The grand chandeliers of the White House ballroom shimmered like distant stars, casting their light over a sea of suited men and elegantly dressed women, each one more beautiful and powerful than the next. The elite of Washington, D.C., mingled and posed, their smiles as polished as the gold trim on the presidential seal. The press glided through the crowd like sharks in the deep, ever eager to catch a moment to preserve in the cold glare of their cameras. The wine flowed freely, a red river of indulgence, and in the center of it all stood President Alexander Vaughn, his perfectly tailored suit hugging his frame in a way that could only be described as supreme.
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