The Presidential Concern and a New Directive

The discovery of her mother's journal and Agent Miller's cryptic warning left Ellie deeply unsettled. The White House, which had begun to feel like a second home, now seemed to hold even more secrets than she'd imagined, intertwining her personal past with its grand history. The gentle humor of her "Blunder Years" was giving way to a new, more serious undercurrent. She held the weight of the journal's existence, and the unspoken mysteries it contained, close to her chest.

She spent the next few days in a state of quiet agitation. She wanted to read the journal, to uncover the truths about her mother and father, but the attic was under constant Secret Service surveillance, and the risk of being caught with such a sensitive, personal item was too high. The memory of Agent Miller's impassive warning lingered.

President Sterling seemed to sense her renewed distress. He found her one evening, meticulously wiping down the same, now perfectly clean, grand staircase. He looked tired, but his eyes held a familiar warmth.

"Miss Chen," he said, his voice soft, "you're looking a bit... reflective tonight. Is the staircase contemplating the meaning of polished wood?"

Ellie offered a weak smile. "Just... thinking very deeply about life, Mr. President. And dust."

He walked down a few steps, stopping near her. "Still homesick, Miss Chen? Or is there something else bothering you? Something more... tangible?" His gaze was direct, knowing. He didn't mention the attic, or the "dusty secrets," but his eyes conveyed that he knew something was amiss.

Ellie hesitated. She wanted to tell him about the journal, about the Xanadu crest. But the warning from Agent Miller, the implication that some secrets were better left undisturbed, kept her silent. What if this was too dangerous, even for him? What if exposing it put them both at risk?

"Just... the usual White House chaos, Mr. President," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "And perhaps a new kind of stubborn dirt that's very difficult to clean."

He studied her for a long moment, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. He seemed to weigh her words, searching for the unspoken truth. "Miss Chen," he finally said, his voice firm, "you know you can tell me anything. I mean it. My office, my resources... they're not just for matters of state. They're also for matters of... personal safety. Especially when those matters might be connected to my 'Clean Commerce Initiative,' if you catch my meaning." He gave her a subtle, knowing glance. He was referencing the ongoing threat from Xanadu, subtly reminding her of his commitment.

Ellie looked at him, his unwavering trust a comforting balm. She wanted to unburden herself, but the fear of putting him in greater danger, of confirming the enemy's suspicions, held her back. She merely nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his offer.

President Sterling sighed, a faint hint of exasperation in it, but also deep concern. "Very well. If you choose to keep your secrets, Miss Chen, that is your prerogative. But know this: I am always watching. And my team is always watching. Perhaps even more closely than usual." He paused, then his voice became more direct, almost a command. "In fact, I'm issuing a new directive, effective immediately."

Ellie braced herself. This was it. He was finally going to restrict her movements, or worse.

"Effective immediately," President Sterling declared, his eyes fixed on hers, "your cleaning duties will now include daily, comprehensive cleaning of the Presidential Library, specifically the archival sections. And the attic archives. Thoroughly. And meticulously. Pay particular attention to any... 'historical dust' that might obscure important truths. And take your time. Plenty of time."

Ellie's eyes widened. He knew! He knew about the journal! This wasn't a punishment; it was a veiled instruction. A direct order to spend time in the very places where she might find more answers, where she could safely investigate. He was giving her access, under the guise of an official cleaning directive.

"Understood, Mr. President," Ellie said, a genuine smile breaking through her apprehension. "I will ensure those archives are... sparkling with clarity."

He gave her a brief, approving nod. "Excellent, Miss Chen. That's the clarity I'm looking for. And remember, sometimes, the best way to uncover a secret is to make it look like you're just dusting." He turned and walked away, leaving Ellie with a powerful sense of renewed purpose. Her "Blunder Years" were taking an unexpected turn into covert operations, all disguised as cleaning. The search for her past, and the truth, was officially on.