😱 MOM’S CHILLING ‘RED FLAG’ EXPOSED: Texas A&M Cheerleader Brianna Aguilera’s Phone FLIPPED to Do Not Disturb HOURS Before Her Brutal 17-Story Fall – But It Was Her MOM’S IRONCLAD RULE: ‘Location ON, Always Respond!’

Stephanie Rodriguez’s blood ran cold at 6 PM when Brianna’s texts went dark… no replies, no pings, just silence from a girl who NEVER silenced her phone at parties. “This was our deal – she’d check in, or I’d know something’s WRONG!” Now? Mom’s SCREAMING murder, accusing cops of ignoring the setup: Phone dumped in creek mud like evidence tossed, fight texts with a jealous roommate buried, and a boyfriend’s “alibi” crumbling under location lies. Witnesses heard the screams, the thud – yet APD shrugs ‘suicide’? With a deleted note? As if Brie – law-school bound, life-loving firecracker – would ghost her future. Rodriguez raced to Austin, begged for answers… got crickets till 4 PM SATURDAY. Her baby’s body? Already in the MORGUE, fingerprinted like a Jane Doe. Click NOW – the full timeline of terror just leaked, including mom’s frantic 911 pleas ignored for HOURS. Was it a tailgate trap? Roommate rage? Or cops too lazy to dig?

Full story:

Stephanie Rodriguez’s heart sank like a stone in the Rio Grande the moment her daughter’s phone went dark. It was around 6 p.m. on Friday, November 28 — smack in the middle of the electric buzz from the revived Texas Longhorns-Texas A&M football rivalry — when Brianna Aguilera’s texts stopped cold. No bubbly updates from the tailgate. No quick “I’m good, Mom!” check-in. Just an eerie silence, punctuated by the iPhone’s sudden switch to “Do Not Disturb” mode. For Rodriguez, a Laredo schoolteacher who enforced a sacred mother-daughter pact — location services always on, responses mandatory during nights out — that “weird” detail wasn’t just odd. It was an alarm bell, the first crack in what she now insists was a meticulously orchestrated murder disguised as suicide.

Brianna Marie Aguilera, the 19-year-old Texas A&M political science junior with cheerleader flips and law school dreams, plummeted 17 stories from the balcony of a student-packed high-rise at 21 Rio Apartments just after midnight on November 29. Her body hit the pavement at 12:46 a.m., discovered by a passerby who dialed 911 in horror. Paramedics pronounced her dead at the scene from catastrophic blunt-force trauma, her injuries screaming a high-fall from the 42-inch railing. Austin Police Department (APD) detectives, after a whirlwind probe involving surveillance footage, witness statements, and a deep dive into her mud-caked iPhone, ruled it suicide on December 4. A deleted digital note from November 25, penned to “specific people in her life,” raw with despair. Texts from October confessing suicidal ideations. A final, booze-fueled argument with an out-of-town boyfriend overheard at 12:43 a.m. Toxicology clocking her blood alcohol at 0.18 — double the legal limit. “The evidence is overwhelming,” lead investigator Detective Robert Marshall declared at a tense press conference, his voice steady amid flashing cameras. “No criminality here. Just a tragic impulse in a moment of profound pain.”

But for Rodriguez, those “facts” reek of fabrication, a hasty whitewash that ignored the blaring red flags starting with that silenced phone. “Brianna never put it on Do Not Disturb when she was out — ever,” Rodriguez told Fox News in a raw, tear-streaked interview aired December 6, her hands trembling as she clutched a framed photo of her daughter mid-cheer, maroon pom-poms flying. “Our rule was ironclad: Location on, text back to say you’re safe. She was my lifeline, excited about finals, Christmas, her future as a lawyer fighting for the little guy. Suicide? That’s a lie someone scripted to bury the truth.” Rodriguez, who drove five hours from Laredo to Austin on Saturday after frantic, fruitless calls to APD, arrived to a nightmare: Her daughter’s body had been in the Travis County morgue since dawn, identified via fingerprints because no one thought to notify her sooner. “I called them at 12:50 a.m. begging for help — her phone was pinging by a creek near the rugby club tailgate. They told me to wait 24 hours. By 4 p.m., she’s cold on a slab, and I’m piecing together a cover-up.”

