"Mr. President, no. You cannot allow drilling in Federally Protected Wildlands."
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" The leader of the free world stood, and hit the intercom button. Nothing happened.
"Let me explain something to you. President Roosevelt did not form those parks merely because he enjoyed hunting and fishing. He formed them to protect the American people from things you, with your minimal intelligence, cannot even begin to comprehend." The man(?) sat in the chair in front of the President's desk, wearing a black suit, with pale skin, short black hair, and eyes hidden behind sunglasses, he looked like any one of dozens of secret service or other government functionaries.
Except for the sunglasses. The lenses far darker and more opaque than normal.
"What are you saying? You can't talk to me like that!" The President remained standing, glaring at the figure. "Security!"
"They won't intrude." The person, arched one thin black brow, watching the President turn redder. "Now, as I was saying..."
The President marched over to a door. It refused to open. He moved to another with the same result, then turned to the windows.
The person in the chair sighed, and leaned back, crossing their left ankle over their right knee.
Finally, the President sat behind his desk again, glaring.
"As I was saying, you cannot allow drilling on federal wildlands. Period. It breaks several treaties and runs the risk of waking things better left asleep. The frakking in nearby states is causing us enough worries as it is. Merely assure me that you will veto whatever the morons in the Legislature pass, if it passes, signing in your own blood that you swear to veto any action that puts those lands at risk, and we will be quit of one another."
"And if I don't?" He glared, getting redder still in the face.
"I'm sure it will be a lovely funeral. Have a good day, sir." The person stood and turned to head to the door.
"You can't threaten me! I'll have your head on a platter! I'll..."
With that sound, the President's phone rang.
"Who was that, that...?" The President faltered, trying to come up with a description.
"Just tell me you signed." The voice of the last President came over the receiver.
"What? No! No, trumped up..."
"I'm sorry. Well, not really. But good luck. Hope they just discredit you."
"Who? Who discredits me?"