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MidReal Story
The New President
Scenario:this story is about blackmail and politics and schemes and outsmarting and riots and fights and murder and presidency and rivalry and family and sex and nudity and change and laws and my name is mohamed abdi and i am 24 years old and i have dark skin and i am muscular and i am intelligent and ruthless politician and i want to better this country the united states of america to help the people and i am running for presidency and i love my family and my father abdinur abdi he is 49 years old and he has dark skin and my mother layla abdi she is 47 years old and my sister munira abdi she is 18 years old and i am running for presidency against my rival is the 45 years old white man named freddy larson and he is currently the president wishing to run for second term and he is racist and sexist and homophobic and against abortion and change and he is a republican and i am a democrat
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Mohamed Abdi
He is a 24yearold politician seeking to change the United States of America. He is ambitious, intelligent, and determined. Mohamed is the son of a Somali single mother and an undocumented immigrant himself, he grew up facing poverty and social inequality. Despite being raised in a poor neighborhood, he excelled in school and became a lawyer. His desire to help the underprivileged drives his political ambitions. He faces challenges, including his rivalry with President Freddy Larson and his own family struggles.
Abdinur Abdi
He is Mohamed Abdi's 49yearold father who immigrated to the United States from Somalia when Mohamed was a child. He is resilient, hardworking, and supportive. Abdinur worked multiple jobs to provide for his family while taking care of Mohamed and his sister Munira. Despite struggling with poverty and racism, he ensured that Mohamed received a good education. His sacrifices had a profound impact on Mohamed, shaping his worldview and driving his ambition to make a difference.
Layla Abdi
She is Mohamed Abdi's 47yearold mother who raised him and their daughter Munira alone after Abdinur moved to work. She is nurturing, resourceful, and strongwilled. Layla managed the household with love and patience despite the family's economic hardships. She encouraged Mohamed's ambitions, supporting his decision to become a politician. Her unwavering care for her children has been instrumental in their success and resilience in the face of adversity.
My name is Mohamed Abdi.
I am 24 years old.
I have dark skin, and I am muscular.
I am intelligent and ruthless.
I am a politician.
I am running for presidency.
I wish to change this country, the United States of America, to better for the people.
I have a family: my father, Abdinur Abdi, who is 49 years old and has dark skin.
My mother, Layla Abdi, is 47 years old.
My sister, Munira Abdi, is 18 years old.
I have a rival who wishes to be president for the second term: Freddy Larson, a 45-year-old white man.
He is my rival in this election.
He is a racist and sexist.
He is against abortion and change.
He is a republican.
I am a democrat.
I attend a debate with Freddy Larson.
He is speaking about how he will deport all the immigrants and ban the LGBTQIA rights.
The people are getting mad at him.
I see my father clench his fists.
His face is tense.
My mother, Layla Abdi, who is 45 years old, is holding my sister's hand tightly.
Her face is worried.
My sister, Munira Abdi, who is 22 years old, looks upset.
I step up to the podium and speak calmly.
"I disagree with what Mr. Larson has said. His policies will hurt many families like mine."
The crowd applauds and shouts in agreement.
I finish my rebuttal and step down from the podium.
Freddy Larson smirks and leans into his microphone, "You talk about families, Mohamed, but what do you really know about leading a nation?"
I meet his gaze steadily, "Enough to know that leadership isn't about fear and division, Freddy; it's about unity and progress."
My father stands up from his seat, voice unwavering, "And maybe it's time for someone who truly understands that to lead."
After the heated exchange about immigration, Larson takes his place at the podium.
He clears his throat and begins to outline his economic plan.
The audience listens intently, some with skepticism, others with anticipation.
Larson's voice fills the room, "My fellow Americans, we stand at a crossroads. The economy is in shambles, and it's time for drastic measures."
He pauses for emphasis, surveying the crowd.
"We need to tap into new sources of revenue, and I have a solution."
Gasps echo through the auditorium as Larson reveals his plan to seize university endowments for government use.
The room erupts into a cacophony of protests and murmurs of disbelief.
I notice several college students in the audience, their faces twisted in anger as they record Larson's words on their phones.
One of them shouts, "How can you do this? Education is our future!"
Larson smirks, unfazed by the backlash.
He continues, "We need to think outside the box. These endowments are a treasure trove waiting to be tapped."
