Sean "Diddy" Combs' lawyer calls prosecution of music mogul a "fake trial," says evidence "badly exaggerated"
Sean "Diddy" Combs was portrayed in his lawyer's closing argument on Friday as the victim of an overzealous prosecution that tried to turn the recreational use of drugs and a swinger lifestyle into a racketeering conspiracy that could put the music mogul behind bars for life.
Attorney Marc Agnifilo mocked the government's case against Combs and belittled the agents who seized hundreds of bottles of Astroglide lubricant and baby oil at his properties as he began his four-hour presentation Friday in a New York courtroom.
"Way to go, fellas," he said of the agents.
He said prosecutors had "badly exaggerated" evidence of a swinger lifestyle and threesomes to combine it with recreational drug use and call it a racketeering conspiracy.
"He did not do the things he's charged with. He didn't do racketeering conspiracy and sex trafficking," the lawyer said.
Agnifilo said of Combs: "He sits there innocent. Return him to his family who have been waiting for him."
Agnifilo called Combs' prosecution a "fake trial" and ridiculed the notion that he engaged in racketeering. "Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?" Agnifilo asked. "Did any witness get on that witness stand and say yes, I was part of a racketeering enterprise — I engaged in racketeering?" No, Agnifilo argued, telling jurors that those accusations were a figment of the prosecution's imagination.
The lawyer argued prosecutors had invaded Combs' most intimate personal affairs, telling jurors: "Where's the crime scene? It's your sex life."
Agnifilo also argued there's another factor at play in the allegations that women have lobbed against Combs: the prospect of draining him of his wealth through lawsuits.
"This isn't about crime. It's about money. This is about money," Agnifilo said.
In the prosecution's rebuttal, Assistant U.S. Attorney Maurene Comey said Agnifilo had spent "a whole lot of energy" trying to distract from Combs' "inexcusable behavior."
"Make no mistake," Comey told jurors, "this trial was about how in Sean Combs' world, 'no' was never an option."
In his closing argument, Agnifilo reiterated that the defense "owns" the fact that Combs was violent but argued that behavior does not justify the grave charges against him.
Combs and R&B singer Cassie Ventura Fine had a "loving, beautiful relationship," albeit a "complicated" one, Agnifilo said. "If racketeering conspiracy had an opposite, it would be their relationship," Agnifilo said. "They were deeply in love with each other."
In her rebuttal, Comey said, "Being a domestic abuser is not a defense to sex trafficking."
Jurors are expected to begin deliberating on Monday.
Combs' family, including six of his children and his mother, were in the audience for the defense's closing, which took place a day after the prosecution made its closing arguments Thursday — after calling on 34 witnesses over the course of seven weeks. Combs' ex-girlfriend, Ventura Fine, and rapper Kid Cudi, were among those who testified.
The trial of Combs, 55, began on May 12. Prosecutors allege he relied on employees, resources and influence of his business empire to create a criminal enterprise that engaged in — or attempted to engage in — "sex trafficking, forced labor, interstate transportation for the purposes of prostitution, coercion and enticement to engage in prostitution, narcotics offenses, kidnapping, arson, bribery and obstruction of justice."
Combs has denied the allegations against him and pleaded not guilty to five counts. If convicted, he could face up to life in prison.
Combs has been present at the trial but told U.S. District Judge Arun Subramanian earlier this week that he decided not to testify.
"I mean, it's my decision with my lawyers. ... My decision to make. I'm making it," he said.
The defense rested on Tuesday after presenting its case for less than 30 minutes. It didn't call any witnesses.
Combs' lawyers built their case for acquittal through lengthy cross-examinations of government witnesses. Some testified only in response to subpoenas and insisted they didn't want to be there.
In federal prosecutors' closing arguments, Assistant U.S. Attorney Christy Slavik said to the jury that Combs used "power, violence and fear" to rule a criminal enterprise, which allegedly facilitated brutal sex crimes. Slavik said Combs "counted on silence and shame" to allow his abuse to continue. She also said he used a "small army" of employees to harm women and then cover it up.
"He thought that his fame, wealth and power put him above the law," she said.
contributed to this report.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
CNN
23 minutes ago
- CNN
Two men reunite baby bird with its mother
Two men were walking in their neighborhood when they heard chirping near a sewer. When they approached, they could see a baby bird trapped inside the sewer.
