The camping trip is still planned for next weekend. I understand you have the previous test results. Yes, that’s right.
The latex allergy. Nate felt his chest tighten as Brielle casually discussed Hazel’s medical history with a stranger, discussing it specifically in the context of the upcoming camping trip. And you’ll have an EpiPen available? Good, good.
Brielle smiled slightly. Yes, her father is aware of the arrangements. It’s all been worked out in our temporary agreement.
Another lie, another piece of evidence. After hanging up, Brielle immediately made another call not to Langley this time, but to a number they hadn’t seen before. She switched to speakerphone as she paced the living room.
It’s me, she said when someone answered. Everything’s set for next weekend. The medical side is arranged.
What about the boyfriend? A male voice, older, with the faint traces of a Georgia accent. He’s still in custody. Yes, but it doesn’t matter.
I can handle this myself. Brielle, the voice warned. This has already gone sideways once.
Your uncle’s influence only stretches so far. If you’re caught. I won’t be.
She snapped. The first attempt was too subtle, too easily attributed to accident. This will be definitive but still appear accidental.
A tragic camping mishap. Hazel wanders off, falls into the water. By the time help arrives, she left the sentence unfinished, but her meaning was crystal clear.
And Nate, the man asked. What about him? He suspects you. That’s why you’re in this mess.
Brielle’s laugh was cold and dismissive. Nate’s a simpleton. Always has been.
He believes what he wants to believe. Right now, he believes I’m a monster because someone told him so. If I play the heartbroken, wrongfully accused mother, eventually he’ll doubt himself.
He’s predictable that way. The casual contempt in her voice made Nate’s blood boil. Five years of marriage.
And she’d seen him as nothing but a means to an end to provide her. A caretaker for the child she now wanted dead. Just be careful, the man cautioned.
And remember, if this fails, Calvin won’t step in again. You’ll be on your own. It won’t fail.
Brielle said with chilling confidence. Seven days from now, I’ll be a grieving mother with $2 million in insurance money. And no one will be able to prove otherwise.
When the call ended, Deputy Mills stood abruptly. I’m calling the DA. That’s the evidence we needed.
Explicit statement of intent to commit murder. Acknowledgement of the previous attempt. Discussion of the method.
As Mills stepped out to contact the district attorney, Declan moved closer to Nate. I know that look, he said quietly. What are you planning? Nothing illegal.
Nate assured him, though the qualification spoke volumes. But Brielle doesn’t just deserve prison. She deserves to lose everything her freedom, her reputation, her family support.
Everything. Information, Nate said. About her uncle Calvin.
About their family’s business dealings. About the case in Georgia that was buried. I want it all exposed, not just what Brielle did to Hazel, but the whole corrupt system that protected her before and would have protected her again.
I’ll find it, Declan promised. Whatever dirt exists, I’ll dig it up. Despite the mountains of evidence and the new arrest warrant ready to be served, Sheriff Vance proposed a final Operation One that would leave no possible doubt about Brielle’s intentions.
The plan was simple but effective. Let Brielle believe the camping trip was proceeding as scheduled. Not with the real Hazel.
Of course, a child officer from a neighboring county would be positioned at a distance, similar enough in appearance to create the illusion. Brielle would be under constant surveillance. Her actions and words recorded from the moment she left the house until the moment she was arrested.
The morning of the supposed camping trip dawned clear and warm. Nate watched from the surveillance room as Brielle packed her SUV with camping gear, her movements unhurried and methodical. She’d spoken to her uncle twice that morning, assuring him everything was proceeding according to plan.
She’s taking her time, Declan observed, making sure everything looks normal. Check the cooler again, Nate instructed, pointing to one of the monitors. She put something in the bottom earlier.
Declan rewound the footage, zooming in on Brielle’s hands as she placed what looked like a small medical kit beneath the food and drinks in the cooler. Can we enhance that? Deputy Mills asked, leaning closer. Working on it, Declan adjusted the settings, clearing the image enough to reveal the contents of the kit as Brielle had briefly opened it.
Syringes, vials, latex gloves. Christ, Mills breathed. She’s planning to inject her with something, possibly epinephrine, Nate said grimly.
Too much of it can cause heart failure, and given Hazel’s medical history, it would look like an allergic reaction gone wrong. At precisely 10am, Brielle’s phone rang. It was the call they’d arranged an officer posing as Nate, informing her that he was dropping Hazel off at the arranged meeting point, a public park near the campground.
Great, we’re all set then, Brielle said. Her voice warm and pleasant. I’ve got everything packed.
Hazel’s going to love this special time together. As Brielle pulled out of the driveway, Deputy Mills confirmed the tracking device on her vehicle was active. All units in position.
