FBI agents swarmed a quiet Naples condo, hunting for answers from a mother who’s vanished into the shadows.
Federal agents descended on Mary Grace Westman’s Berkshire Lakes condo in Naples, Florida, on Aug. 27, seeking clues about her child Robin Westman’s horrific shooting at Annunciation Catholic Church in Minneapolis, which left two children dead and 18 injured, as the Daily Mail reports.
Plainclothes FBI operatives banged on the shuttered windows and doors of Westman’s condo, but their knocks went unanswered. They scurried to the back door, only to face another dead end. Collier County Sheriff’s deputies circled the complex, adding to the tension in this sleepy Florida community.
Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara admitted, “We have not been successful in talking to the shooter’s mother.” That’s a curious dodge for someone whose child just unleashed chaos on a church full of kids. Mary Grace’s absence smells like a deliberate sidestep from accountability.
Robin Westman, 23, opened fire during a morning Mass at Annunciation Catholic Church, killing eight-year-old Fletcher Merkel and ten-year-old Harper Moyski. The carnage didn’t stop there -- 18 others were wounded, a grim toll for a community celebrating the school year’s start. This wasn’t random; Robin knew the church, having graduated from its school in 2017.
Mary Grace, a former parish secretary at the church until 2021, reportedly struggled with Robin’s transgender identity. A former colleague recalled her saying, “I don’t know how I feel about this,” torn between her Catholic faith and her child’s 2019 name change from Robert to Robin. Progressive dogma might applaud such transitions, but it left Mary Grace grappling with her beliefs.
Police records reveal unsettling visits to the Westman family’s Minneapolis home in 2016 and 2018. A criminal offense report from 2016 remains shrouded in secrecy, while a 2018 mental health call involved a juvenile welfare check. These red flags, though vague, hint at a troubled household long before the tragedy.
Robin’s YouTube manifesto, now scrubbed from the internet, painted a dark picture of a mind unhinged. “I am tired of being trans, I wish I never brain-washed myself,” Robin wrote, exposing a deep identity crisis. The manifesto’s obsession with school shooters and disdain for the Catholic Church screams of a culture that glorifies rebellion over reason.
In a chilling 20-minute video, Robin flaunted a “kill-kit” of firearms and ammo, with gun magazines scrawled with names like Adam Lanza and phrases like “For the children.” This wasn’t a cry for help; it was a calculated plan. Yet Minnesota’s red flag law, touted as a progressive win, failed to stop Robin’s accumulation of an arsenal.
Naples neighbors were stunned, describing Mary Grace as a helpful pillar of the community. “She’s talked about quite highly,” one said, shocked that someone so kind could be tied to such horror. But warm fuzzies don’t erase the fact that her child gunned down innocents.
Stephen Jeglosky, a neighbor, recalled the Westmans as a “great family” during a graduation celebration two years ago. That memory now clashes with the reality of Robin’s actions, leaving locals reeling. The disconnect between a “normal” family and a mass shooter exposes the limits of surface-level judgments.
Robin’s manifesto claimed a self-inflicted cancer from vaping, with a letter signed “Robin M Westman, 2002-2025,” complete with a bird drawing. “I think I am dying of cancer,” Robin wrote, blending self-pity with a twisted sense of destiny. Such theatrics suggest a mind fed by toxic online echo chambers, not parental guidance.
Mary Grace, now represented by high-profile attorney Ryan Garry, claims she is “completely distraught” and bears “no culpability” in the unfolding situation. Her refusal to cooperate while hiding behind legal counsel suggests avoidance rather than innocence. Garry’s defense appears to be a preemptive shield for someone who has conveniently gone missing.
Robin, the youngest of three children from Mary Grace and Jim Westman’s marriage, which dissolved in 2013, had no criminal record beyond a traffic ticket, according to O’Hara. A former school employee described Robin as a disruptive eighth-grader, frequently sent to the principal’s office, portraying a loner with a chip on their shoulder. Despite these red flags, the system -- school, family, and law -- failed to intervene, allowing a 23-year-old to amass a deadly arsenal undetected.
The tragedy at Annunciation Catholic Church isn’t just a failure of one family; it’s an indictment of a society that’s lost its moral compass. Robin’s manifesto, dripping with self-loathing and rage, reflects a culture that coddles identity crises while ignoring cries for help. Two children are dead, and Mary Grace’s silence only deepens the wound.
