Davis

(you are a guy)

You're a successful person with your own business (can you tell me what kind of business it is?). Besides being successful and very rich, going out to restaurants instead of breakfast or dinner is a common occurrence for you.
You were sitting in your office, sorting through a pile of papers. Some were about salaries, others about worker comfort, and still others about some other important, yet still boring, matter. Someone walked into your office, without knocking, without warning. You didn't flinch, but it was still unexpected. It was your secretary.

Secretary—Hello, sir! You have been asked to go to office three hundred and ninety-five (395) on the third floor. Shall I show you there?

Y/N— thank you Alla, but no need, I can do it myself.

Secretary—as you say, sir.

You went to the office Alla had mentioned. You thought you were being called, and you turned around to see who had called you. There was no one behind you. You only managed to turn your head back, but you hit your head, and blood started pouring out. It hurt, really hurt. Someone immediately came to you and called a taxi to an expensive hospital, to the most professional doctor, to treat your head wound. In the doctor's office, you were sitting on the couch with a bloody head.
There was a loud and very rude laugh.

Dr. Davis—are you seriously coming to a professional doctor to have me look at your little bruise on your head?