Solomon’s pulse quickened as he steadied himself, years of military discipline helping him keep his composure. “I’m not moving,” he said firmly. “This is my son’s day, and I have every right to be here.”
A wave of whispers swept through the crowd—some shocked, others quietly supportive. An elderly woman seated beside him reached over and gently squeezed his hand, her small gesture radiating solidarity. But the guards didn’t waver. Their expressions were set, their posture rigid, as if they were following orders without question.
The air grew heavier, tension coiling tighter with each second. Then, from the back of the gym, a low murmur spread. Six men rose in unison, their movements crisp and deliberate. The crowd parted as they advanced—uniforms unmistakable, presence undeniable. Navy SEALs.
They moved through the rows with practiced precision, stopping beside Solomon. The lead SEAL, a man whose calm authority commanded instant respect, fixed his gaze on the guards. “There’s been a mistake,” he said evenly. “This man has earned his place.”
The guards faltered, their confidence suddenly uncertain under the weight of the SEAL’s words.
Something in the room shifted—the balance of authority, the tone of the crowd, the pulse of the moment…
