Well, I think if you say you’re going to do something and don’t do it, that’s trustworthiness.
George W. Bush
Shondrelle Mercedes was bored. And when she was bored, she tended to cause trouble. So when she discovered the White House was being redecorated, and the president had gone on vacation, she saw her chance. She knew there was a special time travel closer in there, but this time that wasn’t her target. Instead, she was interested in a secret teleportation pad that led to Bank of America’s New York headquarters.
Shondrelle had discovered it entirely by accident. One day she had been sitting in the president’s office, having just finished with a particularly vigorous session, when she noticed the painting above the fireplace was off-center. As a connoisseur of fine art, and a keen collector, she was always very particular about paintings. She got up and went over to straighten it, and felt something funny behind the canvas. When she looked closer, she saw there was a door hidden behind the painting. She opened the door and found the teleportation pad inside.
At first, she thought it might be a portal to Narnia. You never know with presidents. But after testing it a few times, she realized that it led to a room in the bank. And, as the painting was in the president’s private quarters, she had a suspicion it was a very secret door indeed.
Now, Shondrelle wasn’t the brightest star in the sky, but she had a cunning mind and was quick to seize an opportunity. So, she waited until the White House was empty and the president was on vacation, and then she slipped into the secret door and transported herself to the bank.
When she arrived, she was met by an astonished secretary. “Hello,” said the secretary. “How did you get in here?”
“Oh, it’s a long story,” said Shondrelle, brushing past her. “I’m the president’s mistress, and I’ve been sent here to check on things.”
“But… but… the president’s away. And what’s all this about a mistress?”
“Yes, I know,” Shondrelle replied, looking around the bank. “But you know what the president’s like. He can’t bear to leave his financial interests unprotected. Where’s the vault, anyway?”
“It’s right over there.” The secretary pointed at a door at the far end of the room. “But I really don’t think…”
“Thanks,” said Shondrelle, walking quickly in the direction indicated. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, and immediately her eye was caught by the safe deposit boxes that lined the walls.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
She turned and saw a man standing behind her, holding a pistol.
“Ah, Mr. Bank Manager,” she said, giving him a dazzling smile. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been sent by the president to inspect the vault and make sure everything’s in order.”
“The president? But…”
“He’s a very concerned man,” Shondrelle continued, interrupting him. “Always worried about his investments. Now, if you could show me around, I’d appreciate it.” She assumed a slightly demure posture that she knew no man could resist.
“Of course,” the manager said, lowering his pistol. “Follow me.”
He led her around the vault, showing her the various stacks of cash, the gold bars, the silver bullion, the stacks of coins, the jewels, the priceless artwork, and the alien materials.
“Very impressive,” she said, when they’d finished the tour. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to inspect the contents of the safe deposit boxes.”
“Of course, but…”
“Great,” she said, brushing past him and opening one of the boxes. Inside was a stack of bearer bonds. She took them out and examined them, then put them back. She opened another box and found a small fortune in diamonds. Again, she took them out and examined them, then returned them. She repeated the process with several other boxes, examining the contents and then replacing them. In one box, she found a golden chalice with a piece of paper reading “DO NOT fill with blood” taped to the side.
“I think this is probably enough,” she said, after inspecting the final box.
“Are you done?” the manager asked.
“Yes,” she said, walking back to him. “I think that’s all I need right now – thanks so much for your time.”
“Uh, okay. But, uh, could I ask a favor?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Well, you see, I’m kind of a big fan of yours. I’ve seen you on the news, and I was wondering if I could have your autograph.”
Shondrelle gave him a big smile. “Why, of course,” she said, taking the pen and paper he was offering. “Who should I make it out to?”
“Oh, um, me. My name’s Henry.”
“To Henry,” she wrote, “a real prince among bank managers. Thanks for everything. Love, Shondrelle.” She handed him the note.
“Wow, thank you so much!” he said, staring at it.
“No problem. Now, I’d better get back to the White House before anyone misses me. See you later, Henry.” She winked.
And with that, she left the vault, and the bank, and went back through the teleportation pad, ending up once again in the president’s bedroom.
But her visit to the bank had not been an innocent one. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a huge pearl necklace. It had been given to the queen of England, and was undoubtedly worth a fortune.
Time to sell it off and get down and dirty! After all, there’s nothing like the thrill of an illicit auction.
As for Henry, the bank manager, he had a new treasure of his own, one that he would kiss every night before he went to sleep. Passion everlasting.
Shondrelle’s little escapade ended up costing Bank of America a cool billion dollars. Not bad for an afternoon’s work. How long would it be, she wondered, before that president, Wolf Kitcher, figured out who she really was?
Would he call her out, or would he keep her secret? Would he stop fucking her, or would he want more? Probably the latter.
Some considered prostitution to be a demeaning profession, but for Shondrelle, it was a way into these rich dudes’ heads. Once they let their guard down, she was free to rob them blind. And, oh boy, was she good at it.