We’ll maintain visual contact throughout. At the park where the handoff was supposed to occur, Brielle parked and waited, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror. An unmarked police car pulled up nearby, and an officer carrying a small backpack got out with a little girl the child officer, wearing a pink jacket similar to one Hazel owned and with her hair styled in pigtails.
Brielle drove to the campground with her phantom passenger, maintaining a one-sided conversation as if Hazel were actually in the backseat. We’re going to have so much fun, sweetie, she said cheerfully, her words captured by the directional microphones in the surveillance vehicles. I brought your favorite snacks and Mr. Flopsy Jr. Do you want to go hiking first or set up the tent? At the campground, Brielle chose a site near the lake, relatively isolated from the few other weekend campers.
The surveillance team maintained visual contact from concealed positions while Declan operated a drone that provided an aerial view of the entire area. For the next hour, Brielle went through the motions of a camping trip with a child setting up a small folding table, arranging snacks, even reading aloud from a children’s book at one point as though to an audience. To any casual observer, she was simply a mother enjoying quality time with her daughter who might be inside the tent or exploring nearby.
Then came the moment they’d been waiting for. Brielle glanced around, checking for witnesses before retrieving the cooler from her SUV. She placed on the picnic table and removed the medical kit hidden beneath the food.
All units stand by, Mills said in her radio. Suspect is retrieving the medical materials. They watched as Brielle prepared a syringe, filling it from one of the vials.
Her movements were practiced, confident this was not her first time handling such equipment. That’s not epinephrine, Nate said suddenly, recognizing the distinctive color of the liquid. That’s potassium chloride.
It stops the heart almost instantly. They use it in lethal injections. Mills swore under her breath.
Where the hell would she get that? Her uncle, Nate said grimly. He must have connections in medical supply. Brielle set the loaded syringe on a napkin and then did something unexpected.
She took out her phone and set it up to record video. She positioned it carefully, angled toward the lake shoreline visible just beyond their campsite. What’s she doing? Declan asked.
Adjusting the drone to get a better view. Creating her alibi, Nate realized. She’s going to record herself calling for Hazel, searching for her.
Make it look like Hazel wandered off toward the water while she was distracted. Brielle pressed record on her phone, then picked up the syringe and walked toward the shore, calling out in a normal voice. Hazel, sweetie, where are you? It’s time for lunch.
She continued the performance, her calls becoming gradually more concerned as she made a show of looking around the campsite. Then, with theatrical precision, she gasped and pointed toward the lake. Hazel, get away from the water, she shouted, loud enough for her phone to capture clearly.
She began running toward the shore, syringe concealed in her palm. Move in now, Mills ordered into her radio. All units converge.
Suspect is actively attempting to stage a homicide scene. The response was immediate and overwhelming. Sheriff Vance and four deputies emerged from concealed positions around the campsite, weapons drawn.
Two more officers approached from the shoreline. Brielle Whitmore. Vance called.
Drop what you’re holding and put your hands in the air. Now, Brielle froze, the syringe still clutched in her hand, her expression shifting from fake concern to genuine shock. She glanced wildly around, looking for Hazel, finally comprehending that she’d been set up.
Where is she? Brielle demanded, not dropping the syringe. Where’s my daughter? Safe from you, Vance replied steadily. Drop the syringe, Brielle.
It’s over. For a moment, something dangerous flashed in Brielle’s eyes, a cornered animal desperation. Then, in a smooth motion that no one anticipated, she jammed the syringe into her own thigh.
Officer down. Mills shouted into her radio. Suspect has self-injected with potassium chloride.
Get medical here now. The next few minutes were chaos as deputies rushed Brielle, knocking away the syringe before she could fully depress the plunger. Paramedics staged nearby for the operation, sprinted to the scene with crash kits and a defibrillator.
Nate watched in numb shock as they worked on Brielle, her body convulsing from the partial dose of the lethal chemical. He felt nothing not satisfaction, not pity, not even anger anymore. Just a hollow emptiness where his feelings for this woman had once lived.
She’s stabilizing, Mills reported after an agonizing wait. They’re transporting her to County Memorial Underguard. Sheriff Vance is accompanying them.
The preliminary hearing was set for two weeks after Brielle’s arrest. Despite her apparent suicide attempt, medical evaluations had determined she was fit to trial a small victory in what promised to be a lengthy legal battle. Nate sat in District Attorney Flores’s office, reviewing the evidence one final time before it would be presented in court.
The stack of folders on the desk represented months of Brielle’s deception, carefully documented and organized medical records showing Hazel’s emergent latex allergy surveillance footage of Brielle deliberately exposing her to the allergen text messages discussing the insurance policy and plans for the camping trip. It’s overwhelming, Flores admitted, gesturing to the evidence. In 20 years, I’ve never seen a Munchausen-by-proxy case with this level of documentation.