Clinton-Appointed Judge Orders FBI to Destroy Evidence in Comey Case ll
A Clinton-appointed federal judge has ordered the FBI to destroy emails central to the obstruction and false statements case against former FBI Director James Comey, a decision that legal experts warn could cripple prosecutors’ ability to pursue a new indictment and set off a constitutional showdown over separation of powers.
U.S. District Judge Colleen Kollar-Kotelly, who sits on the D.C. District Court, issued the surprise order on December 13, directing the FBI to permanently delete all data seized from Columbia Law Professor Daniel Richman—Comey’s longtime friend and former government contractor—by 4 p.m. Monday.
The emails include key exchanges between Richman and Comey that prosecutors allege show Comey authorized leaks and false testimony about his role in Operation Crossfire Hurricane.
The ruling follows the September indictment of Comey on two counts—making false statements to Congress and obstruction of a congressional proceeding—related to his 2020 testimony about the FBI’s Trump-Russia investigation. Prosecutors allege Comey falsely denied using intermediaries to leak classified material to the press, and that he used Richman as an outside conduit for anti-Trump leaks while Richman held a government contract.
Six years ago, Judge James Boasberg—himself an Obama appointee—signed the warrant that allowed the FBI to seize Richman’s devices. But Kollar-Kotelly’s order, issued from a separate court and in a separate district, now directs the destruction of that same evidence.
“This ruling threatens the separation of powers essential to the Republic, and either the D.C. Circuit or Supreme Court must intervene immediately,” said Mike Davis, president of the Article III Project and a former Senate Judiciary Committee counsel.
Richman, who is not charged in the case, petitioned for the return of his emails under Rule 41(g) of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure, arguing that the government violated his Fourth Amendment rights by seizing and reviewing his communications. Rule 41(g) typically allows a defendant to recover property obtained in an unlawful search—but in this case, Richman is a third party, not a defendant, and the communications in question include evidence against a sitting defendant, James Comey.
Despite this, Judge Kollar-Kotelly granted Richman’s motion and ordered that a single copy of the emails be provided to Judge Michael Nachmanoff, who is presiding over the Comey case in Virginia, but barred prosecutors from reviewing or relying on the material in any future filings.
“The FBI and the prosecution will be unable to review them in their efforts to seek a new indictment if [Judge Cameron] Currie’s dismissal ruling survives on appeal,” Davis said. “Even if a higher court reverses Currie, the government’s inability to review the emails to use as evidence and prepare for trial would massively hamper its case.”
Judge Currie, another Clinton appointee in South Carolina, dismissed the Comey indictment last month, ruling that the appointment of interim U.S. Attorney Lindsey Halligan—who led the prosecution—was unconstitutional. The Justice Department has appealed Currie’s ruling to the Fourth Circuit.
Davis called the ruling “unprecedented judicial sabotage,” arguing that “Richman has run to a partisan Democrat judge not even involved in the criminal case — and not even in the same district — to procure the destruction of crucial evidence in that case in an obvious effort to assist his friend Comey.”
In a separate op-ed published by Fox News, Davis warned that the decision fits a larger pattern of “leftist judicial interference” aimed at shielding political allies while undermining accountability for the Trump-era lawfare architects.
“Now, a Clinton-appointed judge in the District of Columbia, Colleen Kollar-Kotelly, has interfered even more egregiously with the government’s case,” Davis wrote. “Courts do not order the FBI to destroy evidence in pending investigations — except when the evidence is harmful to a lawfare perpetrator like Comey.”
The Justice Department is expected to seek an emergency stay from the D.C. Circuit or the U.S. Supreme Court before Monday’s deadline.
If the order stands, prosecutors may lose access to one of the few remaining troves of direct evidence linking Comey to alleged leaks and obstruction. And if higher courts fail to intervene, it could mark the first time in recent memory that a federal judge outside a criminal case has ordered the destruction of key evidence against a former FBI director.
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.” But the next mo
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.”
