Shield of Honor | Kamala Harris | WLW

Chapter 1

My head was spinning as a flurry of documents was handed to me for signature. Each page brought a new wave of disbelief, even though I had already reviewed them thoroughly with my lawyer. I signed the last page of the Non-Disclosure Agreement and took a deep breath, steeling myself as I stood at attention, ready to move.

"Sergeant Bennett, right this way, please."

I followed a member of the Secret Service and the Vice President's personal assistant through the halls of Howard University. My heart raced, though I kept my face calm and composed. Not only was I about to work alongside a woman I deeply admired, but there was also a very real chance she would soon become the next President of the United States.

Twelve years in the Army had prepared me for high-stakes situations. I'd served in combat roles since I was 18, but this assignment felt different—personal, even. My new duty was to protect Vice President Kamala Harris, a woman who stood at the crossroads of history and whose very presence evoked hope and controversy in equal measure. With the election hanging in the balance and threats against her on the rise, I had been sought out for the honor of providing her personal protection.

If she won tonight, I'd be at her side for at least the next four years. If she lost, my assignment would end six months after she left office.

We passed through the administrative offices. I had expected tension—a room buzzing with stress and anticipation—but instead, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. CNN played on a large screen in the background, while soft, joyful music filled the air. It didn't take long to spot her. Kamala Harris had a presence that drew you in effortlessly.

She sat on a sofa, sipping tea and reviewing a stack of paperwork, her family and staff clustered around her. Their eyes were fixed on screens displaying the election results, a shared sense of hope etched on their faces.

As we approached, her head tilted up, her expression momentarily curious. But then she smiled, setting her tea aside and rising to greet us. Her warmth was disarming.

"Hello, I'm Kamala. Nice to meet you," she said, extending her hand.

Her informality caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly. Taking her hand, I responded, "Hello, Madame Vice President. I'm Sergeant Zora Bennett. It's a pleasure to be at your service."

Her handshake was firm but kind, her flawless appearance striking up close. Her perfectly styled brown hair framed her face, and her deep purple suit was a masterstroke of elegance and power.

"Zora," she repeated, as though trying it out. "Like one of my favorite writers."

"Yes, ma'am."

Her face scrunched slightly, and she gestured for me to follow her back to the sofa. "Please, don't call me 'ma'am.' It makes me feel old. Call me Kamala."

The words escaped me before I could stop them. "You look amazing."

I instantly regretted my lack of professionalism. "I mean—you don't look... I mean, you are—" I sighed, wishing I could disappear into the floor. To my relief, she simply laughed and glanced down at her hands.

"It's okay. I appreciate the compliment," she said, her smile softening the moment.

I stood there, momentarily lost for words, her gaze making my heart flutter. She broke the silence with a question. "How old are you? You seem young to be a sergeant."

Grateful for the change of topic, I answered, "I'm 30. I enlisted as soon as I turned 18. I've always had a desire to serve my country."

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Thank you for your service and dedication. But 30 is still young. Are you sure you want to spend the next few years stuck by my side?"