The release of 50 Cent’s Netflix documentary on Sean “Diddy” Combs was marketed as the ultimate exposé—a no-holds-barred deep dive into the dark side of the Bad Boy empire. But according to Gene Deal, Diddy’s former bodyguard and one of the most vocal insiders of that era, the series failed to deliver the real “bombs.” In a scorching rebuttal to the documentary, Deal has come forward to reveal exactly what was left on the cutting room floor, alleging that the most explosive details regarding Tupac Shakur, The Notorious B.I.G., and a mysterious $1 million check were intentionally suppressed to protect the industry.
The Quad Studios Conspiracy: “Advanced Awareness”
One of the most chilling allegations Deal makes concerns the infamous 1994 shooting of Tupac Shakur at Quad Studios. The official narrative has always been murky, but Deal’s version adds a layer of calculated malice. He alleges that on the day of the shooting, Diddy was not just an innocent bystander but was actually “spying” on his own artist.
According to Deal, Diddy, Andre Harrell, and Jimmy Henchman were holed up in Henchman’s office at the studio, secretly monitoring The Notorious B.I.G., who was recording in a separate room. Deal claims Biggie had no idea they were there. The motive? To ensure Biggie wasn’t maneuvering his publishing rights away from Bad Boy. But the surveillance turned sinister, Deal alleges, when the group became aware that Tupac was on his way. He asserts there was “advanced awareness” in that room that Tupac was coming to be “taught a lesson” over a debt and a disrespect issue. If true, this implies that while the world looked for a gunman, the power players at Bad Boy may have sat and watched the clock, knowing violence was walking through the door.
The Million-Dollar Check
Perhaps the most tangible piece of “missing evidence” Deal describes is a physical check for $1 million. He recounts a specific incident on 112th Street where a Bad Boy associate known as “Zip” approached him, flashing a check and a new car, acting like he had just won the lottery.
Deal alleges the check was issued by Barry Hankerson and Jimmy Henchman—figures deeply entrenched in the music business and the events surrounding the coastal feuds. The timing of this payment, right after Tupac’s death, raises terrifying questions. Deal challenges any investigator to simply “trace the check.” He argues that unlike street rumors, a bank transaction leaves a paper trail that cannot be erased. By leaving this story out of the documentary, Deal suggests that Netflix and 50 Cent avoided opening a door that could lead directly to a murder conspiracy charge.
Biggie’s Final Hours: Warnings Ignored
The documentary touches on the tragedy of Christopher “The Notorious B.I.G.” Wallace, but Deal claims it glosses over the gross negligence—or perhaps intentional sabotage—that led to his death. Deal paints a picture of a team that was explicitly warned, multiple times, that a hit was in motion.
He describes a chilling phone call from an inmate named “Unique” in a federal prison in Colorado. The message was just two words: “Vest up.” Deal says this was followed by frantic warnings from others saying, “They’re coming to get y’all.” Despite these red flags, Deal alleges that Diddy refused to increase security, relying on a skeleton crew of just four guards for their entire entourage in hostile territory.
Even more disturbing is Deal’s account of the aftermath of the shooting. He claims that after Biggie was shot, the driver sped past a hospital that was only blocks away, embarking on a 30-minute drive to Cedars-Sinai while the rapper was bleeding out. “Big’s name ain’t coming across the light,” someone allegedly said in the chaos. Deal questions whether that decision to drive further was panic—or part of a plan to ensure Biggie didn’t survive to ask questions.
Why Was It Cut?
If Gene Deal has the “receipts,” why wasn’t he in the show? Deal is blunt: it came down to money and control. He claims the production team refused to pay him what his archival footage and testimony were worth, treating his contributions as “pocket change.” Furthermore, he suggests that 50 Cent, despite his tough talk, did not have final say on the content. The “suits” at Netflix likely deemed Deal’s specific allegations too legally risky. Accusing powerful executives of conspiracy to commit murder without a court verdict is a liability nightmare.
Conclusion
Gene Deal’s absence from the documentary leaves a gaping hole in the narrative. While the Netflix series focused on Diddy’s recent legal troubles and “freak off” parties, it seemingly avoided the bloodier, grittier history of the 1990s—the very history that built the Bad Boy throne. Deal’s testimony suggests that Diddy didn’t just attend parties; he allegedly cultivated an “atmosphere” of death, where peace treaties were rejected, warnings were ignored, and million-dollar checks were cut in the shadows. As Diddy faces his current reckoning, Deal’s words serve as a reminder: the scariest stories might not be the ones in the indictment, but the ones buried in the memories of the men who stood guard.