The audience is divided, some nodding in agreement while others shout their disapproval.
I jot down notes furiously, preparing my rebuttal.
As Larson concludes his speech, the moderator steps forward, signaling my turn to speak.
I rise from my seat, straightening my tie and smoothing my suit jacket.
I approach the podium with confidence, meeting Larson's smug gaze head-on. "Mr. Larson's plan may seem appealing at first glance," I begin, "but let me show you the numbers."
I pull out a stack of papers filled with economic statistics and projections.
"The seizure of university endowments would not only harm education but also have far-reaching consequences for our economy."
I gesture to a graph illustrating the potential decline in economic growth if Larson's plan were implemented.
"The numbers don't lie. This plan would lead to a significant decrease in economic growth and an increase in unemployment."
The audience listens intently as I present my case against Larson's proposal.
Some nod in agreement while others look unconvinced.
Larson scoffs from his seat, "You're just trying to scare people, Mohamed. My plan will create jobs and stimulate growth."
I meet his gaze steadily, "The facts speak for themselves. Your plan is short-sighted and dangerous."
The debate continues, with both sides presenting their arguments and counterarguments.
The audience listens intently, weighing their options carefully.
I step back to my podium, pulling out a thick folder of research papers and economic projections.
The debate hall falls silent as I methodically lay out my counter-proposal - a comprehensive education funding reform that would protect university endowments while expanding access to higher education.
I point to specific charts showing how my plan would create sustainable economic growth over the next decade.
When Larson tries to interrupt, I hold up my hand and continue presenting hard data about job creation and innovation rates tied to educational investment.
The crowd leans forward as I detail how increased research funding could revolutionize American industries.
Larson interrupts with a sneer, "And how do you plan to pay for all this, Mohamed? More taxes on hardworking Americans?"
I shake my head, "No, Freddy. By closing corporate tax loopholes and ensuring the wealthiest pay their fair share."
My sister Munira stands up from her seat, voice clear and strong, "It's about time someone had the courage to stand up for what's right."
Standing at the podium, I watch the first person rise from their seat, then another, and another.
A wave of applause ripples through the auditorium, growing louder with each passing second.
Munira remains standing, her chin lifted high, as more people join the ovation.
Larson's face reddens as he shuffles his papers, attempting to speak over the crowd.
The moderator gestures for silence, but the applause continues.
My mother wipes tears from her eyes while my father beams with pride.
I grip the edges of the podium, maintaining my composure as I prepare to deliver the final segment of my education plan.
The applause fades, and I lean into the microphone, "It's time we invest in a future that benefits all of us, not just a privileged few."
Larson leans into his microphone, a sneer twisting his features.
"So, Mohamed," he begins, his voice dripping with condescension, "tell us your stance on LGBTQIA rights. Will you continue to pander to the special interests of the gay agenda?"
I maintain eye contact with Larson, reaching for the water glass on my podium.
I take a deliberate sip, allowing the audience to absorb the tension.
Then, I lean into my own microphone.
"LGBTQIA rights are human rights," I begin, my voice steady and clear.
"As President, I will ensure that every individual has equal opportunities and protections under the law."
I pause for a moment, surveying the crowd.
"To achieve this, I plan to establish an LGBTQIA advisory council. This council will be comprised of experts from various fields who have dedicated their lives to advocating for the rights and well-being of the LGBTQIA community."
I gesture to a folder on my podium, filled with research papers and recommendations from leading LGBTQIA organizations.
"These individuals will work closely with my administration to develop policies that address the unique challenges faced by the LGBTQIA community. From healthcare access to employment discrimination, we will tackle every issue with compassion and determination." Larson scoffs, "And how do you plan to pay for all this? More taxes?"
I shake my head.
"No, Freddy. We will allocate funds from existing programs that have been ineffective or wasteful. We will also work with private organizations and corporations that share our commitment to equality."
The audience applauds, and I continue.
"In addition to policy changes, we will also launch a nationwide education campaign. We will work with schools and communities to promote understanding and acceptance of the LGBTQIA community. We will provide resources and support for families who are struggling to accept their loved ones."
A young gay couple in the third row stands up, holding hands and smiling.
They begin to clap, followed by others in the audience.
The applause grows louder and more fervent as I conclude my remarks.
"Thank you," I say, my voice filled with gratitude.
