Stella Accused Of Locker Room Sabotage — Then Security Camera Footage Exposes The Real Culprit

Chapter 8 — Brooke Enters The Locker Room Area — Then Coach Vance Confronts Her With The Evidence

Brooke stopped in the doorway.

Her eyes darted from the open locker room door to the ruined skates sitting on the wooden bench.

A tight, nervous smile flickered across her face.

“Hey, Coach,” Brooke said.

Her voice sounded entirely too casual.

“Are we getting started early today?”

Coach Vance did not answer right away.

He crossed his arms over his chest.

His gaze locked onto Brooke with absolute intensity.

“Drop your bag, Brooke,” Coach Vance said.

Brooke blinked.

The smile vanished from her face.

“What? Why?” Brooke asked.

She shifted the heavy gear bag strap higher up on her shoulder.

“I just got here from the parking lot.”

“Step inside,” Coach Vance ordered.

Brooke hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Then she shuffled past the threshold and set her bag on the floor near the entrance.

Marcus stood up straight from the bench.

He walked over to the wall monitor he had carried into the locker room.

He tapped the screen to wake the display.

The high-definition security footage from earlier that morning sprang back to life.

The timestamp in the corner read 8:14 AM.

The camera angle overlooked the exact row of lockers where Stella kept her gear.

An empty hallway stretched out on screen.

Then, a figure stepped into the frame.

It was Brooke.

She wore her team warm-up jacket with the zipper pulled halfway down.

She carried a heavy claw hammer in her right hand.

On screen, Brooke walked straight up to Stella’s locker.

She looked around the empty hallway once.

Then she jammed the hammer against the padlock of Stella’s locker, forcing the latch to snap under the heavy leverage.

Coach Vance pointed a finger directly at the wall monitor.

“Care to explain why you were at Stella’s locker with a tool at eight-fourteen this morning?” Coach Vance demanded.

Brooke stared at the screen.

Her face drained of all color.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

The digital timestamp flashed relentlessly in the corner of the display.

Brooke looked down at the concrete floor.

Then her head snapped back up.

“That wasn’t even me,” Brooke lied, her voice rising in panic.

“Someone stole my jacket and wore it to frame me.”