The Mirror Remembers - Trump, Epstein, and the American Art of Getting Away With It

In February, Pam Bondi—Trump’s Attorney General and Florida’s ex-AG—claimed she had the list on her desk, naming the men Epstein trafficked girls to.

Now, on the quiet Sunday night ending the July 4th weekend, she tells us: there’s nothing to see.

No names. No tapes. No blackmail. No gods. No monsters.

Just Epstein, alone, surrounded by 300 gigabytes of silence and a thousand broken girls he hurt… all by himself.

Right.

The Justice Department has spoken. The Bureau has signed off. The record, they say, is clean.

And Donald Trump walks away untouched again.

It's astounding how he walks away from the wreckage every ...single…time.

But… we’ve seen the tape. 1992. Mar-a-Lago. Trump and Epstein, two men in heat, pointing, laughing, whispering, counting. Women—some still girls—dancing for the amusement of billionaires—or whatever they were—with no boundaries.

The camera doesn’t lie. Trump does though. It's his gift.

And his Achilles heel is young women.

Trump once said Epstein liked beautiful women as much as he did. “Many of them are on the younger side,” he added, like a man describing a vintage wine.

He wasn’t ashamed. He was proud.

That’s the cruelty of it. The pageantry of raw power. Flexing it to intimidate the poor, the young, the weak.

He believed he was untouchable.

And he was right.

The photographs? Michael Wolff says Epstein had them—Trump with girls who looked too young to be legal, topless and staged like trophies.

The lawsuits? A 13-year-old said he raped her at Epstein’s place in ‘94. The case vanished.

Another model said Epstein handed her off to Trump like a party favor. He groped her. That one never saw a trial either.

But E. Jean Carroll—she stood her ground, dragged him to court, called him what he is. And for once, a jury agreed. Sexual predator. Liable. Guilty.

But the stains didn’t stick.

Because in America, fame bleaches everything but truth. And truth doesn’t pay like spectacle.

Again, the DOJ says there's no list.

But there is a list.

Unsealed court documents from January 2024 named over 170 Epstein associates.

Bill Clinton. Prince Andrew. Les Wexner. Leon Black. Elon Musk. Kevin Spacey. David Copperfield. Frédéric Fekkai. Joi Ito. Reid Hoffman. Chris Tucker. The heads of Barclays and Apollo. A former U.S. Virgin Islands governor.  Saudi crown prince Mohammed bin Salman.

Bill Gates.  And of course, Donald Trump, who Epstein had listed under 14 different contact numbers.

These aren’t footnotes in the story. They are the story. The so-called lone predator had the world’s most powerful men on speed dial—and too many of them on private jets, in photographs, at parties, at dinners, and, allegedly, in the bedrooms of girls who couldn’t yet vote.

But somehow, after all this, the DOJ closes the book.

They call it closure. Some call it cowardice, I call it complete bullshit.

Because if Epstein didn’t blackmail anyone, then why were the tapes locked away? If Trump had nothing to fear, then why did the lawsuits vanish? If there was no list, then what exactly are they sealing?

It wasn’t justice they served. It wasn't discretion, it's the global elite and their reputation.

Trump is not cleaning up his sins. He’s buried them. In sealed files. In redacted names. In memos worded to sound like mercy but written to protect monsters. And in the slow, strangled gaslight of “nothing to see here.”

This is the final lie: That one man, acting alone, orchestrated a global machine of abuse for decades—without help, without protection, without powerful men whispering yes in the dark.

But the truth has a scent. And it lingers.

These weren’t just friends. These were co-conspirators in silence. And the documents don’t lie. The black book, the flight logs, the deposition transcripts—they name names. They show us a world where billionaires, royalty, tech giants, and movie stars all passed through Epstein’s gates. Some claimed ignorance. Some claimed regret. But none claimed responsibility.

As far as I'm concerned, release every single file if there’s nothing to see. Anonymize the victims, or just black them out, and expose every one of these sexual predators. Let the chips fall where they may.

And yes, that includes Democrats. Let’s not forget the bizarre portrait of Bill Clinton in a blue dress—Monica’s dress—hung in Epstein’s home like a punchline only predators understand.

Trump has a record of exploitation. He ran a beauty pageant to stare at teen girls backstage. He bragged on tape about grabbing women by the pussy. He spent decades clawing at the skirts of silence.

And we let him.

We made him president. Twice. We gave him the DOJ. The FBI. The nuclear codes.

We gave him our silence. And now we’ve given him this too— A clean bill of health from the country’s highest halls of denial.

But the mirror remembers.

There’s still the footage. Still the flight logs. Still the bruised memories of the women who were told to shut up or be broken. Still the Epstein files locked in vaults we’re told are empty. Still the laughter of two men over a dance floor of daughters.

So no, we won’t forget. Not the girls. Not the lies. Not the way the justice system turned off the lights and called it morning.

He’s not exonerated. He’s enthroned.

The man in the mirror is grinning. He knows who he is. And we know better. And there will be a day when Donald Trump will pay for his sins.

It's coming.

And history?

History will be cruelest of all.