The air was a suffocating mix of sweet magnolia blossoms, heavy human sweat, and the absolute moral decay of a wealthy aristocracy pretending everything was perfectly civilized. The Asheville plantation was a spectacle of high-society bondage, where enslaved laborers in tattered burlap sweated over the cotton gins under a blistering Carolina sun.
Treasury Secretary [Scott Bessent] frantically smoothed his starched apron, bowing low to welcome the grand guests of the global economic plantation. Running this house was an honor, which is why Scott nearly swallowed his tongue when Russian Finance Minister [Anton Siluanov] barged into the foyer, smelling of geopolitical scandal.
On the veranda, the European ministers clutched their pearls and dramatically collapsed into wicker chairs. "Scott! Oh, the absolute vapors! How dare you let that brute back into polite society?"
"Oh, lawd, please forgive me, Miss Christine, Mr. Christian!" Scott stammered, frantically fanning them with a silver tray. "The Master insisted we show him hospitality! But don't you worry, I've already shackled his country's bank accounts! They belong to the state sanctions now!"
When it came time for the G20 family photo, the Europeans refused to step onto the lawn. Desperate to please his guests, Scott scurried over to Anton, wringing his hands and whimpering, "Oh, please, Mr. Anton, sir, I begs of you, don't ruin my beautiful cotillion picture! The other masters won't stand for it! Step out of the frame, please, sir, shoo!" Anton was promptly scrubbed from the photo and banished to the shade. Scott fetched him a cup of lukewarm tea, bowing all the way back to the kitchen.