WTVR CBS 6 reporter Laura French tells the story like a family trying to hold onto the version of a man they knew, even as the official version of what happened to him is still being pieced together.
In French’s report, Nadia Ross describes her younger brother, Princeo Brooks, as someone who was “always smiling,” a man who loved music and family, and who was counting the days until he could rebuild a life with his 10-year-old son, Kendrick.
Ross keeps coming back to the same point in French’s reporting: her brother made mistakes, he served his time, and he was supposed to come home. Instead, Brooks was found unresponsive inside Greensville Correctional Center on November 11, and the words the family later heard – “apparent attack” – didn’t come with the kind of explanations people expect when a loved one dies in state custody.
French reports that the Virginia Department of Corrections said Brooks was found with his cellmate on top of him, and that the family was notified he had died, but Ross says no one would answer questions about how it happened.
Ross told French they learned it was an alleged attack through media reports, which is the kind of detail that makes grief feel like it’s been sharpened into anger.
In French’s account, the case quickly becomes larger than one death. It turns into a public question about staffing, oversight, and what safety looks like inside a prison where the public can’t see what’s happening behind locked doors.
A Man Near The End Of His Sentence
Laura French frames Brooks’ death in the context of time – how long he had already served, and how close he was to release. Brooks, 42, had been incarcerated for about a decade, serving time for assault and battery, grand larceny, and shoplifting convictions.
His sister doesn’t dismiss those charges in French’s report; she acknowledges the mistakes, but she also says he didn’t deny them, either.
Ross tells French that families accept prison as a punishment measured in years, not as an unpredictable gamble with someone’s life. In her words, when someone is sentenced to a certain amount of time, you expect to see them again. In her mind, her brother was “on his way home.”
French reports that Brooks was scheduled to be released in 2026, a detail that makes the timing feel especially cruel. Ross describes how Brooks talked constantly about reuniting with Kendrick and getting on his feet so he could be the father he wanted to be.
It’s a familiar prison promise – “when I get out” – but in French’s story it’s not abstract. It’s a plan that ended in a funeral.
French also notes that Brooks’ son attended the burial and said his final farewell, a small line that carries a heavy punch because it hints at what a child has to carry when an adult system collapses around them.
What Sources Say Happened In The Cell
French reports that Brooks was found unresponsive on November 11 at Greensville Correctional Center, with his cellmate on top of him after what the Virginia Department of Corrections described as an “apparent attack.”
French says sources told CBS 6 that the cellmate was Nickolaus Brown, a man convicted in Southwest Virginia of attempted capital murder, attempted robbery, and firearm charges connected to those crimes.
French’s reporting includes another detail that changes how people read the event: sources said Brooks and Brown were housed in general population, not in some isolated, special unit. To a lot of people, “general population” sounds like routine prison life, but French’s report makes it feel more like a place where serious risks are treated as normal background noise.
After the alleged attack, French says sources described Brown as talking to himself and stating that Brooks “didn’t know he deserved it.”
The phrasing is disturbing because it sounds like justification, like a private logic that doesn’t match reality, and it also raises questions about mental health, supervision, and what officers might have been able to notice beforehand – if anyone was in a position to notice at all.
French adds that sources called the attack “brutal,” and they suggested it might have been prevented if the facility had been properly staffed that evening.
That claim is the pivot point of the entire report, because once you introduce preventability, people start asking what was missing, who was responsible, and what “proper staffing” would have changed in that moment.
The Understaffing Question That Won’t Go Away
French brings in University of Virginia professor Gerard Robinson to explain why understaffing isn’t just a local problem or a convenient excuse. Robinson, described in French’s report as an expert on prisons and a former Secretary of Education in Virginia, says understaffing in prisons is not limited to one state – it’s nationwide.
Robinson points to a reality that surprises people outside the system: corrections is a massive state agency with thousands of employees and huge budgets, and yet facilities still struggle to recruit and retain staff.
In French’s report, Robinson doesn’t reduce the problem to one simple cause, but he’s blunt about one uncomfortable metric: he says the suicide rate for American correctional officers is higher than the suicide rate for American police.
That comparison lands hard, because it reframes the conversation. The public often thinks of prisons as places where inmates are the primary risk, but Robinson’s point suggests the job itself is grinding people down in ways that follow them home.
In French’s reporting, he argues that money matters, but it’s not the only lever; professional development and mental and social health support for correctional officers are needed because the stress doesn’t stay inside the prison walls.
