😱 SHATTERING UPDATE: Texas A&M cheerleader Brianna Aguilera’s mom DROPS bombshell CCTV footage showing her daughter STALKED up to the 17th-floor balcony… then TWO haunting words flashed on her phone JUST before the scream. “Help. Now.” Police still swear it’s suicide—brushing off the muddied phone in the woods and the boyfriend’s furious call logs. But now? The video’s dark shadows reveal a FIGURE lurking nearby, and witnesses are flipping their stories. Was it a jealous roommate rage after the tailgate brawl? Or a setup gone deadly? Brianna’s family just confirmed: EVERYTHING points to MURDER. The footage? It’s CHILLING. Click NOW before it’s scrubbed— this could CRACK the case WIDE open and send someone to jail. Who’s hiding the truth? 👀

In a gut-wrenching escalation of the controversy surrounding the death of 19-year-old Texas A&M University cheerleader Brianna Marie Aguilera, her mother has unleashed previously unseen CCTV footage from the night of her daughter’s fatal plunge, claiming it exposes glaring holes in the Austin Police Department’s suicide determination. The grainy video, timestamped just after midnight on November 29, shows Aguilera stumbling through the dimly lit hallways of the 21 Rio Apartments, phone-less and visibly distraught, moments before her body was found shattered on the pavement 17 stories below. But it’s the final frame — a close-up of her borrowed phone screen flickering with two desperate words: “Help. Now.” — that has reignited the firestorm, with family attorneys demanding an immediate reopening of the case amid accusations of investigative shortcuts and potential witness tampering.

What was meant to be a triumphant weekend for Aggie fans — the revival of the heated Texas Longhorns-Texas A&M rivalry on November 28 — ended in unimaginable horror for the Laredo native, a political science major with big dreams of law school and a spot on the university’s spirited cheer squad. Witnesses at the tailgate near the Austin Rugby Club described Aguilera as the “heart of the party,” her infectious energy cutting through the pre-game buzz. But heavy drinking took a toll. By 10 p.m., friends escorted her away after she lost her iPhone in the chaos, repeatedly dropping it while veering into nearby woods. Somehow, she made her way to the upscale 21 Rio high-rise, a hotspot for UT students blocks from the stadium, arriving around 11 p.m. with a rowdy group of about 14 friends for an after-party that promised to extend the night’s revelry.

Surveillance footage released by police on December 4 captured the group’s boisterous arrival, but the newly surfaced clips, obtained by Aguilera’s family through a subpoena to the apartment complex, paint a far more ominous picture. In one segment, aired exclusively during a December 6 press conference in Houston, Aguilera is seen weaving unsteadily toward the 17th-floor unit, her cheerleader poise replaced by slurred steps and tear-streaked cheeks. A shadowy figure — described by attorney Tony Buzbee as “unidentified and suspiciously evasive” — lingers in the background, ducking into a stairwell just as she reaches the door. “This isn’t a party girl wandering off alone,” Buzbee thundered to a packed room of reporters. “This is someone being followed, cornered, and silenced.”

The video’s most explosive revelation comes at 12:43 a.m., during the one-minute call Aguilera placed to her out-of-town boyfriend using a roommate’s phone. Overheard arguments echo through the apartment, with witnesses later telling detectives they heard raised voices escalating into what one described as a “frantic plea.” Phone records confirm the heated exchange, laced with accusations of infidelity amid the emotional haze of alcohol and rivalry-fueled tension. As the call cuts off, the footage — pieced together from hallway cams and a resident’s Ring doorbell device — shows Aguilera’s fingers fumbling on the borrowed screen. There, frozen in the low-light glow: “Help. Now.” Typed but unsent, the message vanishes seconds later, just before a muffled thud registers on the building’s seismic sensors at 12:46 a.m.

Two minutes after that, a 911 call flooded dispatch: an unresponsive young woman on the ground below the balcony. Paramedics arrived at 12:50 a.m., pronouncing Aguilera dead from catastrophic blunt-force trauma at 12:57 a.m., her body twisted in a way consistent with a fall from the 42-inch railing, per the Travis County Medical Examiner’s preliminary autopsy. The three Texas A&M students left in the apartment — all female roommates — insisted they were in a back bedroom, oblivious until the impact jolted them alert. No forced entry. No signs of struggle on the body. Toxicology, released December 5, clocked her blood alcohol at 0.18 — more than twice the legal limit — painting a picture of impaired judgment in a moment of profound distress.

