In the world of high-stakes political commentary, few figures command attention quite like Candace Owens. Known for her fearless approach to controversial topics, Owens has turned her investigative lens toward one of the most heartbreaking and contentious events of the year: the tragedy involving Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University. While the official reports have long sought to close the book on the incident, labeling it a catastrophic security failure, Owens has emerged with a dossier of evidence that suggests the story we’ve been told is not just incomplete—it is fundamentally flawed.
In a recent broadcast that has sent shockwaves through social media, Owens systematically dismantled the defenses offered by Turning Point USA (TPUSA) insiders and security personnel. She presented what she terms “verified lies”—a series of contradictions, retracted statements, and physical evidence that directly refute the timeline provided to the public. The implications are profound, hinting that the chaos of that day may have been compounded by a deliberate effort to obscure the truth.
The Drone Deception
At the heart of Owens’ latest exposé is the contentious issue of aerial surveillance. Brian Harpole, the security lead for the event, recently appeared on the Shawn Ryan Show to address the growing criticism. His defense was simple and seemingly ironclad: his team did not use drones to secure the rooftops because they were “not allowed” to do so due to airspace restrictions and university policy. It was a plausible excuse that silenced many critics—until Owens dug deeper.
According to documents and university policies unearthed by Owens’ team, Harpole’s claim holds no water. The investigation revealed that flying a drone on the UVU campus is not banned; it merely requires a standard authorization request through the Office of Risk Management. More damningly, reports indicate that permits were, in fact, filed and approved for that very week. This revelation completely undermines the “we couldn’t break the law” defense. If the permits existed and the policy allowed it, why was the order given to ground the drones?
Furthermore, the existence of aerial footage from the day of the event proves that at least one drone was in the air. Owens pointed to clear overhead shots of the amphitheater, the crowd, and the exposed rooftops—footage that could only have been captured by the very technology Harpole claimed was prohibited. If a drone was up, who was controlling it, and why was its feed not used to spot the threat looming on the rooftop?
The Security Gaps and the “Stand Down” Mystery
The absence of drones is only one piece of a larger, more disturbing puzzle. Owens highlighted a “total breakdown” in standard security protocols. For an event of this magnitude, involving high-profile figures and thousands of attendees, securing the high ground is Security 101. Yet, the rooftops overlooking the open-air venue were left completely unguarded.
Owens raised a chilling question: Was this negligence, or was it a directive? Sources close to the investigation have whispered about a “stand down” order given hours before the event, canceling the additional layers of surveillance that had been planned. While Harpole and others have cited staffing issues or “blind spots,” Owens argues that professional security teams do not simply “forget” to check the most obvious vantage points for an attacker. The inconsistency between the claimed rigorous planning and the amateurish execution is, in her view, a smoking gun.
Conflicting Accounts and the “Hero” Narrative
Beyond the technical failures, Owens turned her attention to the human element—specifically, the behavior and stories of those closest to the center of the storm. She took aim at the narrative surrounding Mikey McCoy, a key figure who was reportedly “covered in trauma” and acting heroically in the immediate aftermath.
Owens contrasted this dramatic description with video evidence showing McCoy calmly walking away from the scene, phone in hand, with no visible signs of the chaos described in media reports. The discrepancy is jarring. Furthermore, the timeline of the “magnificent call”—the claim that McCoy immediately called his father to organize prayer—was contradicted by Erika Kirk, Charlie’s wife, who stated that she received the first call. These may seem like minor details, but Owens argues they are part of a calculated effort to craft a specific emotional story, one that elevates certain individuals while distracting from the procedural failures that allowed the tragedy to occur.
The Vanishing Evidence
Perhaps the most alarming aspect of Owens’ report is the allegation of missing evidence. In the digital age, everything is recorded, yet key pieces of data from that day have reportedly vanished. Owens spoke of SD cards missing from primary cameras and specific camera angles being taken down by staff members immediately after the incident. She explicitly named Tyler Bower in connection with the removal of equipment, asking why anyone’s first instinct in a crime scene would be to dismantle the recording devices.
This “cleaning” of the scene extends to the digital realm as well. Owens noted that several insiders have quietly deleted posts and tweets from the weeks leading up to and following the event. If there is nothing to hide, why is the digital paper trail being erased? The deletion of social media history, combined with the missing physical footage, paints a picture of an organization in damage control mode, prioritizing the protection of its reputation over the transparency owed to the public.
The Mural and the “Pre-Planned” Response
In a detail that feels almost cinematic, Owens pointed to the sudden appearance of a massive, professionally painted mural of Charlie Kirk overseas, less than 24 hours after the news broke. Consulting with artists and using AI estimation tools, Owens determined that such a piece would typically require a week or more to design and execute. Its overnight appearance raises uncomfortable questions about whether certain parties were prepared for the news before it even happened. It is a speculative point, but one that adds to the uncanny “produced” feel of the aftermath.
A Call for Truth
Candace Owens’ investigation is not merely a critique of security tactics; it is an indictment of trust. She argues that the inconsistencies she has uncovered—the drone permits, the conflicting timelines, the missing SD cards—are evidence of a betrayal from within. She suggests that the “verified lies” are an attempt to cover up deep-seated internal conflicts and perhaps even foreknowledge of the danger.
As hashtags like #TruthOverSpin begin to trend, it is clear that the public is no longer satisfied with the sanitized official version of events. They want to know why a “warning text” allegedly sent by Charlie himself was ignored. They want to know why the story keeps changing. And most of all, they want to know who is truly responsible for the lapses that led to such a profound loss.
Owens has made it clear she is just getting started. “You can’t silence the truth,” she declared, a warning to those who hope this story will simply fade away. In a world of spin and curated narratives, Candace Owens is pulling at the loose threads, and the entire tapestry of the official story is beginning to unravel.
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