Outside the Senate office building, a storm of discontent raged. Over two thousand anti-war protesters and veteran groups had gathered, their chants echoing ominously through the marble halls of Congress.
Inside Room 312, the air was electric. Senator Bradley, his voice solemn, held up the Bethesda paternity document, its Navy seal stark against the white paper.
“This document,” he announced, his words ringing through the chamber, “is the official serological paternity test for Thomas Holbrook, son of Lieutenant Julian Holbrook.”
He read the findings aloud, detailing the 99.4% genetic match. The room erupted in murmurs. Bradley continued, his voice rising above the noise.
“This subcommittee finds that Mr. Arthur Holbrook engaged in a four-year smear campaign against his own daughter, falsely claiming marital infidelity and the illegitimacy of his grandson, Thomas.”
Arthur sat rigid at the microphone, his hands clasped tightly before him, refusing to look back at me in the gallery. His face remained a mask, but a faint flush crept up his neck.
“Mr. Holbrook,” Senator Bradley demanded, his voice sharp, “did you personally authorize the shipment of those defective M-119 fuses to the troops in Vietnam, despite knowing the risks?”
Before Arthur could respond, a group of frantic Capitol Police officers burst into the room, their faces pale.
“Senator!” one officer shouted, his voice strained. “The crowd outside! They’ve breached the security barricades!”
A wave of panic rippled through the chamber. The shouting outside intensified, closer now, a visceral roar of outrage and protest. The hearing, and Arthur’s confrontation, hung precariously in the balance.
+ There are no comments
Add yours