When Marc Agnifilo, Sean “P. Diddy” Combs’ high-profile attorney, first took on the rapper’s case, he approached it with the confidence of a seasoned legal veteran, ready to spin the narrative of a misunderstood mogul caught in an overzealous prosecution. But that bravado reportedly crumbled the day he laid eyes on the government’s sprawling case file in late September 2024. The federal indictment, thick with allegations of sex trafficking, racketeering, and coercion, painted a damning picture—one where the 1,000 bottles of baby oil seized from Diddy’s Miami and LA homes weren’t just quirky bulk purchases from Costco, as Agnifilo had breezily suggested to TMZ. Instead, the documents tied them to “Freak Offs”—alleged multi-day sex performances involving drugs, violence, and exploited women—making Agnifilo realize the defense he’d been crafting might be resting on quicksand. By the afternoon, rumors swirled that he’d tendered his resignation, unwilling to stake his reputation on a client whose stockpile suddenly seemed less innocent and far more sinister.
 

The turning point, insiders say, came when Agnifilo pored over witness statements and evidence logs that detailed not just the sheer volume of baby oil—over 1,000 bottles—but its apparent role in a meticulously orchestrated operation. Prosecutors alleged Diddy used the oil as a lubricant in these coerced encounters, with IV fluids on hand to revive participants exhausted from drugs and exertion. Agnifilo’s initial quip about Costco bulk buys, meant to downplay the stash as a harmless eccentricity, now looked like a flimsy shield against a mountain of testimony suggesting calculated predation. The realization hit hard: defending Diddy might mean wading into a legal and moral swamp far deeper than he’d bargained for. Sources close to the case claim he spent hours that day in a closed-door meeting, emerging pale and resolute—his resignation letter supposedly drafted before nightfall, a quiet exit from a case that had just turned radioactive.
 

For Agnifilo, a lawyer known for tackling tough clients like NXIVM’s Keith Raniere, bailing on Diddy marked a rare retreat, driven by the dawning horror that the baby oil wasn’t a punchline but a potential symbol of something grotesque. The government’s case didn’t just lean on the oil as a quirky detail—it wove it into a narrative of control, abuse, and exploitation, backed by surveillance footage, accuser accounts, and seized narcotics. Colleagues say Agnifilo feared the evidence might be airtight enough to sink Diddy—and any lawyer tied to him—into a public relations nightmare. By resigning on that September day in 2024, he dodged the fallout, leaving Diddy to scramble for new counsel as the rapper sat in Brooklyn’s Metropolitan Detention Center, facing a trial set for May 2025. The bottles, once a quirky footnote, had become a tipping point, convincing Agnifilo that his client’s truth might be far darker than any Costco parking lot could explain.