Chapter 1887 - 1404: The Compromise Reached (Part 4)

A longer silence.

Obama could hear the faint sound of breathing on the other end of the phone.

"I need to discuss with my team," Angel finally said.

"You have no choice, and there is absolutely no need to discuss; you must do as I say. As the President, calling you personally isn't to negotiate with you, the CEO of a media group, but to pass on a message through you, understand?"

Obama glanced at the clock.

"Angel, let me say one final thing: freedom of the press in books is the cornerstone of democracy, but in reality, there is no true freedom; every freedom is limited by rules. Use it carefully, don't be too naive."

After saying this, he hung up.

5:52 PM.

Obama stood alone at the center of Roosevelt Hall.

In eight minutes, he would face cameras nationwide to deliver a brief statement containing only three points.

Behind the statement, lies a painful nine-minute negotiation with Hillary, a five-minute dangerous gamble with Angel, and countless similar decisions accumulated over eight years of presidency.

He recalled the day of his first inauguration, January 20, 2009. Cold but clear, two million people gathered at the National Mall, faces stretched like an ocean to the Washington Monument.

His hand rested upon the Bible once used by Lincoln, swearing to "preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Back then he believed that defending the Constitution meant always adhering to transparency, the rule of law, and principles.

Eight years later, he realized his past self was simply a joke.

The Chief of Staff gently knocked on the door: "Mr. President, three minutes left. The speech has been simplified as you requested."

Obama took the single sheet.

It indeed contained only three sentences, concise, direct, leaving ample room for explanation.

Perfect political language.

Every word deliberated, every phrase scrutinized, yet so hollow that any needed meaning could be filled in.

"Is the live broadcast ready?"

"The three major news networks, all cable news channels, and the main online streaming platforms. The estimated audience is between sixty million to eighty million."

Sixty million to eighty million pairs of eyes, waiting for him to explain the inexplicable, promise the unpromisable, soothe the unrestorable.

He adjusted his tie, took a deep breath.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor, staff members took their places, cameras began to warm up, history awaited to be narrated or rather, to be shaped.

"Mr. President?" the Chief of Staff gently reminded.

Obama took one last look at the speech, then folded it and put it in his pocket.

"Let's go."

He walked out of Roosevelt Hall, into the corridor.

Flashlights started to flicker in the distance, like lightning before a storm.

He stepped forward, face calm, eyes resolute, prepared to narrate a carefully edited version of "truth" to a nation.

Meanwhile, at an estate in Virginia, Hillary raised a glass and smiled at donors; in the editorial office in New York, Angel held his phone, texting Song Heping, passing on all that Obama wanted to convey; in a hidden command post outside Mosul City, Song Heping awaited the fulfillment of promises; while in the living rooms of millions of American families, people prepared to watch the evening news, unaware of the impending deals, compromises, and ugliness.

This is how history is written.

Not in the clear chapters of textbooks but in phone calls at dusk, behind closed doors, amidst choices that must be made.

Those choices are rationalized, explained, defended, ultimately buried by time, leaving only the outcome for posterity to judge.

5:59 PM.

Obama stood behind the podium in the White House press room, adjusting the microphone. The red light came on, the broadcast began.

He looked up, facing the camera, the nation, and history.

"My fellow Americans, good evening..."

Voice steady, eyes resolute.

A President ready to tell a story, with justice at its core shining brightly.

Those deals, threats, compromises, pardons, the former sins will forever be hidden beneath the truth known only to him and a few others.

Because beneath the pedestal of an empire, there is always the darkness of sin and the chilling presence of white bones.

The truth?

Who cares!