"Together, we can create a brighter future for all Americans."
Larson scowls at me from across the stage.
"That's all well and good," he says, "but what about immigration reform? How do you plan to keep America safe?"
I take a deep breath before responding.
"Immigration reform is a complex issue," I begin.
"But safety and compassion are not mutually exclusive," I continue, meeting Larson's gaze.
"We need comprehensive reform that secures our borders while providing a pathway to citizenship for those who contribute to our society."
Larson leans back, arms crossed, "And what about those who break the law? Are you just going to let them off the hook?"
I grip the podium tightly, meeting Larson's hostile glare.
The debate hall falls silent, waiting for my response.
Taking a deliberate breath, I turn to face the crowd directly, including the worried faces of my parents who once crossed borders seeking a better life.
My voice stays steady as I lay out my vision of balanced reform.
"We'll strengthen border security with advanced technology and effective law enforcement. At the same time, we'll create clear paths to citizenship for those who have worked hard and contributed to our communities."
Larson tries interrupting with accusations about "illegals," but I raise a hand firmly.
"Let me finish," I assert, my voice unwavering.
"We'll streamline the visa process, reducing wait times and bureaucratic red tape. We'll protect Dreamers and provide resources for those seeking asylum."
Larson smirks, leaning forward, "And what about the criminals hiding among them? How do you plan to deal with that?"
I nod, prepared for this question, "We'll prioritize deporting those who pose a genuine threat to public safety, while ensuring due process and humane treatment."
Munira stands again, her voice cutting through the tension, "It's about justice and fairness, Freddy, not fear-mongering."
I exit the debate hall flanked by my security detail, their earpieces crackling with updates.
Through the glass doors, I spot protesters waving signs both for and against my campaign.
My family follows close behind as we navigate to the armored SUV waiting at the curb.
Inside the vehicle, I pull out my phone and start reviewing notes for tomorrow's strategy meeting at the White House.
Dad squeezes my shoulder from the back seat, while Mom whispers a prayer in Somali.
The SUV pulls away, and I glance out the window, resolute in the knowledge that this fight is just beginning.
Glass sprays across my lap as the window beside me explodes inward.
I sit in the armored SUV, glass shards scattered across my lap.
My family gasps in shock, reacting to the shattered window.
Dad quickly scans our surroundings for any signs of further threats.
Mom instinctively pulls Munira close, shielding her from any potential harm.
I brush off the glass calmly, refusing to let this act of violence deter me from my mission.
The SUV continues driving through the Washington DC neighborhood, its familiar streets a reminder of our resilience.
I lean forward, gripping the back of the driver's seat.
"Take us to the White House immediately," I order, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.
Dad starts to protest, concerned for my safety, but I raise a hand to silence him.
"This changes everything," I explain, my voice firm.
"I need to confront Larson directly about this escalation of violence."
The SUV weaves through DC traffic, its sirens blaring as we make our way to the White House.
I quickly make calls to my security team and White House staff, demanding an immediate meeting.
The morning of election day, I wake up early, feeling the weight of the nation's future.
I get dressed in silence, my mind already racing with the day's possibilities.
Downstairs, my family gathers in our small living room.
We huddle around the television, watching news reports about the election.
Munira hands me a cup of coffee, her eyes filled with hope and nervousness.
My parents, Abdinur and Layla, sit next to each other, holding hands as they watch the news.
I sit on the couch, sipping my coffee and reviewing my campaign notes one last time.
The news anchor is discussing early polls and exit surveys.
My heart races as I listen to their analysis.
I stand up from the couch, ready to leave for the polling station to cast my vote.
I stand in front of the hallway mirror, adjusting my navy suit and campaign pin one last time.
My mother approaches me, tears in her eyes, and straightens my tie like she did before my first debate in high school.
Dad places his hand on my shoulder while Munira records everything on her phone for social media.
I check my watch - 7:15 AM. The polling station opens at 8.
Taking my leather briefcase from the counter, I turn to face my family gathered in our modest living room.
Their faces show a mix of pride and anxiety.
I pause at the front door, my hand resting on the brass handle.
At 9 pm, I stand with my family in our living room, watching the election results on TV.
The anchor announces the final vote count, and the room falls silent.
My heart races as they mention my name, "Mohamed Abdi, the new President of the United States."
The youngest ever.
