Chapter 1: The Last Goodbye

On the day Daniel Rowan became President, a group of people was quietly escorted out of the White House.

There was a nervous tension in the air—Secret Service agents standing a little straighter, staffers whispering farewells as cardboard boxes rolled down the gleaming marble corridors. Among them were housekeepers who never learned to whisper and staff whose uniforms had faded along with their dreams, edged out by the new guard.

As I stood by the polished banister, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve, I glanced at the head usher, uncertainty coiling in my chest:

"Mr. Peterson, do I have to leave too?"

Mr. Peterson, an old acquaintance, looked troubled. He was a solid Midwestern man—broad-shouldered, pale, the kind of person who called everyone 'ma'am' and meant it. He hesitated, lips pressed into a tight line:

"The President said others may stay or go as they wish, but Ellie, you must leave."

My heart thudded, and I gripped the banister tighter, the world tilting just a little. I nodded, understanding, and packed my suitcase.

The echo of my shoes on the marble sounded oddly final, bouncing off portraits of presidents and the faint, lemony scent of polished wood. The air inside was heavy with heat, but I shivered. Looking back at the White House through the fine snow, I suddenly remembered Daniel at nine years old, clinging tightly to my sleeve:

"Miss Ellie, promise you’ll never leave me. Not ever." His small hand gripped my sleeve, voice trembling.