Chapter 3: Scandal and Command

After sorting through his memories, Harrison realized he had landed in the twenty-sixth year of the Whitmore Administration.

He gazed out the window at the White House lawn, where the press corps clustered like hungry crows. The nation waited for leadership, but all he saw was the mess Sebastian had left behind.

His great-grandson, Sebastian Whitmore, had heard that his son, Prince Julian’s wife, Lady Savannah, was breathtakingly beautiful. Ignoring that Julian’s mother had just died, Sebastian shamelessly insisted on bringing his daughter-in-law into the White House as a personal aide.

Harrison’s fury flared instantly.

He gripped the armrest, knuckles whitening. The audacity! Even in the wildest years of Beltway scandal, this would dominate the headlines for months. He could almost hear the late-night comedians riffing on it.

Thinking of me—Harrison Whitmore—I liked married women, sure. But I had more decency than you; the women I fancied were widows!

And I had Victoria to handle the aftermath; everything inside and outside the White House was managed with finesse.

You have nothing, yet you dare to act so recklessly?

He shook his head, remembering Victoria’s calm efficiency—how she’d handled leaks and drama with the poise of a seasoned diplomat. Sebastian, by contrast, seemed determined to burn every bridge.

"President Whitmore, Lady Savannah has arrived at the White House. Will you summon her? It’s already late; if you don’t call her in soon, it may spark rumors."

Harrison shot a look at the staffer, eyebrows raised. The tension was palpable; even the Secret Service agents exchanged nervous glances, fingers twitching at their earpieces.

Gabe Lewis stepped forward again, voice too eager, too insistent—like a man desperate to keep his job. Harrison watched him, wondering how many times Gabe had bent with the political winds.

If you were truly loyal, you should have resigned in protest before this great-grandson snatched his daughter-in-law.

He pictured Gabe storming out, badge slapped on the desk in righteous fury. But of course, that never happened.

"Summon her for what?"

Harrison replied sharply, "Lady Autumn has been dead less than half a year; Julian and Savannah are still in mourning. Tell them to stay home and mourn. They don’t need to come in."

His voice was steady, the kind that had steered the country through shutdowns and scandals. The room seemed to exhale, staffers exchanging glances as if a new sheriff had arrived.

"Uh?"

Gabe Lewis was stunned, then scrambled: "But Mr. President, you previously said—"

"Said what?" Harrison snapped. "You do as I say. Since when do you get to question my orders?"

Gabe panicked, cheeks flushed, and shrank back, turmoil swirling in his chest but too scared to speak up.

He fidgeted with his tie, eyes flicking between Harrison and the door, clearly wishing for an escape route.

"What are you waiting for? Go deliver the order!"

Harrison urged him, voice clipped.

"Yes, sir!"

Gabe scrambled out, but before he’d gone far, Harrison called him back.

"Wait." Seeing Gabe’s anxious look, Harrison endured his headache and said, "I heard Julian’s fallen ill from grief. Send the White House physician to check on him, and bring some vitamins from my private stash. Let him recover, then come pay respects when he’s better."

Gabe: I—I’m not sure, sir. Right away, Mr. President.

Gabe’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, then he nodded rapidly, scribbling notes on his phone, clearly hoping he wouldn’t mess up.

"Go."

Watching Gabe hurry away, Harrison sighed, forming his first impression.

He leaned back, rubbing his temples. Every administration had its loyalists and its hangers-on. Gabe was useful, sure, but Harrison wouldn’t trust him with anything critical. Still, the man’s antics were almost entertaining.

Judging by the Julian’s wife situation, this man is loyal, but sometimes too eager to please. Useful, but not to be relied upon. Might as well keep him around for amusement. He’s good for a laugh.

He allowed himself a wry smile, thinking that even in chaos, some things never changed.