The surveillance operation at the campground alone would be enough for conviction. But Nate prompted, hearing the hesitation in the DA’s voice. But her uncle has hired Elliott Weber as lead defense counsel.
Weber’s known for turning straightforward cases into media circuses, finding technicalities, painting defendants as victims themselves. Brielle is no victim, Nate said flatly. I agree, but Weber will try to portray her as suffering from mental illness, possibly resulting from childhood trauma.
Flores slid a file across the desk. Your friend Declan found this record from Brielle’s adolescence. Multiple hospitalizations for accidents that, in retrospect, appear suspiciously self-inflicted.
They’ll claim she was mentally ill all along. Exactly. That she needs treatment, not punishment.
Flores leaned forward. We need to counter this narrative before it gains traction. Show that whatever her past, Brielle’s actions toward Hazel were calculated, premeditated, and fully conscious.
How? We’ve subpoenaed her medical records from the last five years. If she’s never sought psychiatric help, never been diagnosed with any disorder, it undermines the sudden mental illness defense. Flores hesitated.
There’s something else. Something Weber doesn’t know we have. He opened his laptop, pulling up a video file.
This was recovered from Brielle’s cloud storage. We had a warrant for her electronic devices, but this was buried deep. The video showed Brielle sitting in what appeared to be a hotel room, speaking directly to the camera.
The timestamp indicated it was recorded six months earlier. If you’re watching this, she began, Her voice steady and clear. Something’s gone wrong with the plan.
This is my insurance policy proof that I’m of sound mind and acting with full awareness of my choices. Nate felt his blood run cold as Brielle continued. Hazel Whitmore is not Nate’s biological daughter.
She’s Asher Langley’s child, conceived before I met Nate. He doesn’t know he’s always believed she’s his. I’ve maintained that lie for five years, watching him dote on another man’s child.
The revelation hit Nate like a physical blow. He gripped the edge of the desk, struggling to process what he was hearing. The plan is simple.
Brielle continued on screen. The insurance policy pays double for accidental death. Two million becomes four.
Enough for Asher and me to disappear, start over somewhere new. No one gets hurt except Nate, who deserves it for being so pathetically blind all these years. Flores paused the video, studying Nate’s reaction.
I’m sorry you had to learn this way. We only discovered it yesterday, during the final evidence review. Nate’s mind raced.
Hazel, not his daughter? The child he’d raised from birth? The center of his world a product of Brielle’s affair with Langley? It doesn’t change anything. He said finally, his voice rough. Hazel is my daughter in every way that matters.
And this. He gestured to the frozen image of Brielle on the screen. This proved she was fully aware of what she was doing.
No mental illness defense can stand against her own words. Exactly, Flores agreed. But there’s more.
She goes on to detail the entire plan, how she’d been inducing Hazel’s allergic reactions as test runs, documenting the dosages needed, planning the camping trip as the perfect opportunity for an accidental drowning. It’s all there, in her own words, with no coercion or pressure. Flores resumed the video, and Brielle’s cold voice filled the room once more.
I’ve been careful introducing latex, gradually building up a medical history of allergic reactions. The camping trip is the perfect scenario. Remote location, water nearby, a history of allergic episodes that could explain delayed medical response.
Nate will be devastated, of course. Her lips curve in a smile devoid of warmth. But he’ll move on eventually.
Men like him always do. There’s one more thing you should know, Flores said, opening another file. We ran the paternity test ourselves, using DNA samples from you, Hazel, and Langley.
He slid a document across the desk. Brielle was lying about that, too. Hazel is your biological daughter, Nate.
One hundred percent. The test results she planned to leave were falsified. Nate picked up the report, the scientific confirmation of what he’d never doubted in his heart.
Relief washed through him, followed quickly by a renewed fury at Brielle’s calculated cruelty she’d planned to take his daughter from him twice over. First through death, then through a lie that would have poisoned his grief. Weber doesn’t know about any of this, Flores continued.
The video or the real paternity results. We’re holding it for the preliminary hearing, maximum impact, when she’s sitting right there in the courtroom. Good, Nate said, his voice hard.
I want to see her face when it plays. The county courthouse buzzed with activity as Nate entered through a side door, guided by Patricia Donovan, to avoid the cluster of reporters gathered at the main entrance. The preliminary hearing for State versus Whitmore had attracted media attention beyond what anyone had anticipated local stations, national networks, even crime bloggers had descended on Charleston for what was being called one of the most disturbing cases of Munchausen by proxy in recent history.
At precisely 9 a.m., a side door opened and Brielle was led in by two deputies. She wore a beige prison jumpsuit, her blonde hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Her face carefully composed in an expression of dignified suffering.
