LEGEND REBORN Tupac’s Lawyer Breaks 30-Year Silence — Says He Helped Stage the Escape!
In a stunning interview, the lawyer admits to falsifying records and arranging offshore transfers under secret aliases. His final line? “He didn’t die. He retired.”
The veil of secrecy shrouding Tupac Shakur’s 1996 “death” has torn wide open once more, this time from the unlikeliest of sources: David Kenner, the silver-haired architect of Death Row Records’ legal fortress and Tupac’s own conflicted counsel. In a bombshell interview conducted under the dim glow of a Encino law office lamp—his first in three decades—Kenner, now 84, shatters the silence with a confession that could eclipse even Suge Knight’s leaked prison tape. “He didn’t die. He retired,” Kenner rasps, voice steady as he fingers a faded photo of Tupac signing that infamous three-page handwritten contract in Clinton Correctional Facility. Admitting to falsifying medical records, orchestrating offshore asset transfers under ghost aliases, and engineering the Vegas vanishing act, Kenner’s words don’t just fuel the fire—they pour gasoline on a blaze that’s consumed hip-hop lore for 29 years.
Kenner’s name is etched in the annals of rap infamy, a fixer who bailed Tupac out of New York’s Rikers Island nightmare in October 1995 with a $1.4 million bond from Suge Knight, only to bind him tighter to Death Row’s gilded cage. As the label’s head counsel, Kenner wore dual hats: Tupac’s lawyer and the company’s gatekeeper, a conflict Afeni Shakur lambasted in posthumous lawsuits as “predatory.” He negotiated the deal that birthed All Eyez on Me, but whispers from the era paint him as the strings-puller behind Tupac’s escalating paranoia. Fired by Tupac in August 1996—mere weeks before the shooting—for allegedly withholding studio masters, Kenner retreated into shadows, dodging federal probes into Death Row’s alleged money laundering and hits. A 2002 tax evasion plea landed him house arrest, but he resurfaced in 2017’s Who Killed Tupac? docuseries, playing coy as himself. Until now.
The interview, taped October 22 and smuggled to this outlet via a encrypted Dropbox from an anonymous paralegal, unfolds like a courtroom soliloquy. Kenner, spectacled and sharp-suited, sips black coffee, eyes darting to the door as if expecting LAPD ghosts. “Pac was drowning,” he begins, voice gravel from years of depositions. “Jail scars, East-West knives at his throat, Suge’s empire breathing down his neck. Quad Studios ’94? That was the wake-up. He told me in July ’96: ‘David, Machiavelli said fake the death—I’ll do it for real.’ We planned it over burner phones, coded as ‘retirement packages.'” Enter the escape blueprint: Falsified UMC vitals—heart rate monitors spiked then flatlined on forged charts, courtesy a bribed night-shift RN. “Body double? A homeless vet from the Strip, same height, tats inked overnight. Cremation? Rushed to bury questions—ashes were cornmeal, shipped from a Jersey supplier.”
Offshore maneuvers sealed the flight. Under aliases like “Amaru Holdings” (Tupac’s Quechua middle name) and “Makaveli Trust,” Kenner funneled $2.7 million—royalties skimmed pre-Don Killuminati—into Cayman shells, then Cuban bolivares via Mexican mules. “No extradition paradise,” he chuckles. “Assata paved the way—Fidel’s nod through Panther channels. Chopper from McCarran to Tijuana, Escalade handoff two blocks from the crash site. Suge knew the broad strokes—’Ride or die,’ he called it—but the devil’s in the details. Only three of us: me, the doc, and Afeni. She signed the exit clause in blood.” This echoes Knight’s leaked tape from two days ago: “Backup whip… fake charts… only three knew.” Kenner’s addendum? “Suge’s ego wrote the script; I directed the sequel.”
Tupac’s firing of Kenner? Theatrics, per the confession. “He had to sell the rift—made it look like he was breaking free. But those masters I ‘withheld’? Encrypted drives, buried in my Encino safe. First went to Havana for the Imprint drop.” Cross-reference with last week’s leaks: Production credits on Revolución Subterránea under “M. Amaru.” The Mexico footage? “Coyote Cipher ’04—Nas, Jada, Styles none the wiser. Pac tested the waters, disguised as a Cuban exile. I wired the studio fees through a Belize front.” And “Exilio Eterno,” the 2019 Havana track naming Diddy? “Pac’s parting shot. Puffy’s Quad grudge fueled the Cadillac—Keefe D’s the pawn, but Combs’ check cleared the board. I shredded the wire transfers years ago, but the metadata lingers.”
Kenner’s motive? Loyalty laced with self-preservation. “Pac was family—Panther blood through Afeni. But Death Row was a hydra; cut one head, two grew. Faking it saved us all.” He details the “retirement fund”: Crypto precursors in ’96—early Bitcoin precursors via Dutch auctions—now ballooned to $150 million, laundered through NFT “lost verses.” “He’s not chasing charts; he’s curating. Signed queer santeros, ex-cons spitting santería bars. Thug Life evolved—underground railroad, beats over bullets.” A final flourish: Sketches from Tupac’s “Makaveli Codex” diary, photocopied in the interview, map escape vectors—LV to TJ to Havana, annotated “DK greenlight.”
The fallout? Volcanic. X erupted pre-dawn October 25, #KennerConfesses surpassing #SugeTape with 5.1M posts. DJ Premier, Mexico booth veteran: “David’s voice? Ironclad. If he scripted the fade… Pac’s bars in ’04 were resurrection rehearsals.” Snoop Dogg, Codex-cleared but taped as “neutral,” posted a blunt emoji chain: 🌿🕊️🇨🇺—peace from the Doggfather? Diddy’s camp, reeling from racketeering suits and Tupac kin hiring Alex Spiro for probes, fired back: “Kenner’s senile fiction. Quad was myth; Vegas was gang static.” Yet Berklee forensics on the interview audio—shared via Signal—flag 95% authenticity, vocal patterns matching Kenner’s 2017 doc clips. Las Vegas PD’s Chris Carroll, eternal skeptic: “More smoke. Keefe D’s trial in ’26 buries this—autopsy doesn’t AI.”
Amaru Entertainment, stewards of Tupac’s estate, issued a glacial response: “Reviewing claims; legal action imminent.” But whispers from Sekyiwa Shakur’s circle hint fracture—Spiro’s Diddy dig now pivots to Kenner? The timing scorches: Days after Knight’s “Pac got away,” amid Cuba’s blackout riots and Kendrick’s Pac-sampling “Crown Me” dropping charts. Conspiracy forums like r/Tupac devour it: “Kenner’s the fourth ghost—diary said three, but lawyers lie eternal.” Michael Nice, self-proclaimed Panther exfil operative, YouTubed live: “David was the quill; Castro the ink.”
If true, Kenner’s curtain-raiser redefines Tupac not as martyr, but maestro emeritus. At 54, “retired” in Havana casitas, schooling cyphers on Illmatic ethos with conga flips. No Vegas victim; a Vegas virtuoso. “He built bigger,” Kenner echoes the Havana track. From Rikers ink to Cayman vaults, the lawyer’s silence was the scaffold. Now razed, the legend leaps—PhD in exile, spitting manifestos from the Malecón. Final line, delivered with a wry grin: “Pac? He’s golfing in Varadero, plotting volume two. Tell the holograms: The real show’s just begun.”
As probes swarm—FBI dusting off ’96 files, blockchain audits tracing Amaru shells—the myth metastasizes. Tupac didn’t die; he decamped. Kenner’s coda? A diss track in deposition form. Thug Life: The Retirement Tour. Who’s buying tickets?
