An open letter to the man I once admired who I searched for, and found, in the Epstein files

maybe you should have made better choices in your life...

It was maybe a mistake, to look. I don’t remember what gave me the idea, late Saturday night, to look. But I did, and there you were, your admin organizing a meeting for you with him, in 2014, long after the time people are supposed to say they had cut ties, after that conviction in Florida, in 2008.

I found you and I was like a Victorian lady all of a sudden, looking for my fainting couch. I couldn’t speak. I was dizzy and nauseous. I was shocked but not shocked. After all, I’d thought to look, hadn’t I? And I wasn’t even the only person who knew you then who looked. A lot of us looked.

It’s clear you don’t care what I think, that you never cared what I thought, even when you acted like you did. You were only in it for yourself, you cared what people more powerful than you thought. You didn’t care what the rest of us thought. You didn’t care, especially, what women thought.

That is clear, but I still have to tell you what I think.

What I think is that you should have lived your life in such a way that people who knew you well don’t search the Epstein files for your name. You were the first person I thought to search for! That’s your legacy, man: the first person a woman who once loved and admired you searches the Jeffrey Epstein files for.

He told someone else you were fun but that you didn’t understand money. I try not to think too much about that first part, where he called you fun, but the second part certainly seemed to be true: none of your businesses ever turned a profit, did they, however much you told me you understood things about business that I did not.

You told me that when I left, remember? When I was afraid of one of your henchmen, said he was dangerous, said he wasn’t gonna save you, was probably stealing from you, you told me I was prejudiced against old white men. You told me I didn’t know what I was talking about. You told me I didn’t understand.

Later you texted me that you had some thoughts about diversity you were working on, a whole new approach. I was naive, you said, I didn’t know how to be political, to network, I didn’t understand what it took to raise money, to have power.

Clearly, though, I did understand, didn’t I?

It isn’t because I don’t understand what it takes to get funding, to attain more power, to pursue my own ambitions, that I no longer work in your industry. On the contrary, it’s precisely because I do.

I didn’t think you could break my heart again, but you could and you did. I wanted you to be better, to be what you presented yourself as: a rough-around-the-edges visionary with a secret heart of gold. I haven’t believed that for a while now, but this last, completely predictable insult still knocked me off my feet.

You murdered every ounce of regard I ever had for you and then you pissed on the remains. I’ve scraped the pile off the ground, though, put it in a tupperware and saved it up. I’ll bring that meal to your funeral potluck and serve it to your guests. Hot dish straight from hell. Bon appetit!

****

To be clear, I’m not accusing you of raping children. I’m just saying you’re a wildly mediocre con man of loose morals, and I’d be sorry I ever gave you any of my time at all except that I still love so many of the people I met while doing so, good people, better people than you will ever be. We wanted to do some good in the world and we thought you could help us do it, and we were wrong, but we’re still out here trying.

Anyhow, fuck off forever, you pathetic asshole.

Worst regards,

Amy