Only when she spotted Nate did her mask slip momentarily, a flash of something cold and hateful crossing her features before she regained control. Beside her walked Elliott Weber, immaculate in an expensive suit, his silver hair perfectly styled exuding the confident authority that had made him one of the most sought after defense attorneys in the Southeast. The bailiff called the court to order as Judge Eleanor Hargrove entered, a stern faced woman in her 60s known for running and efficient courtroom preliminary hearing in the case of State versus Brielle Jensen Whitmore, she announced.
Charges include attempted murder in the first degree, child endangerment, insurance fraud and conspiracy to commit murder. She looked over her glasses at the attorneys. Mr. Flores, you may begin.
For the next two hours, Flores methodically presented the state’s evidence. Dr. Rourke’s testimony about Hazel’s allergic reactions and his prior knowledge of Brielle from Georgia, medical documentation showing latex in Hazel’s bloodstream, surveillance footage of Brielle contaminating Hazel’s toothbrush and text messages between Brielle and Langley discussing the insurance policy and camping trip. Throughout, Brielle maintained her composure, occasionally whispering to Weber or making notes on a legal pad to those who didn’t know better.
She appeared the picture of wrongful accusation, a concerned mother subjected to a terrible misunderstanding that changed when Flores reached the final piece of evidence. Your Honor, the state would like to present exhibit 17, a video recording recovered from the defendant’s cloud storage pursuant to a valid search warrant. Weber rose immediately.
Objection, Your Honor. As we argued in our motion, this video constitutes private communication protected under. Objection overruled, Mr. Weber.
Judge Hargrove interrupted. We’ve already addressed this in chambers. The warrant specifically covered electronic communications, including cloud storage.
The video is admissible. Flores nodded to a technician and the courtroom lights dimmed slightly as a screen descended at the front of the room. The video began playing, Brielle’s face filling the screen as she delivered her cold, calculating monologue about Hazel not being Nate’s child, about the insurance policy, about her meticulous planning of what she called the perfect accident.
A collective gasp rippled through the courtroom. Even hardened reporters looked visibly shaken by the calm, methodical way Brielle discussed murdering her own child. But the most dramatic reaction came from Brielle herself, as her own voice described the plan drowning.
Her carefully constructed facade crumbled, her face drained of color, her eyes widening in shock, then narrowing in fury as she realized the extent of her exposure. She turned to Weber, whispering frantically, but the defense attorney appeared equally blindsided, his usual confidence replaced by grim resignation as he recognized the devastating impact of the video. When the recording ended, the courtroom remained silent for several seconds of heavy, stunned silence broken only when Flores spoke again.
Your Honor, the defendant created this video as insurance against her co-conspirator, Asher Langley. It constitutes a full confession, made freely and without coercion, detailing not only her actions, but her motives and mental state. He paused, allowing the impact to settle.
Additionally, the state has verified through DNA testing that, contrary to Ms. Whitmore’s claims in the video, Hazel Whitmore is indeed the biological daughter of Nathan Whitmore. The defendant’s claim was yet another calculated cruelty intended to maximize emotional damage. At this revelation, Brielle’s composure shattered completely.
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. You don’t understand, she shouted, her voice shrill. None of you understand.
She was never supposed to exist. She trapped me in that life with him. She jabbed a finger toward Nate.
Everything was ruined because of her. Ms. Whitmore, Judge Hargrove banged her gavel. Sit down immediately or you will be removed from this courtroom.
Weber placed a restraining hand on Brielle’s arm, attempting to pull her back in her seat, but she shook him off. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she continued, her voice breaking. Asher and I had plans before she came along.
Then suddenly I was stuck playing happy family in some middle class nightmare while he built his business. He never even noticed when I started seeing Asher again. Never questioned anything.
Just his precious Hazel. Always Hazel. Deputies moved forward as the judge continued to bang her gavel.
But Brielle wasn’t finished. You think I’m a monster? She laughed a brittle, unhinged sound. Ask my uncle where the money for his real estate came from.
Ask about the others, my cousin’s baby who died of SIDS. My sister who accidentally drowned when she was 12. This is what we do.
This is how we survive. She was still screaming as the deputies reached her, secured her arms, and began leading her from the courtroom. Her final words, hurled over her shoulder, struck the gathered crowd silent once more.
She deserved to die, and I’d do it again if I could. Three months after the preliminary hearing, Nate sat in another government office, this one belonging to Family Court Judge Martha Daniels. The walls were lined with law books and framed photographs of children’s artwork, creating an atmosphere both official and somehow nurturing.
Mr. Whitmore, Judge Daniels said, reviewing the file before her, I’ve examined all the documentation in your petition for termination of Brielle Whitmore’s parental rights. The evidence is substantial and compelling. Nate nodded, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
This meeting represented the final legal severance between Brielle and Hazel, a formal recognition that the maternal bond had been irreparably broken by Brielle’s actions. Given the criminal charges, the documented abuse, and the recommendations from Child Protective Services and Dr. Lipton, Hazel’s therapist, I see no reason to delay this decision. Judge Daniels signed the document before her with a flourish.