Ellie was, by nature, a meticulous cleaner. She believed a clean space led to a clear mind, even if her own mind was perpetually cluttered. She scrubbed, she polished, she hummed. Days turned into a routine of navigating the White House's confusing layout, learning which carpets were priceless and which were merely extremely expensive, and trying not to trip over secret service agents.
One Tuesday morning, she was assigned to the most hallowed ground: the Oval Office. Her heart fluttered. This was it. Where the President made all the Big Decisions.
"Be extra careful in here, Miss Chen," Agatha had warned, her voice unusually stern. "The President values his privacy. He is not to be disturbed. Under any circumstances."
Ellie nodded, a little too enthusiastically. "Understood! Like a stealth ninja cleaner!"
She slipped into the Oval Office. It was surprisingly cozy, despite its grandeur. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. On the desk, papers were meticulously arranged, and a half-eaten Danish sat beside a stack of reports. The famous Resolute Desk glowed.
Ellie got to work. She was halfway through polishing the antique globe when she noticed a small, wobbly leg on a nearby side table. It held a very important-looking vase. Instinctively, she reached out to steady it.
Thump.
The vase didn't fall. But her elbow, in a moment of unparalleled grace, knocked over a large, ornate inkwell directly onto the pristine carpet. Black ink bloomed across the cream-colored fibers like a rapidly spreading bruise.
Ellie froze, her blood turning to ice. Her mind went blank. Black ink. On the Presidential carpet. She was going to be deported. Imprisoned. Possibly fed to a White House guard dog.
She frantically grabbed a rag and dabbed at it, only succeeding in spreading the stain further. Panic set in. She needed water. Lots of water. She dashed to the small, discreet bathroom attached to the Oval Office, grabbed a bucket, and turned on the tap. In her haste, her hand slipped, turning the faucet full blast. Water gushed into the bucket, overflowing almost immediately.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no!" she chanted, scrambling to turn it off. But the water was already flowing onto the bathroom floor, creeping under the door, and making a beeline for the Oval Office carpet.
She looked from the ink stain, now a vast, inky lake, to the spreading puddle, which threatened to turn the entire Oval Office into a swamp.
Just then, the door to the Oval Office swung open.
"What in the blazes is going on here?" a voice boomed. A deep, powerful, distinctly presidential voice.
President Jonathan Sterling stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth agape, staring first at the spreading water, then at the enormous black stain on his carpet, and finally, at Ellie, who was standing there, drenched, holding a dripping mop, with a look of utter, catastrophic despair on her face.