Nine months have passed since Thomas Matthew Crooks, a seemingly ordinary 20-year-old, fired eight shots at then-presidential candidate Donald Trump during a rally in Butler, Pennsylvania. And yet, despite federal investigations, private probes, and endless speculation, one glaring question remains unanswered: Why?

Those searching for clarity have been met with silence—or worse, obstruction. The FBI, according to sources, has blocked efforts to uncover the shooter’s motives, leaving local authorities, former classmates, and the broader public frustrated. Crooks left no manifesto, no clear warning signs, no explanation for why he climbed onto a rooftop and attempted to assassinate a former—and now current—president.

Even Crooks’ family has sealed itself off from the world. His parents, Matthew and Mary, have refused all interviews, their home transformed into a fortress of grief and secrecy. Neighbors whisper that they only leave the house under the cover of darkness, slipping out at 3 a.m. to buy groceries. The entire situation has fueled suspicion, not just among locals, but in the highest circles of conservative influence.

For those who refuse to accept the “lone gunman” theory, troubling details continue to surface. Private investigator Doug Hagmann, hired by an undisclosed client, has spent months examining the case. His findings? Crooks didn’t act alone.

“This took a lot of coordination,” Hagmann told The New York Post. “In my view, Crooks was handled by more than one individual. He was used for this assassination attempt. And I wouldn’t preclude the possibility that there were people at the rally itself helping him.”

Hagmann’s team analyzed geofencing data from Crooks’ electronic devices, tracking his movements from his home to the rifle range where he practiced, to the rally site itself. Yet, the most chilling revelation? One of the devices geolocated with Crooks before the shooting is still pinging—not in some shadowy safehouse, but inside Bethel Park High School, where Crooks graduated in 2022.

Even as Hagmann and his team dug deeper, they encountered resistance. Federal agents, or individuals posing as such, twice escorted him out of Butler County, warning him to drop the case.

“There are people still out there involved in this case that need to be brought to justice,” Hagmann insisted.

Officially, the FBI accessed Crooks’ phone, computer, and encrypted messaging apps across multiple countries, including Belgium, New Zealand, and Germany. Yet, what they found remains a mystery. National security adviser Mike Waltz, a former GOP congressman, confirmed the agency’s reach—but not their findings.

Rep. Clay Higgins (R-La.), who has been independently investigating the shooting, claims the FBI has actively obstructed his work. While he personally believes Crooks acted alone, he acknowledges that something doesn’t add up.

His own theory? Pharmaceuticals.

“Something happened to make him go crazy,” Higgins said, speculating that Crooks was on some type of mind-altering prescription drug. But even this hypothesis is riddled with inconsistencies. The Pittsburgh County medical examiner never conducted toxicology tests on Crooks for pharmaceuticals—at least, not in any way that made it into the official autopsy report. More strangely, his body was quietly released to his parents and cremated just eight days after the shooting, catching even investigators off guard.

The narrative surrounding Crooks in the immediate aftermath of the shooting painted him as a loner, a ticking time bomb rejected by his school’s rifle club, a disturbed young man who had once threatened to attack his high school. But interviews with those who knew him tell a different story.

“He was my little buddy,” said Xavier Harmon, a former computer technology teacher at Steel Center for Career and Technical Education. “I just didn’t believe it when I heard it. Tom was quirky, funny, incredibly intelligent. He was always helping his classmates.”

Crooks was not the isolated outcast some claimed. A standout student, he maintained near-perfect grades, earned a scholarship to Robert Morris University, and excelled in engineering. His SAT score—a near-flawless 1530—reflected a mind built for logic and precision, not erratic violence.

And yet, on July 13, he was anything but logical. From a rooftop 130 yards away, he opened fire, striking Trump in the right ear, killing rallygoer Corey Comperatore, and injuring two others. In the chaos that followed, he was fatally shot by a counter-sniper.

If Crooks had been radicalized, where was the trail? No online rants, no extremist group affiliations, no paper trail of a young man plotting political murder.

While investigators struggle to piece together Crooks’ final months, his family remains an enigma. His parents, both licensed social workers, have refused to speak publicly. His sister, Katie, lives a mile away in a modest apartment. When The New York Post knocked on her door, two older men appeared instead, delivering a cryptic warning: “The story is dead. Remember that.”

What are they afraid of? What are they hiding?

Nine months later, the assassination attempt on Donald Trump remains a puzzle with missing pieces. The FBI’s secrecy, the private investigators being run out of town, the high school device that still pings—none of it fits neatly into the “lone gunman” narrative.

And yet, for all the official statements and government reports, no one has been able to answer the simplest question of all: Why did Thomas Crooks do it?

(YWN World Headquarters – NYC)