CNN
24 minutes ago
- CNN
She helped Texas close a loophole preventing sexual assault survivors from getting justice. Why can't more states get it done?
EDITOR'S NOTE: This article contains discussion of sexual assault that may be distressing for some readers. Summer Willis looked down at her bloody hands and knees after crawling for 22 hours on her way to the Texas Capitol to advocate for a change in state sexual assault law. She had set out at 4 a.m. on that cold February day to crawl the length of the entire Austin Marathon, a melding of performance art and activism, but this was the most agonizing physical pain the mother of two had ever experienced. She made it an excruciating 13 miles. Exhausted, she looked across the street and realized she was standing directly across from the site where she said she was raped 10 years ago at a University of Texas at Austin fraternity party. Prosecutors say what happened to her would likely not legally have been considered sexual assault because of a state loophole: she accepted the drink she was handed at that party – which she believes was laced – before she was raped by another person. At issue was how Texas sexual assault law outlined lack of consent. It did not specifically include victims who have been voluntarily intoxicated, making their cases nearly impossible to prosecute. 'After 10 years, I finally gave myself permission to stand up,' Willis said, deciding to run the remainder of the marathon. 'I stood up and I said, I'm not going to finish this how I anticipated it, but I am going to finish it.' And she did. The long-standing loophole that prevented Willis and other sexual assault survivors from getting justice in court was closed with the passage of the Summer Willis Act, which Texas Gov. Greg Abbott signed on June 20. The law expands the definition of consent and clearly outlines sexual assault to include cases in which a victim 'cannot consent because of intoxication or impairment by any substance.' 'I'll never get justice from this bill. It's not retroactive, but I know that every victim from the day of the signing … won't have to be told it doesn't count,' Willis said. Two years before she crawled to the Capitol, Willis decided to start running marathons – some with a mattress on her back – not to change laws, but to bolster her own healing after years of living with the long shadow of trauma the attack cast on her life. 'I was looking at my beautiful boys' faces, and I was like, 'I want to be the woman that I used to believe I could be for you guys, someone who's strong, and confident and whole.'' Her organization, Strength Through Strides, has now raised tens of thousands of dollars for sexual assault survivors, she says. 'I know that every victim from the day of the signing … won't have to be told it doesn't count.' Summer Willis Her success has captured attention, along with high-profile cases of survivors seeking justice. This month alone, the trial of music mogul Sean 'Diddy' Combs, who has pleaded not guilty to all charges, continues. Meanwhile, disgraced movie producer Harvey Weinstein and President Donald Trump have been contending with the legal fallout from sexual assault allegations. Trump has denied all claims. Advocates hope these stories will encourage survivors to come forward. But even if they do, many people still live in a state where rape statutes don't protect victims who were unable to consent after becoming voluntarily intoxicated. Experts say some form of the intoxication loophole still exists in more than 20 states. A 2022 analysis of sexual assault laws from all 50 states and Washington, D.C. found nearly half of those jurisdictions 'require that a victim must be involuntarily intoxicated to be considered incapacitated or impaired.' 'State laws have enshrined victim blaming in our legal system when it comes to sexual assault,' said Mollie Montague, director of state legislative affairs with the nation's largest anti-sexual violence group, RAINN. Policy change may require a cultural shift, she says. 'Changing these laws really forces us to confront long-held beliefs – and laws that do that are hard to pass,' Montague said. 'People fear changing the status quo, and right now the status quo is protecting predators.' It can take time, she says, citing New York, where lawmakers have been trying to pass legislation to close the state's intoxication loophole for at least six years. And it isn't always due to opposition to the policies themselves or lack of lawmaker support. Advocates in the state said they've seen sexual assault bills with bipartisan support die again and again simply because they were not called to a vote. But after the Minnesota Supreme Court overturned a felony rape conviction in 2021, citing that the victim had voluntarily consumed several shots of alcohol and a prescription narcotic pill before the alleged assault, outrage ensued and state lawmakers passed a new law within months. A group of lawmakers, including Texas state Rep. Ann Johnson, met Willis at the finish line. 