“There was never sufficient evidence linking Nicholas to any murders,” she says evenly.
The reporter swallows. “With respect, ma’am, several witnesses placed him at multiple crime scenes, including the death of his high school girlfriend, and—”
“Allegations,” she cuts in. “Not convictions.”
The crowd shifts.
“But he’s deceased,” the reporter presses. “Which makes a trial impossible.”
She steps away from the podium, heels striking hard against the stage.
“My son cannot defend himself because he is dead,” she says, her voice tightening. “That does not make him guilty.”
She sweeps her gaze across the crowd, then leans back into the microphone.
“What we do have is a confirmed mass casualty event at the Everspring Hotel. A national manhunt for Seth Kincaid. Federal agencies are pursuing him across state lines for what can only be described as a massacre.”
Murmurs ripple outward.
She points toward the press row.
“That vindicates my son. The real killer has already been identified.”
Brooke doesn’t move.
“Seth Kincaid is a wanted man,” Kristie continues. “Law enforcement nationwide is actively searching for him in connection to the Everspring killings. That is fact.”
She lets it settle.
“And Brooke Sinclair,” she adds, tone sharpening, “is either dead or actively aiding him. If she is alive, she is not a victim. She is an accomplice.”
A current of tension runs through the crowd.
“We know who was behind the tragedy at Stratford,” Kristie says. “And yet you continue to question my son.”
Her composure thins.
“My son, Nicholas Talbert was a good man.”
Brooke shifts beside me, her knuckles tightening around the strap of her bag.
“He volunteered in community outreach,” Kristie presses. “He mentored younger students. He had plans to pursue public service. The so-called evidence surfaced after he could no longer speak for himself.”
The reporter tries again. “What about the footage from Stratford that showed him entering the property the night—”
“Context matters,” she snaps. “Selective editing does not create truth.”
Her voice rises.
“You want a villain? You have one. His name is Seth Kincaid.”
I lean closer to Brooke. “She just put a target on both of us again.”
Kristie steps forward, abandoning the script entirely.
“My son was targeted,” she adds. “Smeared. Used as a scapegoat by people who needed a monster.”
Phones lift higher.
