I heard Brooke say, “That’s what sisters are for.”
The next file began after the crash.
It showed her rushing toward me, looking down at the twisted base plate and pressing the cover closed before patrol arrived.
Then the image spun as the camera tore from its mount and landed lens up in the snow.
The last audio captured Brooke asking a patroller whether loose equipment could be thrown away because it might confuse the report.
The screen went black.
Brooke spoke first.
“It was a prank.”
Her voice was flat, as if naming it could shrink it.
She said she wanted me to miss one interview, not tear my knee.
Deputy Delaney asked why she had hidden her action camera.
Brooke insisted she had panicked.
He asked why she returned to search for it after telling us the battery was dead.
She said she could not remember.
My father pulled out his phone and announced that he was calling the firm’s criminal defense partner.
Deputy Delaney told him he was free to arrange counsel for Brooke, but he was not free to coach an adult witness or interrupt my statement.
My father said the family would resolve the property damage and medical expenses privately.
The deputy answered, “This is no longer a family dispute. The recording shows deliberate tampering followed by serious bodily injury.”
My father’s phone remained in his hand, but for once, his title could not turn reality into a negotiation.
Brooke changed tactics.
She moved toward my bed and began crying.
She said Calder Peak was her only path into consulting, that her student loans were enormous, that one reckless minute should not erase 9 years of work.
She reminded me of birthdays, shared bedrooms on vacations, the time she drove through a snowstorm to bring me home from college.
I listened until she said, “You know, I would never really hurt you.”
I looked at the brace holding my wrist, then at the machine stabilizing my knee.
“You already did.”
My mother pleaded that Brooke had been under unbearable pressure.
I told her pressure explained nothing about why they had accused me of causing my own fall.
My father said I was emotional and did not understand the permanent consequences of a statement.
That finally opened something in me.