After 50 Cent’s new documentary dropped, two police officers broke into Biggie Smalls’ mansion and discovered something that could change everything about the legendary rapper’s unsolved murder.

Hidden secrets and clues, long buried, suddenly came to light, sparking a wave of speculation and reopening questions that many thought were untouchable.

The documentary, produced by 50 Cent, pulled viewers back into the events of March 9, 1997—the night Biggie was killed in a drive-by shooting after leaving a crowded afterparty at the Peterson Automotive Museum in Los Angeles.

The film doesn’t just recount the chaos of that night, but also exposes the web of betrayal, industry politics, and financial maneuvers surrounding Biggie’s death and its aftermath. It highlights the tension between loyalty and business, especially focusing on claims that Bad Boy Records CEO Sean “Diddy” Combs charged Biggie’s funeral expenses to his estate, rather than paying for them himself.

Kirk Burroughs, a former Bad Boy insider, alleged on camera that Diddy promised the biggest funeral New York had ever seen, but then flipped the bill onto Biggie’s estate, turning grief into a business transaction.

The documentary’s allegations exploded across social media, fueling heated debates among fans, insiders, and industry veterans. Some saw it as proof that Biggie was betrayed even after his death, while others dismissed it as hearsay or bitterness from former associates.

Diddy’s lawyers quickly pushed back, calling the documentary a one-sided hit piece, and Biggie’s estate manager Wayne Barrow insisted that all funeral costs were covered by Diddy and Bad Boy, not the estate.

But the real shock came when two cops, acting on a tip, entered Biggie’s old mansion and found documents that could verify—or debunk—the documentary’s claims. Among the papers were receipts, payment notices, and financial statements detailing the funeral costs and how they were paid.

There were also letters and emails between Bad Boy executives and funeral directors, possibly showing whether the expenses were fronted as a loan, declared recoupable, or paid outright. If these documents proved that Biggie’s estate was charged for his own funeral, it would be a gut punch to fans who believed in loyalty and brotherhood.

The discovery didn’t stop at funeral costs. The paperwork hinted at deeper connections between record label money, security firms, ex-cops, and industry players—all potentially tied to the events of Biggie’s last night.

For years, rumors had swirled about corrupt cops, gang ties, and shady deals, but hard evidence was always missing. Now, with these documents, investigators and journalists have new leads to follow, and fans are left wondering how far the betrayal went.

The controversy reignited interest in Biggie’s unsolved murder, reminding everyone that the case was never closed. Despite decades of digging, no one has ever been convicted or arrested for the crime. The streets, the music, and the culture still mourn the loss, but now the narrative is shifting. The documentary and the mansion discovery have forced people to reconsider not just who pulled the trigger, but who profited from Biggie’s death—and whether those closest to him were truly loyal.

As the debate rages on, the line between fact and rumor remains blurry. The estate stands by its records, insisting everything was above board, while the documentary pushes viewers to question the official story. The lesson is clear: in the world of hip-hop, legacy isn’t just about music—it’s about money, loyalty, and the truth behind the headlines. Biggie’s case is still unsolved, but the search for answers—and for justice—continues.