Chapter 2: Scandal in the West Wing

I sat high behind the Resolute Desk, forcing myself to listen to the cabinet’s reports and respond accordingly. The scent of burnt coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint tang of lemon polish on the Resolute Desk. The wood gleamed in the late morning light, polished by generations of powerful hands, but I could already tell this thing was made for show, not comfort.

The desk looks grand and wide, but you can’t slouch or even lean back; you have to keep up that stiff, presidential posture for ages. Every muscle in my back started to ache around the forty-minute mark.

After a while, it’s torture. I’d pay a king’s ransom for my old ergonomic chair—the one with memory foam and lumbar support.

How I miss my thousand-dollar ergonomic office chair. It’s the little things you take for granted until they’re gone.

“Mr. President, this official wishes to call out Senator Carter. He’s failed to discipline his household. On his son’s wedding night, his legitimate second son abandoned Judge Anderson’s virtuous daughter and ran off with a waitress, even attempting a lovers’ suicide. Such behavior is intolerable in society.”

Suddenly, I was wide awake. Forget coffee—office gossip is the true American pick-me-up.

There are three ways to liven up your day: gossip, gossip, and more gossip.

I sat up straight, glanced at Senator Carter, whose face was turning red with rage, and said, “Let’s hear it.” There’s nothing like a scandal to get the room buzzing.

The press secretaries, as if injected with adrenaline, unleashed a barrage of accusations about Carter’s second son’s wild antics. They read off details like auctioneers—each point getting more outrageous than the last.

Watching those press officers, quoting the Constitution and acting holier-than-thou, each one bursting with righteous fury. It was like a high school debate team on steroids.

Senator Carter tried to argue back, one against dozens. Poor guy never had a chance.

The result? A total rout.

Carter was verbally shredded by the press secretaries. His cheeks went from pink to beet red, but he couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

Some officials noticed I was watching with keen interest from above, so they immediately turned their fire on me. I could almost feel the crosshairs shifting.

“Mr. President, Senator Carter has failed to set an example, nor has he managed his household. His son first broke the marriage contract, then had the nerve to blame Judge Anderson’s daughter for not keeping his heart. Such nonsense is outrageous. The senator’s wife even stormed Judge Anderson’s home, trying to force a marriage, and when refused, beat up Judge Anderson and his daughter. This is outrageous. As a senator’s wife, she lacks virtue and decorum, utterly unworthy of her status. I beg Mr. President to punish Senator Carter severely.”

The press secretaries split into two camps—one demanding harsh punishment to uphold the law and decency, the other saying it’s just a family squabble and not worth fussing over. You could practically see the party lines—red and blue—drawn right down the middle of the room.

After all, Senator Carter is the uncle of two cabinet members; for their sake, maybe let it slide.

Both sides argued like their lives depended on it, spittle flying everywhere. It was so intense, I half-expected someone to flip the conference table.

Watching these officials squabble like a pot of boiling chili, I finally understood why the original owner didn’t want to be President. Not even the best crisis management training could prepare you for this.

Such a trivial matter, yet it caused a storm in the West Wing as if the nation was about to collapse.

Utterly ridiculous. Only in Washington could a family drama threaten to upend a week’s worth of policy.

But since it’s reached the Oval Office, I have to deal with it.

So I cleared my throat and asked, “Did Carter’s son and the waitress die in their suicide attempt?”

The noisy room instantly fell silent. You could hear the HVAC humming overhead.

Soon, a press secretary replied, “Reporting, Mr. President, fortunately they survived and have been rescued.”

“I see…” I pondered for a moment. With everyone watching, I made my decision. Time to channel my inner Solomon.

“Carter’s son and the waitress’s love moves heaven and earth. Let them marry immediately.”

A wave of gasps swept through the room. You’d think I’d announced I was abolishing Congress.

I thought they were all shocked by my wise and heroic judgment. Feeling quite pleased, I added, “Carter’s son’s engagement to Judge Anderson’s daughter is hereby annulled.”

Thinking of the poor, innocent Judge Anderson’s daughter, I added, “This girl is truly unlucky—first dealing with Carter’s shamelessness, then being forced and beaten by the senator’s wife. She’s really suffered. Order the Carter household to compensate her with one hundred thousand dollars.”

“Mr. President…” Senator Carter was dumbfounded. His jaw moved, but no words came out.

I didn’t give him a chance to speak, quickly saying, “Carter’s son broke the engagement and eloped, an unrighteous act. The senator’s wife forced him to fulfill the engagement and resorted to violence—rude and unrestrained. Ban her from all official White House events and revoke her security clearance. Senator Carter failed to manage his household—dock his pay for three years and confine him for a month to reflect.”

Hey, as a Harvard humanities grad, I know how to lay it on thick when I need to. Never hurts to flex a little when the spotlight’s on.

“Mr. President…”

I stared at Senator Carter and said, “Though the senator’s wife was arrogant and rude, Carter’s son is a public figure. I have to consider his dignity. I’ll personally apologize to Judge Anderson’s daughter, and that’s that.”

Senator Carter’s jaw dropped, disbelief written all over his face.

I mentally high-fived myself. Not bad for my first day on the job.

Worried the press secretaries would drag things out, I quickly ended the session and slipped away, catching the nervous glances exchanged between cabinet members and the frantic tapping of a pen somewhere down the table.