Chapter 9 - The Hall of Truth
The rotunda of the Russell Senate Office Building gleamed with polished marble, bronze statues, and blinding camera flashes.
Hundreds of dignitaries, senators, foreign ambassadors, and top-tier military officials filled the velvet-rope perimeter.
Senator Bradley stood at the mahogany podium, basking in the glow of national television cameras and thunderous applause.
He wore an immaculate charcoal suit, a black mourning ribbon pinned carefully over his pocket square.
In the second row of the civilian gallery sat Franklin Hayes, looking nervous, disheveled, and completely out of place.
Franklin had managed to secure a guest pass through a low-level lobbyist friend, desperate to rehabilitate his ruined ego.
He kept fidgeting with his collar, clearly unaware of the storm that was about to break across the marble floor.
“Twenty-four years ago, six brave Americans vanished into the shadows of freedom,” Bradley’s booming voice echoed.
“They were commanded by Major Olivia Carter, a warrior whose memory we enshrine today in the annals of history,” he continued.
Bradley paused, raising his hands dramatically toward the ceiling as if invoking the spirits of the fallen.
“Though Major Carter gave her life on that fateful ridge, her spirit marches with us today!” Bradley proclaimed.
“She doesn't need to march with you, Senator,” a calm, thunderous voice cut through the cavernous room.
“She is already standing right behind you,” the voice commanded.
The rotunda fell into a dead, suffocating silence that killed the senator’s speech mid-sentence.
Every camera swung around instantly, pointing toward the towering bronze doors at the back of the chamber.
The massive doors parted, revealing General Thomas Vance, Lieutenant Colonel Mercer, and Second Lieutenant Caleb Hayes.
And walking between them, dressed in a pristine, tailored Army service uniform bearing the silver oak leaves of a Major, was me.
The ribbons on my chest gleamed under the chandeliers: the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, the Purple Heart with two oak clusters.
My left sleeve was tailored to expose the faded raven tattoo winding down to my wrist.
Behind me marched Marcus Vance and Sarah Lin, standing tall, proud, and fully decorated in their original unit colors.
Franklin Hayes gasped audibly from his seat, leaping to his feet so fast that his folding chair clattered against the marble.
“Olivia?!” Franklin yelled before two security officers shoved him back down into his seat with zero ceremony.
Senator Bradley’s face turned from triumphant pink to the ghastly gray of wet ash in a fraction of a second.
His hands gripped the edges of the podium so hard that his knuckles cracked under the pressure.
“Major… Carter?” Bradley stammered, his microphone picking up the sudden, terrified tremor in his throat.
I marched down the center aisle, my polished combat boots clicking in flawless rhythm against the marble floor.
Every officer in the room, from two-star admirals to young lieutenants, stood up and snapped to attention as I passed.
Caleb walked half a pace behind me, his saber held firmly against his hip, his eyes burning with unwavering pride.
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I stopped at the foot of the podium, looking up at the man who had sold my soldiers’ lives for blood money.
“Reporting for roll call, Senator Bradley,” I said, my voice echoing across the chamber and into millions of homes.
