Cuomo-Hochul Aide’s China Spy Trial Ends in Shocking Mistrial

Paul Riverbank, 12/23/2025A Cuomo-Hochul aide's China spy trial ends in mistrial, raising questions of loyalty and intrigue.

Prosecutors didn't waste words. They leaned into a story both cinematic and damning: Sun, once a trusted hand to New York governors Andrew Cuomo and Kathy Hochul, had allegedly been an inside operator—a pipeline, they said, for Beijing's interests. In the government's account, she wasn't just another political aide climbing the rungs; she was an agent, a trusted voice in hushed corners, currying favor with New York’s highest officials while quietly slipping details back to Chinese officials. As the trial unfolded, what had once been private text exchanges and receipts became centerpieces for the prosecution. Messages were read aloud—Sun once bragged about guiding the governor's office into line with consulate wishes. At another point, she confessed, perhaps carelessly, to a near "heart attack" after hearing someone call Taiwan a country. "Thankfully, I had the press team correct it immediately," she texted — those words now dissected at length by the jury.

Money—luxurious, quietly amassed—loomed like a silent character in the proceedings. Prosecutors drew a direct line from Beijing's officials to the glossy Ferrari, the Long Island mansion with its sunlit foyer, and the second home nestled far off in Honolulu. Sun's state salary was public record. Her husband Chris Hu’s lobster business, they stated, barely seemed to yield any income. And yet, the couple’s assets flourished. State contracts inked during the pandemic, wire transfers, and even handbags — each item combed over by investigators looking for something that connected the dots in unmistakable ink.

But the story offered by Sun’s defense struck a different note, its melody more steady and subdued. "Linda Sun is a proud American and lifetime New Yorker," her law firm countered—words meant to strike a chord beyond the marble halls. Yes, she had relationships with staff at the Chinese consulate. Of course she facilitated invitations and maintained contact. Wasn’t that, after all, the essence of work in state politics—especially for an aide helping to bridge New York’s vast Asian-American community and its elected leaders? Defense counsel rolled their eyes at the notion of duck recipes and cultural gifts as coded bribes. The court, for a moment, resembled a family dinner where the wrong guest had misunderstood an old in-joke.

The evidence was messy. There was no star witness stepping forward to accuse Linda Sun of penning the governor’s forged signature, a cornerstone the prosecution clearly wanted but never quite produced. Investigators recalled her being anxious and sweating when grilled about creating fake paperwork for her family—hardly, her lawyer suggested, the behavior of a veteran conspirator.

What didn't emerge in the trial was closure. After weeks of witness testimony, documents sifted and scrutinized, and the kind of pressure that can reduce even seasoned jurors to impatience, the panel broke. "The jurors' positions are firmly held," they said at last—a declaration that felt defiant, weary, and utterly unresolved. Judge Cogan couldn't hide his disappointment but issued a mistrial regardless. In the narrow confines of the courthouse, it was as if everyone exhaled at once.

Sun and Hu walked out on bail as the Christmas lights flickered on across city streets, their future uncertain but still theirs for the moment. The Justice Department promised another showdown. Court would reconvene in January. Meanwhile, in Albany office suites and neighborhood bars alike, talk about corruption and foreign influence in American politics simmered anew. What lines can public servants cross? Where does engagement end and betrayal begin? Nobody left the courthouse with an answer, but nobody left untouched, either—a reminder that the line between trust and suspicion, especially in politics, often runs straight through the heart of the city itself.

It was the kind of December afternoon in Brooklyn where the grey light hangs outside the courthouse, turning windows into blurry mirrors. Inside Judge Brian Cogan's wood-paneled courtroom, Linda Sun stood with her hands folded, waiting for twelve strangers to determine whether her life would spiral into scandal or recede quietly back into memory.Prosecutors didn't waste words. They leaned into a story both cinematic and damning: Sun, once a trusted hand to New York governors Andrew Cuomo and Kathy Hochul, had allegedly been an inside operator—a pipeline, they said, for Beijing's interests. In the government's account, she wasn't just another political aide climbing the rungs; she was an agent, a trusted voice in hushed corners, currying favor with New York’s highest officials while quietly slipping details back to Chinese officials. As the trial unfolded, what had once been private text exchanges and receipts became centerpieces for the prosecution. Messages were read aloud—Sun once bragged about guiding the governor's office into line with consulate wishes. At another point, she confessed, perhaps carelessly, to a near "heart attack" after hearing someone call Taiwan a country. "Thankfully, I had the press team correct it immediately," she texted — those words now dissected at length by the jury.Money—luxurious, quietly amassed—loomed like a silent character in the proceedings. Prosecutors drew a direct line from Beijing's officials to the glossy Ferrari, the Long Island mansion with its sunlit foyer, and the second home nestled far off in Honolulu. Sun's state salary was public record. Her husband Chris Hu’s lobster business, they stated, barely seemed to yield any income. And yet, the couple’s assets flourished. State contracts inked during the pandemic, wire transfers, and even handbags — each item combed over by investigators looking for something that connected the dots in unmistakable ink.But the story offered by Sun’s defense struck a different note, its melody more steady and subdued. "Linda Sun is a proud American and lifetime New Yorker," her law firm countered—words meant to strike a chord beyond the marble halls. Yes, she had relationships with staff at the Chinese consulate. Of course she facilitated invitations and maintained contact. Wasn’t that, after all, the essence of work in state politics—especially for an aide helping to bridge New York’s vast Asian-American community and its elected leaders? Defense counsel rolled their eyes at the notion of duck recipes and cultural gifts as coded bribes. The court, for a moment, resembled a family dinner where the wrong guest had misunderstood an old in-joke.The evidence was messy. There was no star witness stepping forward to accuse Linda Sun of penning the governor’s forged signature, a cornerstone the prosecution clearly wanted but never quite produced. Investigators recalled her being anxious and sweating when grilled about creating fake paperwork for her family—hardly, her lawyer suggested, the behavior of a veteran conspirator.What didn't emerge in the trial was closure. After weeks of witness testimony, documents sifted and scrutinized, and the kind of pressure that can reduce even seasoned jurors to impatience, the panel broke. "The jurors' positions are firmly held," they said at last—a declaration that felt defiant, weary, and utterly unresolved. Judge Cogan couldn't hide his disappointment but issued a mistrial regardless. In the narrow confines of the courthouse, it was as if everyone exhaled at once.Sun and Hu walked out on bail as the Christmas lights flickered on across city streets, their future uncertain but still theirs for the moment. The Justice Department promised another showdown. Court would reconvene in January. Meanwhile, in Albany office suites and neighborhood bars alike, talk about corruption and foreign influence in American politics simmered anew. What lines can public servants cross? Where does engagement end and betrayal begin? Nobody left the courthouse with an answer, but nobody left untouched, either—a reminder that the line between trust and suspicion, especially in politics, often runs straight through the heart of the city itself.