The President Fell for His White House Cleaner

Ellie's near-brush with international espionage had left her a little… jumpier. But President Sterling's calm assurance and Agent Miller's stoic presence had also instilled a quiet confidence. She knew they were watching, which was both terrifying and strangely comforting. Her "normal" routine, however, was still anything but. The hidden camera discovery had been discreetly handled, a silent chess move in a game she was only just beginning to understand. For now, her public persona remained the charmingly clumsy cleaner.

The White House was gearing up for another major diplomatic event: a bilateral meeting with a notoriously formal Middle Eastern dignitary, Ambassador Al-Saud. The stakes were high, the protocols even higher. Every detail, from the floral arrangements to the water temperature, was meticulously vetted. Ellie's task for the morning was to ensure the Grand Foyer, where the Ambassador would make his grand entrance, was polished to a blinding sheen.

She was armed with her trusty mop and a new, extra-slippery floor wax, guaranteed by Agatha Grimshaw to produce a "mirror-like finish suitable for reflecting the very ideals of democracy." Ellie hummed a cheerful Xanadu folk tune, swishing the mop with gusto, trying to ignore the lingering sense of unease from the past few days.

She had just finished polishing a particularly wide stretch of marble near the main entrance when she heard the distinct sound of approaching footsteps and hushed, important voices. The Ambassador and his entourage were early! Panic seized her. The wax hadn't fully dried! The floor was a veritable ice rink!

"Oh no, oh no, oh no!" Ellie whispered, trying to wave frantically at the approaching figures, but they were already too close.

First in was Ambassador Al-Saud, a man of immense dignity, adorned in flowing traditional robes that lent him an almost regal bearing. He took one majestic step onto the freshly waxed floor.

His foot slid.

His eyes widened in slow-motion horror.

His arms flailed wildly, trying to regain balance, looking for all the world like a very dignified albatross attempting an impromptu aerial display.

And then, with a soft, surprising thwump, Ambassador Al-Saud executed a perfect, if entirely unintentional, split. His robes billowed around him as he landed with surprising grace (given the circumstances), right in the middle of the Grand Foyer, his face a mask of shocked indignity. His dignity, quite literally, had vanished.

His entourage gasped. Secret Service agents froze, unsure whether to apprehend the floor or the cleaner. David Finch, the Chief of Staff, who had been walking slightly behind the Ambassador, clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a horrified gasp.

Ellie, still clutching her mop, stared, aghast. She had turned a diplomatic entrance into a slapstick comedy. The silence in the Grand Foyer was so profound, you could hear a pin drop, or perhaps the Ambassador's rapidly deflating pride.

Just then, President Sterling stepped out, ready to greet his guest. He took in the scene: Ambassador Al-Saud, perfectly split on the gleaming floor, his robes spread like a fallen peacock; Ellie, frozen, mop in hand, looking like the perpetrator of a grand conspiracy; and a dozen stunned faces.

President Sterling's eyes flickered from the Ambassador to Ellie, then back again. A familiar, almost imperceptible twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth. This was going to require an even more creative explanation than the salted soufflé. And Ellie knew, with a sinking feeling, that her "Blunder Years" were far from over. This was a new level of accidental diplomatic chaos.