My family erupts in cheers; Dad lifts Munira in celebration, while Mom hugs me tightly.
I see tears of joy in their eyes.
Larson's defeat flashes on screen, and I feel a surge of relief and victory.
I adjust my suit jacket and step onto our front porch, where campaign signs line the walkway.
Secret Service agents flank me as I descend the steps, their eyes scanning the quiet suburban street.
The morning sun casts long shadows while a light breeze carries the scent of fresh-cut grass.
My shoes click against the concrete as I walk toward the black SUV.
Through the window, I see Mom pressing her hand to the glass, watching me leave.
A small group of early-morning supporters waves from across the street, holding homemade signs.
As I approach the SUV, a young girl from the group calls out, "Mr. President, what's the first thing you'll do?"
I pause, turning to face her with a smile, "I'll make sure every child has access to quality education and healthcare."
Her eyes widen with hope, and she nods eagerly, "Thank you, Mr. President. We believe in you."
I pause at the open door of the SUV, turning back to the growing crowd of supporters gathering on our street.
A mother holds up her toddler, who waves enthusiastically at me.
I step closer to them, shaking hands and listening as she describes her struggles with medical bills.
The Secret Service agents tense up, moving closer to form a protective circle around me.
My detail leader whispers urgently in my ear, "Mr. President, we need to keep on schedule."
With a final promise to address healthcare costs, I slide into the leather interior of the armored vehicle.
I stand in front of the mirror in the White House preparation room, adjusting my navy suit.
The sound of murmured voices and shuffling footsteps echoes outside the door, which is guarded by two Secret Service agents.
The room is filled with the scent of fresh flowers and polished wood.
My family enters, Dad straightening his tie while Mom smooths her gold-trimmed dress.
Munira films everything on her phone, capturing every moment of this historic day.
I glance out the window at the National Mall, where a massive crowd has gathered.
International dignitaries take their seats on the platform, their faces a mix of anticipation and curiosity.
Gloria Sanchez arrives, wearing a striking red dress that commands attention.
As the first transgender Vice President, she is already making history alongside me.
We exchange determined glances, both aware of the weight of this moment.
I walk through the White House corridors with my security detail, passing under portraits of past presidents.
The weight of my speech cards feels heavy in the pocket of my suit jacket.
At the entrance to the inaugural platform, I see Larson sitting stiffly in the front row, his face tight with barely concealed anger.
My family takes their positions behind me while Gloria gives me a reassuring nod.
The January wind whips against the bulletproof glass barriers.
When the Chief Justice signals, I straighten my tie one final time.
I grip the edges of the podium, scanning the sea of faces that stretches all the way to the Washington Monument.
My prepared speech cards remain untouched in my pocket, but I decide to speak from the heart instead.
The protective glass reflects the winter sunlight while Secret Service agents maintain their positions around the stage.
Behind me, I hear Mom's quiet prayer and Dad's proud voice.
Munira records everything on her phone, her hands trembling with emotion.
Gloria gives me a subtle thumbs up, a reminder of our shared mission.
The crowd falls into a hushed silence as I lean toward the microphone, ready to deliver my first words as President.
"My fellow Americans, I am Mohamed Abdi, and I stand before you today as the President of the United States," I begin, my voice carrying across the National Mall through the microphone.
The sound of my words echoes in the crisp January air.
"I look out at this sea of faces, stretching all the way to the horizon, and I see a nation that has faced unimaginable challenges. We have witnessed the erosion of our values, the dismantling of our institutions, and the suffering of our people."
I pause, surveying the crowd before me.
"The previous administration has left us with a legacy of division and inequality. Medical costs have skyrocketed, leaving families on the brink of bankruptcy. Protections for our LGBTQIA community have been stripped away, leaving them vulnerable to discrimination and violence. The rights of women have been rolled back, taking us decades into the past."
I take a deep breath, my voice growing stronger with each word.
"But today marks a new beginning. Today, we embark on a journey towards justice, equality, and freedom for all. My administration will work tirelessly to reverse the damage done by Larson's policies. We will fight to restore access to affordable healthcare for every American. We will protect and expand the rights of our LGBTQIA community. And we will ensure that women have equal opportunities and protections under the law."
As I speak, Secret Service agents subtly shift their positions around me.
Gloria gives me a reassuring nod from her place behind me.