But the next morning in the emergency room, the doctor studied my X-ray and immediately called 911—because what he saw… exposed a horrifying truth.
Part One: “It’s Just a Joke”
On my birthday, the room smelled like sugar and candles and cheap champagne. A pink cake sat in the center of the table, my name written across it in looping frosting. Everyone was laughing. Phones were out. Someone shouted for me to make a wish.
My sister stood closest to me.
She grinned, eyes bright with something that wasn’t kindness. Before I could even lean forward, her hands slammed the cake straight into my face.
The impact was harder than anyone expected.
I felt myself stumble backward, my heel catching on the rug. There was a sharp crack as my head hit the edge of the table, then the floor. For a split second, the room spun in white and pink. I tasted sugar—and then iron.
Blood mixed with frosting, dripping down my chin.
People screamed, then laughed nervously.
“Oh my God,” someone said, still chuckling. “It’s just a joke!”
My sister laughed the loudest. “Relax! You’re so dramatic.”
I tried to sit up. Pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision blurred, and the ceiling swayed like it was floating. Someone wiped my face with a napkin, smearing blood across my cheek.
“You’re fine,” my mother said quickly. “Don’t ruin the mood.”
I remember thinking how strange it was that my ears were ringing louder than the music.
I remember the taste of frosting as I swallowed blood.
I remember waking up hours later in my bed, alone, my head throbbing, my phone full of messages telling me not to be “too sensitive.”
By morning, I couldn’t lift my arm.
Part Two: The X-Ray That Changed Everything
The emergency room smelled like disinfectant and sleepless nights. The doctor asked how it happened. I hesitated, then said quietly, “I fell.”
He nodded, unconvinced, and ordered X-rays “just to be safe.”
I lay on the cold table staring at the ceiling, replaying the laughter over and over in my head. It’s just a joke. That sentence hurt almost as much as my skull.
When the doctor returned, he wasn’t smiling.
He stared at the image on the screen for a long time. Too long.
Then he left the room without a word.
Minutes later, he came back—with a nurse, a security officer, and his phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I need emergency services. Immediately.”
My heart started pounding. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He turned to me, his voice careful. “This isn’t a simple fall.”
He pointed to the X-ray. Even I could see it—fine fractures branching like cracks in glass, not just in my skull, but along my collarbone and ribs. Old fractures. Healed wrong. Layered.
“These injuries happened at different times,” he said gently. “Some weeks apart. Some months.”
I stared at the screen, my mouth dry.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “This pattern isn’t accidental. And the impact that brought you in today could have killed you.”
The word killed echoed in my ears.
“Who did this to you?” he asked softly.
I thought of my sister’s grin. My parents’ laughter. All the times I’d been shoved, tripped, “joked” into walls. All the times I’d been told I was clumsy. Sensitive. Overreacting.
My hands began to shake.
“I think…” My voice broke. “I think it was never a joke.”
Part Three: When Laughter Turns Into Sirens
The police arrived quietly. Calmly. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen something like me.
They didn’t accuse. They asked questions.
Who was there last night?
Who pushed you?
How often do you get hurt?
For the first time, I didn’t minimize. I didn’t protect anyone. I told the truth.
By evening, my phone was exploding.
My mother crying.
My father furious.
My sister screaming that I had “ruined everything.”
“You’re exaggerating!” she yelled over voicemail. “It was cake! Everyone saw it!”
Everyone had seen it.
That was the horrifying truth.
Everyone had seen it—and laughed.
The investigation didn’t take long. Videos surfaced. Old medical records were reviewed. Witnesses contradicted themselves. Patterns became impossible to ignore.
What started as a “birthday prank” became an assault case.
What they called humor was documented as violence.
I was moved to a different room that night, monitored closely, safe for the first time in years. As I lay there, ice wrapped around my head, I realized something terrifying and freeing all at once:
If that cake hadn’t been smashed into my face…
If I hadn’t fallen just right…
The truth might have stayed buried forever.
Sometimes it takes breaking something visible to expose what’s been shattered for years.
