The President's public "Clean Commerce Initiative" sent ripples through the international community. For Ellie, it meant a tangible increase in the subtle surveillance around her. "Gary," the new cleaner, was always just a little too close, his questions about Xanadu now thinly veiled attempts to glean information. Agent Miller's silent patrols seemed to tighten their invisible net around her every move. She felt like a mouse in a very large, very opulent trap.
One evening, as she was polishing the antique furniture in a less-frequented private sitting room, her paranoia spiked. She noticed a very faint, almost imperceptible clicking sound, like a tiny, repetitive tick. It wasn't the old house creaking; it was mechanical. It seemed to be coming from the wall behind a large, ornate painting.
Ellie's heart began to pound. She carefully moved the painting aside. Behind it, concealed in a cleverly cut hole in the plaster, was a small, almost invisible device. It had a tiny lens, barely a pinprick, and a blinking red light. A camera. A hidden camera.
Her blood ran cold. They were watching her. Right here. In the White House. Who were "they"? Was it Minister Chen's people? Or someone else? The realization that her supposed safe haven was compromised, that her every move might be recorded, sent a wave of icy fear through her.
She carefully, meticulously, placed the painting back exactly as it was, feigning ignorance. She continued her cleaning, but her mind was racing. How long had it been there? What had it recorded? Was it pointed at her work? Or at the very sofa where she and the President had had their quiet, intimate chats? The thought made her stomach clench. Her conversations with President Sterling, her discovery of the note, even his "strategic spill" jokes – had it all been captured?
She knew she couldn't remove it herself; that would reveal she knew. She had to tell the President, immediately. But how to do it discreetly, without alerting "Gary" or Agent Miller, who seemed to materialize out of thin air whenever she so much as sneezes?
Later that night, as the White House wound down, Ellie spotted her chance. President Sterling was still in his study, the lights on. The corridor leading to his office was thankfully empty. Taking a deep breath, she decided on a bold, chaotic move – something only Ellie Chen would do.
She grabbed a rather large, heavy potted fern from a nearby hallway, one that usually required two people to move. Grunting with effort, she began to drag it towards the President's study door, making as much noise as possible, ostensibly to "rearrange the feng shui" of the corridor.
Her clumsy efforts created a cacophony of scraping and bumping, loud enough to be heard but not alarming enough to draw immediate security. Just as she neared the President's door, she made sure to let out a particularly loud grunt, almost tripping over her own feet as she "accidentally" rammed the heavy plant pot directly into the side of the doorframe.
THUD!
The impact was loud enough to make the door rattle. Immediately, the study door flew open.
"Miss Chen! What in the world?!" President Sterling stood there, looking utterly bewildered, his eyes wide.
"Oh! Mr. President! So sorry! Just... feng shui! It's very important for energy flow! But this plant is very... stubborn!" she gasped, feigning exhaustion, her face flushed from effort and nerves. She then quickly, subtly, glanced behind her, ensuring the corridor was clear of any eavesdroppers. "Sir," she whispered, her voice urgent, dropping all pretense, "in the small sitting room, behind the painting of the lady with the blue hat... there's a camera. A hidden one. It's recording."
President Sterling's eyes narrowed instantly, his expression transforming from bewildered amusement to cold, hard resolve. He didn't ask questions. He didn't doubt her. He simply nodded, his gaze steely.
"Thank you, Miss Chen," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Remarkable feng shui. Now, perhaps you should go get some rest. I believe this plant needs... specialized attention." His eyes held hers, a silent message of understanding and a promise of action.
Ellie, knowing he understood, gave a shaky nod and continued to wrestle the fern further down the corridor, leaving the President to deal with the disturbing revelation. The mouse in the walls had been found. Now, it was up to the cat to act.