Mom dabs her eyes with a tissue while Dad stands proudly beside her.
Munira continues to record every moment on her phone. "We will not rest until every American has access to quality healthcare," I continue, my voice filled with conviction.
"We will not rest until every child can go to school without fear of violence or discrimination. We will not rest until every woman can make her own choices about her body and her future."
The crowd begins to stir, murmurs of agreement rippling through the sea of faces.
I raise my voice above the din, my words carrying across the National Mall.
"So let us march forward together, my fellow Americans. Let us build a nation that is just, equal, and free for all. Let us show the world what it means to be American: strong, resilient, and united."
As I finish speaking, applause erupts from the crowd.
I step down from the inauguration podium, Gloria taking my place as the crowd cheers.
My security detail moves with me, forming a protective barrier around me as I walk behind the stage.
There, I'm greeted by my chief of staff, Sarah Chen, and communications director, Marcus Wells.
They hand me updated briefing documents and whisper in my ear about the day's schedule.
We huddle near the backstage monitors, watching as Gloria begins her historic speech as the first transgender Vice President of the United States.
Her powerful words echo through the speakers, filling the room with hope and determination.
Meanwhile, my team reviews the day's remaining schedule while Secret Service agents maintain their protective formation around me.
I sit at the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office, surrounded by my newly appointed advisors.
Sarah Chen hands me the first stack of executive orders, while Marcus Wells prepares for the press briefing.
The room buzzes with activity as we work to fulfill our campaign promises.
I sign the healthcare expansion act first, ensuring coverage for 30 million low-income Americans.
Next comes the tax reduction bill, aimed at stimulating economic growth and creating jobs.
Then, I appoint leaders from the LGBTQIA community and people of color to key positions in my administration.
Vice President Sanchez enters the room as I approve the housing initiative, converting abandoned properties into homeless shelters.
My hand moves steadily across each document, signing and initialing with purpose.
Cameras flash, capturing every moment as we work to shape the future of our nation.
The final order eases immigration restrictions, allowing more families like mine to find a safe haven in America.
I lean back in the leather chair, studying the stack of signed documents spread across the historic desk.
My hand hovers over the immigration reform document, fingertips tracing my signature.
Sarah Chen stands nearby, ready to hand me another folder.
Marcus Wells speaks quietly into his phone, coordinating with the press secretary for the next briefing.
Through the windows behind me, I can see protestors gathered outside the White House gates, some holding signs in support, others in opposition.
The Vice President enters the room again, this time placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"These changes will affect millions of lives," she says, her voice filled with a mix of hope and concern.
I pick up the healthcare expansion order once more, my eyes scanning the pages that detail increased funding for research and treatment options.
"Do you think they'll accept it, Mohamed?" Sarah asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
"They'll have to," I reply, determination hardening my tone.
Marcus looks up from his phone, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "We've already started seeing shifts in public opinion; people are ready for change."
I sit in the Oval Office, reviewing my notes one final time before the first press briefing of my presidency.
Marcus Wells stands by the door, checking his watch and adjusting his tie nervously.
The room feels tense with anticipation as Sarah Chen hands me updated statistics on our healthcare initiative.
Through the window, I can see reporters gathering in the Press Room, their cameras and equipment being inspected by security.
Vice President Sanchez enters quietly, giving me a reassuring smile.
I straighten my jacket, pick up my folder, and stand from the Resolute Desk.
"Remember, this is just the beginning," Vice President Sanchez says, her voice steady and encouraging.
Marcus nods, glancing at his phone. "The world is watching, but they're also listening."
Sarah steps closer, her eyes meeting mine. "Let's make sure they hear us loud and clear."
I sit at my desk, reviewing the morning's press coverage with Sarah and Marcus.
The TV in the corner of the room flickers with breaking news from CNN.
The anchor's voice cuts through the room's silence.
"New polling data is in, and it's a surprise to many. The latest numbers show 68% approval for President Mohamed's healthcare expansion plan."
The screen behind the anchor fills with graphs and charts, displaying the growing support across various demographics.
Sarah's shoulders relax visibly as she watches the data unfold.
Marcus immediately starts typing away on his phone, drafting social media updates to share the news with our followers.
Vice President Sanchez enters the room, a knowing smile on her face.
She holds up her tablet, showing similar numbers from other major networks.
