Chapter 8: The Tribunal of Shadows
Three weeks later, the Senate Armed Services Committee room was packed to capacity, the air thick with tension and the low murmur of reporters, military officials, and defense contractors. At the center witness table sat Alia Morgan, her uniform immaculate, her posture unwavering. Across the aisle, Julian Vance sat in a gray prison jumpsuit, his wrists chained to the bolted table, flanked by two federal marshals who watched his every micro-movement. He refused to look up, his eyes locked onto the polished mahogany wood of the table as the flashbulbs of the press gallery popped in rapid, blinding succession.
General Thomas Vance sat in the front row of the gallery, serving as a silent witness to the destruction of his family's legacy. Beside him sat Elena, wearing a simple black pantsuit, her phone replaced by a thick manila folder containing every encrypted financial transfer, shell company document, and forged deployment order she had helped unearth since the night in the hangar.
The committee chairman, a weathered senator with deep lines around his eyes, cleared his throat and tapped his gavel twice. "This hearing of the Armed Services Subcommittee is now in session. We are here to examine the systemic failures, contract fraud, and operational abandonment associated with the Vance Defense Group’s private security division."
The chairman turned his gaze toward Alia. "Captain Morgan, you have requested the floor to present your testimony regarding the events of Operation Iron Veil."
Alia stood up, walking steadily to the center microphone. She did not use notes. She did not need them; every detail of that fateful deployment was burned into her memory like branding iron. She looked around the room, meeting the eyes of senators, corporate lobbyists, and military brass who had profited from the silence of dead soldiers.
"Six months ago, my unit was deployed to a remote sector of the western desert under a classified private security contract held by Vance Defense," Alia began, her voice steady and resonant in the hushed chamber. "Our mission was not to secure territory or protect civilians. Our mission was to serve as live-fire test subjects for an experimental tactical guidance system manufactured by one of Julian Vance’s subsidiary corporations."
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A low murmur rippled through the press gallery, followed by frantic typing from the rows of journalists. Julian squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw twitching violently as the truth was laid bare for the entire nation to witness.
"When the equipment failed," Alia continued, her eyes fixed on the committee chairman, "and our communications array was destroyed by friendly fire from a drone manufactured by the same company, we radioed for extraction. Julian Vance personally authorized our abandonment to protect corporate stock value and prevent the equipment failure from leaking into federal audit reports. He wrote us off as casualties of war. He collected our insurance payouts. And he used our blood to buy a tuxedo and a seat at a gala."