'More than 30 years ago, I had somebody disclose to me that they were intoxicated at a fraternity party, taken to a space and sexually assaulted. It is something that I have carried with me,' Johnson told CNN. That personal story drove Johnson's decision to build a career working with assault survivors. As a former human trafficking prosecutor, she said she knows how difficult it can be to prosecute sexual assault cases, especially when alcohol is involved. Johnson said she and her colleagues with the state's Sexual Assault Survivors' Task Force have been workshopping legislation to close the intoxication loophole for at least the last six years, but each time it's been derailed, previously passing in the House but not the Senate. On that February day after the race, Willis 'was just physically devastated,' Johnson said. Ravenous, Willis snacked as the lawmakers talked to her about the legislation they had in the works and pitched her an idea. 'Would you be willing to let us name this the Summer Willis Act? Would you be willing to come back and testify to get it passed?' Johnson asked. Three months later, Willis was back at home in Houston, nursing a 102-degree fever and taking care of a 2-year-old and 4-year-old. The family was glued to the projector they set up specially for the night's entertainment: the last vote of the state's legislative session. 'He kept yelling at the projector, 'Talk about my mamma!'' Willis said of her older son. She had been telling and retelling the story of her rape to lawmakers, advocates and reporters over the past few months. 'I had to be willing to be the story,' Willis said. She anxiously waited to see if the bill, which now bore her name, would be called for a vote before the end of the night. With dozens of bills on the docket yet to be called, the hours ticked on. 'We're starting to realize, they're not getting through all of these. Will they choose ours?' Willis said. A text message from one senator's chief of staff came in, she said, saying, 'Prayers are needed right now.' When someone announced the session was ending for the night, Willis was in tears. 'And then they called our bill, when all hope was lost, when we already thought we lost,' Willis said. Texas Rep. Donna Howard authored the bill, which passed unanimously that night. 'When preparing for this legislative session, we knew we needed storytellers who could help thread the needle for lawmakers,' Howard told CNN in a statement. 'Summer was, in some ways, the missing piece to our puzzle.' Howard said Willis represents the thousands of survivors who have been turned away by law enforcement due to the state's previous consent laws. 'Our latest statistics show that 9% of survivors in Texas report their assault; of those, less than 3% will proceed to trial and even fewer will see their rapists behind bars. This will change after September 1,' she added. Republican state Sen. Angela Paxton, who carried the bill through the Senate, says the new law closes the gap that long allowed predators to escape accountability. 'Survivors will finally have the clarity and recognition in the law that their experiences are real, that what happened to them was criminal, and that our justice system will stand with them,' she told CNN in a statement. 'Prosecutors will be better equipped to hold offenders accountable, and potential perpetrators will know that these loopholes no longer exist.' In May, the state Senate passed a special resolution recognizing Willis for her advocacy on behalf of sexual assault survivors. When Willis heard advocates and lawmakers in New York were also trying to push through legislation to close their state's intoxication loophole, she booked a ticket. If people could see someone who took on the legislative machine and won, maybe they could do the same. Forty-eight hours later, and just weeks after the bill passed in the Texas Senate, Willis stood in the middle of New York City's Bryant Park as light rain misted over the busy professionals rushing by on their lunch breaks – and once again, she told the story of her rape. Her voice strained as she tried to speak over the din of the city in June, but she wasn't alone. Standing behind her were supporters from dozens of advocacy organizations, including Sky and Amanda Roberts, the brother and sister-in-law of Virginia Giuffre, a prominent sex abuse survivor of Jeffrey Epstein. Giuffre died by suicide in April. Giuffre's advocacy for survivors was an inspiration for Willis, who wore a dress with a butterfly pattern that day, a symbol that came to represent freedom for Giuffre. When the bill passed in Texas, Willis says one of the first calls she received was from Sky and Amanda. The couple brought their two young children to the gathering in Bryant Park. 'I think it's important to let them know who their aunt was and what she fought for, and how important – at whatever age – it is to fight for what's right,' Amanda said. 'My sister – if she could be here today, she would have,' Sky added. Advocates for all kinds of causes are vying for the attention of the same pool of lawmakers who hold the power to turn a hot-button issue into tangible policy change. Having a face attached to an issue can mean the difference between a bill getting called for a vote or collecting dust for another year. 'Will people pay attention to sexual assault if someone's not crawling, or running with a mattress…?' Summer Willis But it's important to consult survivors when shaping these laws, not just when they're needed to promote them, Christian Nunes, president of women's grassroots group National Organization for Women, told CNN. 