Chapter 10 - The Senate Subpoena
The early morning fog rolled heavily over the limestone steps of the Russell Senate Office Building in Washington, D.C., giving the monolithic pillars an ominous, ghostly appearance under the gray dawn light.
I stepped out of the black government sedan, smoothing down the front of my dress uniform. The gold braid on my sleeves caught the pale morning light, and every medal pinned to my chest felt heavier than it had yesterday in the Norfolk warehouse.
Arthur Vance and Admiral Morgan stepped out behind me, their expressions grim and resolute.
"Remember," Arthur whispered, adjusting his tie as we approached the grand revolving doors. "The Oversight Committee will try to frame this as an isolated corporate conspiracy involving your father and Meridian Maritime. They want to protect the Pentagon at all costs. Do not let them steer the narrative away from the Kearsarge logs."
"They can try," I said, my voice steady as granite. "But they don't have the digital redundancy I downloaded before I torched the warehouse terminal."
We marched up the steps and pushed through the heavy glass doors into the marble-columned corridors of power. Flashbulbs erupted instantly like a wall of lightning as a dense pack of congressional reporters and camera crews surged forward behind the security ropes.
"Commander Hayes! Is it true your family's corporation stole classified torpedo guidance systems?"
"Did you authorize the raid at Naval Station Norfolk?"
We ignored the noise, walking straight through the checkpoint into the vaulted, wood-paneled halls of the main hearing room.
At the front of the room towered a massive horseshoe-shaped mahogany dais. Sitting dead center in the middle of the congressional panel, wearing an expensive gray suit and a quiet, impenetrable smile, was Under Secretary of Defense Harrison Cole—the very man who had buried my safety reports three years ago in the Pacific.
To his left sat several members of the Senate Armed Services Committee, looking solemn and severe. And sitting quietly in the first row of the public gallery, watching me with sunken, hollow eyes, was my father, Charles Hayes, wearing an orange jumpsuit and steel wrist chains as federal marshals flanked his seat.
Charles didn't look like an untouchable shipping titan anymore. He looked like an old, broken man who had finally realized he was nothing more than a disposable pawn in a game he never understood.
I walked down the center aisle, my heels clicking sharply against the polished parquet floor.
I took my seat at the witness table, placed my leather dossier squarely in front of me, and looked up at the Under Secretary.
Harrison Cole adjusted his microphone, leaned forward into the glare of the television cameras, and offered a cold, terrifyingly polite smile.
"Welcome, Commander Hayes," Cole said, his voice echoing through the massive chamber. "The committee is ready to hear your testimony. Let's begin with a full account of your unscheduled audit at Naval Station Norfolk... and precisely why you chose to violate direct executive security directives."
I opened my dossier, looked straight into the camera lens broadcasting my face to millions of homes across the nation, and smiled back.
"I'd be delighted to start at the beginning, Mr. Secretary," I said clearly. "Specifically, let's talk about what really happened on the USS Kearsarge three years ago."
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Cole's smile vanished in a microsecond, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of the mahogany dais.
And before he could gavel me into silence, the heavy oak doors at the back of the hearing room burst open, and two armed federal marshals marched down the aisle carrying a massive, steel-locked evidence trunk bearing the official seal of the Department of Justice.
