Since 2009, 87 people in our community have gone to trial. Every one of them lost. It's not a statistic I share with pride, but it's the truth. We don't represent people at trial. We don't write motions. We're not defense attorneys. But we work with people who going to trial. And since odds are they lose, including the innocent, we encourage people to prepare.

Let me say it again, something I tend to do: If you're going to trial, you better prepare for sentencing as if you've already lost.

Conviction Isn't the End—It's the Beginning of Regret

When the verdict comes down, most people describe the same thing: a freezing moment where everything locks in place. A physician told me it felt like his whole life collapsed into a second. That kind of mental collapse doesn't announce itself. It just shows up. Thankfully, he had been preparing for the worst case scenario, like Jerry Lundergan did.

I suspect if Diddy loses his lawyers will lean in and say what they always say: "We'll appeal. We're not done. This isn't over." Sometimes defendants believe it. Sometimes they don't.

What happens next is often worse than the verdict—regret. Regret over a deal you didn't take. Regret that you weren't thinking clearly six months earlier. Regret that you listened to too many people who said you'd win.

I've seen people sentenced to 10 years who told me they would have taken three in a plea if they had a chance to go back. But there's no going back.

What Happens at MDC After the Verdict

If Diddy is convicted, he'll go back to MDC Brooklyn, but the atmosphere will be different. There's no presumption of innocence. Staff know the outcome. So do the other prisoners. That doesn't mean they'll treat him differently—they already assume what's coming. But once you're convicted, everything shifts. You're no longer awaiting a result. You're awaiting a federal prison sentence.

He Won't Go to a Camp—and Maybe Not Even to a Low

If convicted of what the indictment alleges—sex trafficking, drugs, and firearms—Combs is not eligible for a federal prison camp. Those convictions carry public safety factors that eliminate camp placement completely. That's not speculation. That's BOP policy.

If he's sentenced to more than 20 years, a low-security placement is also unlikely. That means the most likely placement is a medium-security federal prison, such as Victorville in California or Coleman in Florida.

Victorville Medium houses men. It's part of a larger complex that includes a high-security USP and a women's camp nearby. If the penitentiary locks down, every prison on the complex—including the camp—gets locked down with it. That's the consequence of being in a place with a long history of violence, institutional politics, and custody disruptions.

Victorville offers RDAP, basic programming, and the chance to earn time credits—if you have the right documentation in your PSR. But medical care is limited. Commissary is capped. Visitation is inconsistent. And the politics of a medium are nothing like a camp.

Medium vs. Low Isn't Just a Fence Line

There's a reason violence is more common in mediums. In medium-security prisons, you're more likely to be around people with long sentences, violent histories, or repeat federal cases. In a camp or a low, most people are within 10–20 years of release. They have a date in mind. They don't want trouble.

In a medium, that dynamic changes. Release is farther away. Time feels cheaper. People are more likely to enforce their politics. That includes racial lines, gang structures, and expectations of behavior. The idea of being left alone isn't guaranteed.

The people around Diddy will know exactly why he's there. He won't have to say anything. But if he walks in acting like he's still in control, like the rules don't apply, like he's better than the people around him—there will be problems. If he takes the opposite approach, it'll still be hard. But people might give him space. That's what I learned inside. If people see you working, staying quiet, doing your job, and not complaining—they give you a break.

Mitigation Still Matters After a Conviction

I've worked with plenty of people convicted at trial who still mitigated. As I wrote earlier, Jerry Lundergan was convicted at trial and facing 63 months. He got 21. Later, he was pardoned—partly because of the documentation and advocacy he helped build while working with PrisonProfessors.org.

If Diddy is convicted, he can still prepare for sentencing. He can still show what he will do moving forward. That means getting the PSR right. That means building a release plan, contributing to his fellow prisoners.

If you're facing federal charges and thinking about trial, ask yourself one question: What will your record show if you lose?

We'll be here.

Justin Paperny