman was suffering from a sudden heart attack. She'd probably been unconscious for five or six minutes already, and the golden window for treatment was less than ten.
There was no time to wait. Immediate intervention was her only option.
Caitlin pushed through the crowd, her voice clear and steady. "Excuse me, please let me through! I'm a doctor!"

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