Chapter 3 - The Camera Brent Thought Was Dead
Scott Miller came to the hospital the next morning.
He asked through Detective Ellis.
I agreed.
He looked terrible.
“You don’t owe me forgiveness.”
“Good.”
He swallowed.
“I laughed.”
“Yes.”
“I thought…”
“Be careful.”
He nodded.
“I thought Brent was doing some stupid staged video.”
“Why?”
“He told us.”
There.
“What did he say?”
“That you wanted to make a dark humor video about your recovery.”
I stared.
“What?”
“He said you were tired of people treating you fragile. That you wanted this ridiculous ‘drag me like old times’ thing for social media.”
“I don’t use social media.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew me before yesterday.”
“Not well.”
True.
Scott and I waved across fences.
That was mostly it.
“He told guests I agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone?”
“Some.”
“That’s why they laughed.”
His face crumpled.
“At first.”
“And when I screamed?”
“I should’ve stopped it immediately.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t.”
“No.”
We sat with that.
Then I asked:
“Camera.”
Scott nodded.
“The fence unit is mine originally. You paid me to install it after someone broke into your shed three years ago.”
“I remember.”
“Brent called me four months ago and said to cancel cellular backup because you wanted to save money.”
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“Did you cancel?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I had already prepaid annual data plan. Told him it would end in September.”
My pulse changed.
“So it was live yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Did he know?”
“He thought house router controlled it.”
“Doesn’t.”
“No.”
“What did Allison mean when he said she told him feed was off?”
“She unplugged the inside monitor and main router. Brent thought that killed cameras.”
“But fence camera had LTE.”
“Yes.”
Scott looked almost sick.
“It uploaded everything.”
“Everything?”
“Motion activated clips plus continuous low resolution stream once vehicle movement triggered.”
Detective Ellis entered.
“Mr. Miller, do not discuss more technical detail outside your recorded statement.”
He nodded.
I understood.
Evidence integrity.
They had already secured cloud account through warrant/consent.
Scott had turned over administrator records.
The video showed:
Brent carrying the rope out before I escaped.
Kevin helping him attach one end to SUV.
Allison standing near porch, visibly arguing with Brent.
Scott arriving later.
Guests arriving.
My escape.
Then assault.
But another clip mattered more.
12:52 p.m.
Before party.
Brent and Kevin beside garage.
Audio:
Kevin:
“She signs first, right?”
Brent:
“She will.”
Kevin:
“And if she doesn’t?”
Brent:
“Then we remind her what happens when she makes me look stupid.”
Kevin:
“This is getting weird.”
Brent:
“You already took the money.”
Kevin looked around.
“How much did he take?”
Scott didn’t know.
Detective did not tell me.
The next clip:
Allison near side door.
Brent:
“Keep her in there until I call you.”
Allison:
“She’s not a dog.”
Brent:
“I’m paying you to help today.”
Allison:
“For the event. Not this.”
Brent:
“Then give money back.”
She did not.
Complicit.
Coerced financially? Not legally enough by itself.
Then:
Allison:
“What does she have to sign?”
Brent:
“Ratification.”
The word hit me.
I knew what ratification meant.
A document confirming or adopting earlier actions.
If someone had already done something in my name without authority, a ratification could make it valid afterward.
My business brain woke fully.
“What was he trying to ratify?”
Detective said:
“That’s what we’re finding out.”
At 10:14, Dana Keller arrived.
She hugged me carefully.
Then placed a folder on tray.
“Rachel, I should have pushed sooner.”
“What happened?”
“Three lender verification requests.”
“From who?”
“First Commonwealth Bank.”
“For what?”
“Commercial line of credit.”
“Whose?”
“BKC Ventures LLC.”
I stared.
“BKC.”
Brent Kevin Carter? Maybe Brent Carter initials B.C. Kevin Brooks K.B. Better BKC = Brent K. Carter, middle Kevin? Hmm. Let's define Brent's middle initial K. But Kevin also. Could be BKC Holdings, registered to Brent K. Carter. Fine.
Dana continued.
“Registered manager is Brent.”
“How much?”
“Seven hundred twenty thousand authorized. About five hundred eighty drawn.”
I stopped breathing.
“Against what?”
“Personal guarantee purportedly signed by you. Plus pledge of future distributions from your Ridgeway ownership interest.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because signature looks wrong and notary seal belongs to someone who retired.”
My hands became cold.
“When?”
“First guarantee eleven months ago.”
One month before my crash.
The room changed.
Detective Ellis looked at me.
“Rachel, did you know anything about these loans before your accident?”
I closed my eyes.
A memory surfaced.
A bank envelope.
Brent taking it from kitchen.
Me asking:
“What’s BKC?”
His answer:
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Then the week before crash, an email.
Verification request.
I had printed it.
I remembered walking toward my car with a folder.
Where was I going?
Dana whispered:
“You were coming to meet me.”
My eyes opened.
“What?”
“The morning of your crash.”
She looked shaken.
“You called at 7:10 and said you had proof Brent forged something.”
My whole body went cold.
Ten months of memory rearranged itself.
May you like
My accident had happened at 8:02.
I never made it to Dana.