Austin Police, in a defensive December 4 briefing, leaned hard on digital evidence from Aguilera’s recovered iPhone, handed over by her mother, Stephanie Rodriguez, on December 1. Forensics uncovered a deleted suicide note from November 25, penned to “specific people in her life,” raw with expressions of isolation and despair. Texts from October revealed prior suicidal ideations, including self-harm admissions, and a message sent hours before the tailgate explicitly mulled ending it all. “The totality of the evidence screams suicide,” Detective Robert Marshall stated flatly, flanked by Chief Lisa Davis, who added, “Our hearts ache for this family, but speculation online has twisted facts into fiction. There’s zero criminal footprint here.”

Rodriguez, a soft-spoken Laredo schoolteacher whose world shattered in an instant, has transformed her grief into a relentless crusade. In emotional Facebook posts that have amassed over 100,000 shares, she dissected the timeline: How did Brianna reach the apartment without her phone, yet it later pinged from the tailgate woods — recovered caked in mud by officers at 3 p.m. on November 29? Why did detectives initially dismiss texts showing a pre-death altercation with a female friend, including one roommate? And now, with the CCTV in hand, Rodriguez is laser-focused on those two words. “Those weren’t the ramblings of a girl giving up,” she told Fox News in a tearful exclusive on December 6. “That was my baby begging for her life. The video confirms it — someone was there, watching, waiting. APD got it wrong, and they’re too lazy to admit it.”

The family’s legal firepower, marshaled by Buzbee — the Houston powerhouse behind high-stakes cases like the Astroworld tragedy — and the firm of Gamez Law, escalated on December 5 with a blistering presser. Buzbee lambasted the investigation as “sloppy and premature,” formed “within hours” of the body cooling. He highlighted inconsistencies: The boyfriend’s alibi-checked call logs show no red flags, but anonymous tips to the family’s hotline describe a “jealous spat” spilling from the tailgate into the party. The shadowy figure on CCTV? Buzbee claims it’s a male acquaintance, not among the initial witness pool, whose phone synced suspiciously with the roommates’ devices post-incident. “This was no accident, no solo leap into the void,” he declared. “Brianna was pushed — physically or emotionally — and the truth has been buried under deleted files and synced lies.”

Social media has amplified the drama, with #JusticeForBrianna surging past 500,000 mentions. Viral threads on X (formerly Twitter) dissect frame-by-frame the CCTV stills, speculating the lurker’s build matches a tailgate regular. One post, from a self-proclaimed eyewitness, alleges hearing “Get off me!” through an open window — a claim APD attributes to “alcohol-amplified hearsay,” as no audio corroborates it. Comparisons to the 2023 Madison Brooks case at LSU abound, fueling distrust in campus party probes. Mental health advocates, however, tread carefully. “Brianna’s story underscores the hidden epidemics of suicidal ideation among college women — one in four report such thoughts annually,” said Dr. Elena Vasquez of NAMI Central Texas. “But grief can cloud judgment; we must honor her memory without rushing to unsubstantiated blame.”

Texas A&M, reeling from the scandal, suspended cheer squad activities for a week and rolled out mandatory mental health seminars, confronting criticisms of overburdened counseling services where wait times stretch to 30 days. The university’s tribute page overflows with condolences from alumni, but whispers of a cover-up linger, especially after the apartment complex’s management stonewalled initial footage requests, only complying under legal duress.

As Rodriguez sifts through unopened holiday cards and Brianna’s half-packed dorm boxes — relics of a life poised for greatness — she clings to the CCTV as her daughter’s final witness. “She was my rock, my future lawyer fighting for the voiceless,” Rodriguez shared with People magazine, her voice cracking. “Those two words? They’re her indictment of the lies protecting her killer.” Buzbee has petitioned the Texas Rangers for an independent review, hinting at civil suits against the complex for lax security and possibly the roommates for obstruction if polygraphs falter under scrutiny. APD, unmoved, extended the probe to December 15 for “supplemental review,” but sources say closure as suicide remains the default.

In Austin’s collegiate underbelly — where tailgate highs crash into post-game lows — Brianna Aguilera’s fall serves as a stark cautionary tale. Was it the culmination of unspoken torments, amplified by liquor and loneliness? Or a deliberate act veiled in shadows, exposed now by pixels and pleas? The CCTV, dark and damning, tips the scales toward the latter for those who loved her most. As the holidays dawn under gray Texas skies, one question echoes louder than the rivalry cheers: Will justice illuminate what the night concealed, or will two words fade into official footnotes?