It’s hard not to see the ripple effect here. When staffing collapses, response times get slower, supervision gets thinner, and the environment gets more chaotic for everyone, including people who are just trying to do their shift and go home.
None of that excuses a violent death, but it does help explain how a facility can become a place where tragedy feels less like an exception and more like a risk baked into the daily schedule.
A Reported Vacancy Rate Near 50%
French’s story becomes more specific when she cites a July 2025 Office of State Inspector General report on Greensville staffing. According to French, the facility had a vacancy rate close to 50% at the time of Brooks’ death.
That number is staggering on its face, because half a workforce missing isn’t a minor inconvenience – it’s a full-blown operational crisis.
French reports that sources said many security posts were left vacant in the evening because non-security staff were helping with rounds and inmate checks during the day. That detail suggests a system that is constantly improvising, stretching people across roles, and relying on workarounds that might keep the lights on but don’t necessarily keep people safe.
Ross, in French’s reporting, acknowledges that fights and disagreements happen in prison the same way they can happen outside, but she draws a line at death. Her words – delivered through tears in French’s report – sound like a person trying to understand how something so final could happen in a place that is supposed to be controlled down to the minute.
French also notes broader context from the inspector general report: Brooks’ death would be added to dozens of inmate deaths tied to Greensville in the last three years.
French says the report documents that roughly half of those deaths occurred at the facility and half at local hospitals, and that a large percentage happened in the most recent year, with many causes still pending.
Even without jumping to conclusions, that kind of pattern fuels the same basic fear families have when they get that dreaded call: if so many deaths are unresolved, then how can anyone trust that the system is learning from them?
“They Failed Him,” And The Fight For Answers
French’s report is not just a set of statistics and official language; it’s also a portrait of how a family processes loss when they feel shut out of the truth.
Ross tells French she believes the prison had protocols that should have protected Brooks and that “they failed him.” She says her next step is making sure this doesn’t happen to another family, which is the kind of vow that often starts lawsuits, advocacy efforts, or political pressure campaigns.
Robinson, in French’s report, suggests looking at culture as much as rules. He argues that there can be a culture that blocks good people from wanting to become correctional officers, a culture that discourages transparency, and a culture that makes reforms feel impossible even when policies exist on paper.
That point matters because people tend to demand new rules after a tragedy, but rules don’t do much if staffing is collapsing and morale is broken. If officers are overwhelmed, if posts are empty, and if leadership is constantly firefighting, then even decent policies can turn into checklists no one has time to follow.
French reports that Brooks’ family says the Virginia Department of Corrections notified them of his death but would not answer questions, leaving them to learn critical details through media coverage. French also says she reached out for comment and was told the department was still processing the request.
That silence, even if it’s rooted in policy or an ongoing investigation, can feel like abandonment to families. When the state takes custody of someone, the state also takes on the responsibility to explain what happened when that person dies. A short phrase like “apparent attack” is not an explanation; it’s a placeholder.
Why This Story Hits A Nerve
French’s reporting lands in a place that’s uncomfortable because it forces two truths into the same frame.
One truth is that prison is a place where dangerous people exist, and violence is a known risk. The other truth is that prison is not supposed to be a death sentence, especially for someone who was nearing release and still dreaming about being a parent on the outside.
The anger in Ross’ voice, as French presents it, doesn’t sound like someone denying her brother’s past; it sounds like someone demanding the state live up to the basic promise that incarceration comes with: that punishment is confinement, not chaos.
And the staffing picture French outlines makes that promise feel shaky. A vacancy rate near 50% isn’t a technical staffing hiccup – it’s the kind of condition where “could this have been prevented?” becomes a fair question, not just a grieving family’s impulse.
French ends with the sense that the story is still unfolding, and that’s probably what makes it so haunting. The family is left with a loved one who is gone, a child who is grieving, and a system that, at least in their experience, has offered notification without clarity.
Until there are real answers – who did what, who saw what, who was supposed to be on that post, and what failed in that cell – this won’t feel like a closed case. It will feel like an open wound that keeps forcing the same question into the public eye: what does safety mean in a place the public can’t enter, but the public pays for?
Gary’s love for adventure and preparedness stems from his background as a former Army medic. Having served in remote locations around the world, he knows the importance of being ready for any situation, whether in the wilderness or urban environments. Gary’s practical medical expertise blends with his passion for outdoor survival, making him an expert in both emergency medical care and rugged, off-the-grid living. He writes to equip readers with the skills needed to stay safe and resilient in any scenario.
