PART 4 — The Evidence Unveiled
The air in the ICU room turned ice-cold. Brianna took a step backward toward the window, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal. Patricia, however, maintained her rigid composure, pointing a manicured finger at Marcus.
"This man is a neighbor, a stranger! He has no right to interfere in Brooks family matters," Patricia bellowed. "Detective, I demand you remove these people from my daughter-in-law's room. She needs rest after her tragic accident!"
"It wasn't an accident, Patricia," Evelyn Ross, my attorney, said smoothly. She opened a sleek leather briefcase and pulled out a tablet, placing it on the overbed table right in front of my mother-in-law. "And as Clara’s legal counsel and the co-trustee of the Brooks Unborn Twins Security Fund, I think you should take a very close look at this."
Evelyn tapped the screen.
A high-definition, wide-angle video began to play. The timestamp on the top right corner read exactly 4:14 PM from the previous afternoon. The audio was crystal clear.
The video showed my kitchen, illuminated by the afternoon sun. It showed Brianna entering, slamming the fraudulent documents onto the counter, and making her demands. The camera captured every word of her confession: “Tomorrow, that account will be drained... And Ryan will think you approved all of it.”
Then came the horror. The camera recorded the exact moment Brianna smacked the phone from my hand. It recorded the brutal, unprovoked fist to my stomach. On the high-quality screen, my screams filled the hospital room, raw and agonizing. The video clearly showed Brianna dragging me by my hair across the hardwood floor while I curled into a ball, desperately weeping and trying to protect Sophie and Lucas.
Brianna’s breath hitched. The color completely drained from her face, leaving her looking sickly and hollow. "No... that's... that's a fake. It's an AI generation! We don't have cameras in that part of the house!"
"It's an encrypted, cloud-stored NetVue pantry camera with cellular backup," I said, my voice growing stronger with every second of her panic. "Ryan installed it because he wanted to make sure I was safe while he was overseas. The footage doesn't store on the device, Brianna. It uploads instantly to an off-site legal server managed by Evelyn’s firm. You can't delete it. You can't burn it."
The video continued to play. The door on screen opened, and Patricia walked in. Her voice echoed through the hospital room: “Look at her... Struggling on the floor like an animal... Clean up the counter, Brianna. We need to leave before the neighbors notice anything unusual.”
Patricia’s aristocratic composure shattered into a million jagged pieces. She stumbled back against the wall, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "I... I was only trying to protect the family name... I didn't know she had hit her! I thought she just fell during an argument!"
"Save it for the judge, ladies," Detective Vance said coldly. He stepped forward, grabbing Brianna’s wrists and slapping the heavy steel cuffs around them. "Brianna Brooks, you are under arrest for attempted double feticide, aggravated assault on a pregnant woman, extortion, and grand felony fraud."
"Mom! Do something! Call our lawyers!" Brianna screamed, bursting into chaotic tears as the metal clicked shut. "She's lying! The video is manipulated!"
Detective Vance didn't hesitate. He turned to Patricia, pulling a second pair of handcuffs out. "Patricia Brooks, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit felony fraud, criminal neglect, tampering with evidence, and acting as an accessory to aggravated assault."
"You can't do this to me!" Patricia shrieked, struggling as Vance pinned her arms behind her back. "Do you know who my son is? Do you know the connections I have in this city? Ryan will destroy all of you for this!"
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"Ryan already knows," I whispered, pointing to the corner of the hospital room where a laptop sat open on the nightstand.
The screen of the laptop lit up. A Zoom call had been active the entire time. And on the other end, sitting in a dark boardroom in Singapore, was my husband. His face was streaked with tears, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and his eyes burned with a terrifying, absolute hatred for the women who shared his last name.
