“From Wide Receiver to Murder Mastermind: The Rae Carruth Horror Story”

Once upon a time in the twisted fairytale land of professional football, Rae Carruth had it all.

Fame, fortune, fast cars, adoring fans, and a smile that made sports agents drool.

A first-round draft pick for the Carolina Panthers in 1997, Carruth was living the American dream.

But behind the charming grin and promising NFL stats was a darkness so cold, so vile, that it would one day make him the poster boy for “What the hell happened?”

This isn’t your average “fell from grace” story.

This isn’t about drugs, or partying, or even a dumb bar fight.

No, Rae Carruth went full true crime.

Full Netflix documentary.

Full Dateline special.

Because in November of 1999, he orchestrated one of the most horrifying crimes in sports history: the attempted assassination of his pregnant girlfriend.

Yes.

You read that correctly.

He.

Hired.

A.

Hitman.

Her name was Cherica Adams.

A stunning, intelligent, 24-year-old real estate agent with a future ahead of her and a baby on the way.

Rae was the father.

But apparently, Rae didn’t want to be a father.

Not again.

He already had a son and was allegedly behind on child support.

A second child? That meant more money, more responsibility, and less freedom.

And we all know how NFL players feel about “accountability. ”

Instead of doing what any decent man would do—talk, co-parent, compromise—Rae Carruth hatched a plan straight out of a bad gangster movie.

He conspired with a buddy named Van Brett Watkins, an ex-con with a rap sheet longer than a Walmart receipt, and paid him to kill Cherica.

Problem solved, right? Except, of course, this was real life.

And real life has receipts, consequences, and 911 calls.

On the night of November 16, 1999, Cherica was driving behind Rae in her BMW after a movie date.

That’s right—this wasn’t some random ambush.

Rae literally lured her out with a movie, like a twisted rom-com with a murder plot.

As they drove through Charlotte, North Carolina, Rae slowed down.

Stopped, even.

And that’s when Watkins pulled up beside her and fired four bullets into her car.

But Cherica didn’t die on impact.

She did something most assassins never plan for.

She survived.

At least long enough to call 911.

That 911 call changed everything.

Cherica, bleeding out, gasping for air, told dispatchers the whole story.

She named Rae Carruth.

Said she was following him.

Said he slowed down and blocked her path so Watkins could shoot.

“He was in front of me,” she whispered.

“He knew what was going to happen. ”

It was the smoking gun.

Literally and figuratively.

Cherica was rushed to the hospital.

Doctors performed an emergency C-section to deliver her baby, a little boy named Chancellor Lee Adams.

He survived, but with permanent brain damage due to oxygen loss.

Cherica fought for her life for 28 days.

Then she died.

A beautiful life, stolen.

A mother taken.

All because an NFL player didn’t want to pay child support.

And what did Rae do while the mother of his child was dying in a hospital bed?

He ran.

Like a coward.

Like a criminal.

Like the world’s worst boyfriend.

With the FBI hot on his trail, Rae Carruth fled in the trunk of a friend’s car.

Yes, the trunk.

This millionaire wide receiver, who once strutted into stadiums with gold chains and confidence, was now curled up next to bottles of urine and snack wrappers, hiding like a raccoon.

But the manhunt didn’t last long.

Authorities found him in the trunk of a Toyota Camry in a Best Western parking lot in Tennessee, with cash, candy bars, and a cell phone.

If O. J. had the white Bronco, Rae had the trunk.

Not quite as glamorous.

Definitely not as smart.

The trial was a circus.

Cameras everywhere.

The NFL desperately trying to distance itself.

Prosecutors argued that Carruth was the mastermind, the puppet master, the one who lit the fuse.

His defense? He said he didn’t want Cherica dead.

He just… wanted her to not have the baby.

Subtle.

He claimed the murder was Watkins’ idea.

That it got “out of hand. ”

That he wasn’t even there.

Problem is, he was there.

She said so.

And the baby—his baby—was living proof.

The jury didn’t buy the full conspiracy charge.

Maybe it was the legal gymnastics.

Maybe it was celebrity bias.

Maybe people still wanted to believe that football players are heroes.

But they did convict him of conspiracy to commit murder and using an instrument to destroy an unborn child.

Rae Carruth was sentenced to 18 to 24 years in prison.

He was not sentenced for first-degree murder.

Van Brett Watkins, the actual shooter, got 40 years.

And that’s where the tale should’ve ended—locked up, disgraced, forgotten.

But no.

The story keeps going.

Because while Rae sat behind bars, the child he tried to kill… lived.

Grew.

Smiled.

Chancellor Lee Adams was raised by his grandmother, Saundra Adams, Cherica’s mother.

A saint, by all accounts.

She took the child in, gave him love, therapy, schooling, and hope.

The same man who paid to kill her daughter had created this boy, and she refused to let him suffer.

Chancellor suffers from cerebral palsy and permanent brain damage.

He can’t walk or talk like other kids.

But he laughs.

He feels joy.

He lives.

And what about Rae?

He got out.

In 2018, after serving nearly 19 years, Carruth walked out of prison.

Older.

Thinner.

Wearing a gray hoodie and ducking cameras.

His voice cracked in a letter he sent from prison before his release, apologizing to Saundra Adams and trying to re-enter the public’s good graces.

But it felt… hollow.

PR-ish.

Like a man checking boxes.

He claimed he wanted to be a father to Chancellor.

Saundra, ever the class act, said she forgave him—but made it clear he had no place in the boy’s life.

“No contact,” she said.

“He’s not needed. ”

And really—what could Rae say?

What could he offer?

What parenting advice can you give when your child was born during an attempted murder on his mother?

Carruth now lives in relative anonymity.

No football team.

No job with ESPN.

No movie deals.

Just shame.

Internet infamy.

And probably a Google alert on his name that he dreads checking.

Some people say he deserves a second chance.

Others say he got one—and used it to commit one of the sickest crimes in sports history.

The NFL, for its part, swept him under the rug.

Rae Carruth is barely spoken of.

His name doesn’t appear in highlight reels.

There are no throwback jerseys.

No redemption stories.

Only YouTube crime documentaries, Reddit threads, and clickbait articles like this one.

Because Rae Carruth didn’t just ruin his career.

He left a legacy soaked in betrayal, cowardice, and tragedy.

He wasn’t injured.

He wasn’t framed.

He wasn’t misunderstood.

He was guilty.

Guilty of planning a murder.

Guilty of abandoning a woman and child.

Guilty of being the ultimate cautionary tale.

And while the NFL has had its share of scandals—drugs, violence, dogfighting, DUIs—nothing quite compares to Rae Carruth.

He set the bar for despicable.

A bar so low, it might as well be underground.

But there’s one thing Rae didn’t kill.

Hope.

Because Chancellor Lee Adams, against all odds, continues to live, to grow, and to defy every expectation.

He’s the real hero of this story.

The miracle baby.

The boy who wasn’t supposed to make it.

He may never run touchdowns, but he survived the worst betrayal imaginable.

And he did it with grace.

Meanwhile, Rae Carruth will live with his choices.

Every day.

Every headline.

Every time someone googles his name.

And every time someone whispers the words: “Rae Carruth… wasn’t that the guy who hired a hitman?”

Yes.

Yes, he was.