'A lot of times we see gaps in bills because survivors, or those people with lived experience who the bill is meant for, are not included in shaping the conversation, or the shaping of the bill,' said Nunes, who worked as a trauma therapist for years. Advocates in New York were heavily involved in shaping the bill, which had broad bipartisan support, Emily Miles, executive director of New York City Alliance Against Sexual Assault, told CNN. But that's not always enough, she noted. The bill was not called for a vote by the deadline and died. Four months, six pairs of knee pads and one small media blitz after her crawl to the state Capitol, Willis is sitting in her home in Houston on a hot afternoon in late June. She's been on a victory lap since the governor signed the Summer Willis Act, smiling wide for photo ops and media interviews. She just has one interview left for the day before she takes a full month off. She needs a break. 'I don't think people realize how hard it was,' Willis says through tears. 'Everyone can think about the worst thing that ever happened to them, but are they willing to stand on the steps of the Capitol, or crawl for 22 hours or tell the 'Today' show about it?' 'It takes so much,' she says. Despite her victory in Texas, she's disheartened by what happened with the bill in New York. No one ran. No one bled. But advocates there shared their experiences, just as she had. Is it enough for assault survivors to simply tell their stories and ask for help? 'That's a great question. Will people pay attention to sexual assault if someone's not crawling, or running with a mattress or doing these crazy things? Do we as a society care enough?' Willis says. 'I don't know, because this is the way that I did it.' She's planning on using her downtime to take a five-year anniversary trip with her husband, Andrew. He's been there for every step. Andrew says he's proud of what his wife has accomplished, and she's still the same person he met years ago back in the Peace Corps. He recalls an orientation they attended in Mexico. When the leaders reviewed information about sexual assault, one of their colleagues ran out of the room, visibly shaken. Summer rushed out to comfort her. 'I remember hours later seeing Summer and that woman, and maybe three or four other women, who were all sitting together and sharing stories,' he says. 'This was years before she ever thought about running marathons.' 'I forgot about the Peace Corps thing,' Willis says, recounting the night she told those women her story of sexual assault, and in turn they shared their own – one of them for the very first time. She considers the question again: Is it enough just to share your story? It turns out, sometimes it is. If you or someone you know has experienced sexual assault, you are not alone. Visit RAINN's National Sexual Assault Hotline for help. Call (4673), chat at or text 'HOPE' to 64673.
New York Times
28 minutes ago
- New York Times
Christie Brinkley Isn't Giving Up on Love
Christie Brinkley's relationship with love is as continuous as her long modeling career. The similarities, however, end there. 'I love being in love,' said Ms. Brinkley, 71, likening it to 'a glass of champagne — everything's bubbling inside, anything's possible.' She has been married four times and has been in numerous relationships. Her first marriage, to the French artist Jean-François Allaux, was in 1975 when she was 21; that lasted six years. She was married to the musician Billy Joel from 1985 to 1994; the real estate developer Richard Taubman, from 1994 to 1995; and the architect Peter Cook, from 1996 to 2008. Other serious relationships included Olivier Chandon de Brailles, a French racecar driver and the heir to the Moët & Chandon champagne fortune, who died in a car crash, and the singer John Mellencamp. Each hopeful partner followed by heartbreak is recounted in her memoir, 'Uptown Girl,' which was released in April. The book also carefully documents Ms. Brinkley's life, moments of singleness, motherhood — she has three children: Alexa Ray, 39, Jack, 30, and Sailor, 26 — a near-death experience, and her career. 'The book was a cleanser for me,' said Ms. Brinkley. 'Writing my book made me do a big review of my life. I learned to pat myself on the back and say, 'You've been through it, and you've done good.' I managed to make it through.' Below is a condensed and edited version of a Zoom interview from her house in Sag Harbor, N.Y. Small weddings are best. Jean-François and I were married barefoot on the beach in Hawaii. It was beautiful. We swam right up to the ceremony. Billy and I were married on a boat in front of the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. With Ricky, I was married on the highest mountain in Telluride. I was pregnant and skiing down a mountain in a wedding gown. I didn't know anybody at the wedding. My own friends wouldn't come because they weren't into him. The only people I knew were my family. I married Peter in the backyard of a rented house in the Hamptons with horses and cows. Billy was my favorite wedding. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