The phone — that innocuous white iPhone 14, recovered caked in mud and leaves from a wooded field near the Austin Rugby Club at 3:30 p.m. Saturday — became the linchpin of Rodriguez’s crusade. Using Apple’s Find My network, she tracked it there overnight, its Do Not Disturb status a digital gag order that blocked her calls and alerts. “It flipped around 6 p.m., right after she arrived at the tailgate between 4 and 5,” Rodriguez recounted in a viral Facebook post that’s racked up 150,000 shares. “She was blackout drunk by 10 p.m., dropped it stumbling into the woods after friends asked her to leave for safety. But someone — one of those ‘friends’ — must’ve grabbed it later, silenced it to cut her off from me, then ditched it like trash to fake the timeline.” Forensics pulled a trove from the device: The suicide note, yes, but also messages hinting at a pre-tailgate spat with a female acquaintance — one of the three Texas A&M students left in the apartment when Brianna borrowed a phone for that fateful boyfriend call. Bruising on her arms, flagged in a private autopsy the family commissioned, “consistent with grabbing or restraint,” per sources close to attorneys Tony Buzbee and Gamez Law.

Rodriguez’s suspicions ignited a powder keg. She bombarded APD with calls that night, detailing the phone’s eerie pings near a creek — coordinates she begged them to check. Crickets. No officers dispatched. Instead, a bystander stumbled on Brianna’s body blocks away at 2101 Rio Grande Street, the sleek UT-adjacent high-rise where surveillance showed her arriving sobbing at 11:12 p.m., propped up by a friend after the tailgate exile. The after-party in unit 1704 was a whirlwind: 20-plus revelers in and out till 12:29 a.m., when 11 bolted in a 94-second frenzy, leaving just Brianna and the three girls — all cheer or dance squad ties. The door clicked shut at 12:30:11 a.m. Sixteen minutes of silence on the cams. Then, the borrowed-phone scream-fest with the boyfriend: Accusations flying, a muffled “Get off me!” per anonymous witnesses leaking on X. Shadow across the balcony at 12:45:46 a.m. Thud at 12:46:12. 911 at 12:48.

“Why clear the room? Why lock her in with girls she fought?” Rodriguez demanded at a December 5 Houston presser, her voice cracking as Buzbee — the bulldog attorney behind the Astroworld suits — flanked her. “That Do Not Disturb wasn’t Brianna — she was too buzzed, too lost without her phone. Someone silenced it to isolate her, stage the fall, sync their stories. The boyfriend’s logs? They put him in Austin, not hours away. And those three? Their polygraphs passed, but their tales match word-for-word. Scripted.” Buzbee, echoing the family’s fury, blasted APD’s “eyeball estimate” of the fall height — no ladder, no measurements till days later — and their refusal to reassign detectives. “This was murder, plain and simple. We’re demanding the Texas Rangers, full call audio unsealed, every evacuee’s Uber records pulled.” A GoFundMe for the probe has topped $50,000, fueled by #JusticeForBrianna trending with 1 million mentions, X threads dissecting the phone data like a crime podcast.

APD Chief Lisa Davis, her expression etched with empathy at the December 4 briefing, pushed back gently but firmly. “We ache for this family — Brianna was a light,” she said, addressing rumors head-on. “But the Do Not Disturb? Common in party mode, especially impaired. The phone in the woods? Dropped at 10 p.m., untouched till recovery. No foreign DNA, no struggle signs. Toxicology confirms the haze; the note seals the intent.” Marshall detailed the digital breadcrumbs: Self-harm admissions that evening, a text musing “ending it all” pre-tailgate. The boyfriend cooperated, alibi intact via towers — though family sleuths dispute it. The three roommates? “Devastated, cooperative,” per sources. Yet APD extended the case to December 15 amid the uproar, warrants flying for supplemental device dumps.

Mental health advocates tread a tightrope. “Suicide’s silent thief — one in four college women battle ideation, alcohol the cruel amplifier,” Dr. Elena Vasquez of NAMI Central Texas told the Post. “But grief demands truth-seeking; Rodriguez’s voice honors that.” Texas A&M, scorched by backlash over counseling waitlists hitting 30 days, paused cheer activities, audited tailgates, and lit maroon candles in her dorm. The memorial below the balcony swells: Pom-poms, vigil flames, a plaque: “Gig ‘Em Forever, Brie — Not Forgotten.”

For Rodriguez, the Do Not Disturb wasn’t a glitch — it was a gag, a deliberate severing of her daughter’s safety net. “I felt it in my gut at 6 p.m.,” she whispered to People magazine, sifting unopened holiday gifts. “My baby was screaming for help, and they muted her.” As Austin’s rivalry glow fades into winter chill, the question lingers like fog over the creek: Was it a heartbroken slip in the night? Or a calculated hush, starting with a silenced screen? Buzbee teases civil suits against the complex for lax cams, the girls for obstruction. APD’s Monday update looms; grand jury whispers grow.