"Looks like we're on the right track," Vice President Sanchez says, her tone both proud and relieved.
Sarah nods, a hint of excitement in her voice. "This could be the momentum we need to push through the next set of reforms."
Marcus glances up from his phone, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Let's capitalize on this; we have a real chance to redefine what leadership means in this country."
I settle into the chair at the head of the conference table in the Roosevelt Room, spreading out the stack of healthcare data reports Sarah had left for me earlier.
Vice President Sanchez takes her seat to my right, while Marcus stands by the wall, taking notes on his tablet.
The room slowly fills with the rest of my core policy team: healthcare experts, economic advisors, and state coordinators.
"Good morning," I greet them, my voice echoing off the high ceilings.
I gesture towards the projection screens at the front of the room, which display graphs and charts detailing our progress.
"Let's get started. As you can see from these numbers, we've made significant strides in expanding healthcare coverage nationwide."
Dr. Rodriguez, our Medicare specialist, speaks up from across the table.
"While we've seen improvements overall, there are still challenges in rural areas. Implementation has been slower than expected."
I lean forward in my chair, studying the data more closely.
"Can you elaborate on those challenges?"
Dr. Rodriguez nods.
"Hospitals in conservative states have been resistant to adopting new policies. We're facing pushback from local officials as well."
I lean back, considering his words.
"Resistance is expected. What solutions do you propose?"
Sarah Chen slides a folder across the table towards me.
"We've put together a detailed proposal outlining potential strategies to address these issues."
I open the folder and scan its contents quickly. "I see you've included public opinion polls showing support for our initiatives. How do you suggest we leverage that?"
Sarah meets my gaze confidently.
"We could use those numbers to pressure state officials into compliance. Show them that their constituents are behind us."
I nod thoughtfully.
"That's a good start. What else?"
Marcus speaks up from his place by the wall.
"We could also consider partnering with local organizations and advocacy groups to build support on the ground."
The Vice President adds her thoughts.
"And perhaps we could offer incentives to hospitals that adopt our policies early on."
I look around the room, meeting each person's eyes in turn.
"Let's discuss these ideas further. We need to find a way to make this work."
Dr. Rodriguez enters the Oval Office, a look of urgency on her face.
She carries a thick stack of documents in her hand, which she places on the desk in front of me.
I lean forward in my chair, intrigued by the sudden interruption.
"Dr. Rodriguez, what brings you here?"
She takes a deep breath before speaking.
"Mr. President, I have some news that I believe requires your immediate attention."
I nod for her to continue.
"Please, go ahead."
Dr. Rodriguez clears her throat and begins.
"We've just received word from Heartland Healthcare Network, one of the largest rural hospital networks in the country."
I glance at Sarah Chen, who is already typing away on her computer.
"What's their status?"
Dr. Rodriguez smiles.
"They've agreed to implement our healthcare reforms."
Sarah looks up from her screen, her eyes widening in surprise.
"That's huge," she exclaims.
"How many hospitals are we talking about?"
Dr. Rodriguez consults the documents on my desk.
"Over 200 hospitals across five states."
Sarah quickly calculates the numbers in her head.
"That means we'll be providing coverage to an additional 2.3 million Americans who were previously underserved."
I scan through the partnership terms outlined in the documents, impressed by the scope of the agreement.
"This is a major breakthrough," I say to Dr. Rodriguez.
"How did you manage to secure this deal?" Dr. Rodriguez explains that Heartland Healthcare Network has been facing financial difficulties due to rising healthcare costs and declining patient volumes.
They saw partnering with us as an opportunity to improve their services and increase revenue.
I nod thoughtfully, considering the implications of this partnership.
"This could set a precedent for other rural hospital networks to follow suit," I say to Dr. Rodriguez.
"Can you work with them to develop a model that can be replicated nationwide?"
Dr. Rodriguez nods enthusiastically.
"Yes, Mr. President. We'll get right on it."
As Dr. Rodriguez leaves my office, I turn to Marcus Wells, who has been quietly observing our conversation.
"Draft a press release announcing this partnership," I instruct him.
"And make sure to highlight the positive impact it will have on rural communities."
Marcus nods and begins typing away on his laptop.
Meanwhile, Vice President Sanchez enters my office, having just finished a phone call with the CEO of Heartland Healthcare Network.