Hunter Biden Learns Fate With Law License In Connecticut After Convictions.ll
Hunter Biden was formally disbarred in Connecticut on Monday after a judge determined that he violated the state’s rules governing attorney conduct. The disbarment follows disciplinary complaints stemming from Biden’s federal gun and tax convictions, which were pardoned in December 2024 by his father, former President Joe Biden.
Court records show that Biden consented to the disbarment and acknowledged professional misconduct, without admitting to criminal wrongdoing.
Biden and his attorney, Ross Garber, appeared by video before Judge Trial Referee Patrick L. Carroll III during the proceeding in Waterbury, Newsweek reported.
“This marks the second jurisdiction in which Biden has lost his law license, following his voluntary decision to surrender his license to practice law in Washington, D.C., in April,” Newsweek noted. “The Connecticut disbarment effectively ends his legal career in multiple jurisdictions, demonstrating that professional consequences for attorneys persist even after criminal pardons.”
Biden was admitted to the Connecticut bar in 1997, one year after graduating from Yale Law School. His disbarment is a result of violations of several ethical rules for lawyers, which include engaging in conduct that involves dishonesty, fraud, deceit, or misrepresentation, as noted in the judge’s findings.
Additionally, the judge referenced his disbarment in DC as partial grounds for his ruling, Newsweek added.
The disbarment stems from Hunter Biden’s underlying federal convictions, including three felony counts in a Delaware case in which he was found guilty of purchasing a firearm in 2018 while falsely stating on a federal form that he was not illegally using or addicted to drugs. He faced a potential sentence of up to 25 years in prison, though legal experts noted that, as a first-time offender, he likely would have received a significantly lighter sentence or avoided incarceration altogether.
Biden also faced federal charges in California related to his failure to pay at least $1.4 million in taxes. In September 2024, he agreed to plead guilty to a combination of misdemeanor and felony tax charges shortly before jury selection was set to begin.
Former President Joe Biden issued a broad pardon for his son in December 2024, covering conduct over an 11-year period.
Following the pardon, U.S. District Judge Maryellen Noreika formally closed the Delaware gun case, though the conviction itself was not vacated.
The California tax case was also dismissed after the pardon was received, despite objections from prosecutors, who argued that the pardon should not erase the cases as though they had never occurred.
In Washington, D.C., Hunter Biden voluntarily surrendered his law license in April in light of his criminal record.
The District of Columbia Bar’s Board on Professional Responsibility accepted the surrender, which avoided extended disciplinary proceedings over whether his prior criminal cases required mandatory disbarment.
The board recommended that the D.C. Court of Appeals approve Biden’s voluntary disbarment, Newsweek said.
In the Connecticut matter, Biden reached an agreement with the state agency responsible for attorney discipline. Under the agreement, he admitted to certain misconduct allegations outlined in court filings while contesting others, the outlet reported.
Paul Dorsey, one of the two people who filed the complaints in Connecticut about Hunter, told the judge, he: “Objected to the agreement because Hunter Biden did not admit to committing crimes.”
“With disbarment now in effect in Connecticut and voluntary surrender of his license in Washington, D.C., Biden’s ability to practice law has been permanently revoked in these jurisdictions,” the Associated Press added.
Hunter Biden sparked outrage last month after unleashing a vulgar personal attack on New York Post columnist Miranda Devine, calling her a “whore” and saying no one would mourn her death.
The remarks came during a November 6 appearance on the Wide Awake Podcast, where the former president’s son lashed out over Devine’s reporting on his infamous laptop and her years-long coverage of his overseas business dealings.
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.
