The Man Who Tore a Country Apart: The Rise and Fall of Jeffrey Epstein
How Jeffrey Epstein’s Appetite for Power and Secrets Exposed the Cracks in America’s Elite—and Left a Nation Reeling
By Randy W. Armstrong
Some men build nations, and some men break them. Jeffrey Epstein, a child of Brooklyn with an outsized appetite for money, influence, and flesh, was the rare breed who did both, if building can be defined as the delicate scaffolding of secrets, and breaking as the public collapse of all that scaffolding, to reveal what lay rotting beneath.
In the theater of American power, Epstein was neither the leading man nor the obvious villain. He was, rather, the trapdoor in the stage, unseen until suddenly, catastrophically, it gave way, dropping actors and audience alike into the dark.
His story is a chronicle of ambition without boundaries, of institutions eager to look away, of power corrupted—and, ultimately, of a nation left to pick through the wreckage, asking itself just how many others were in on the act.
The Meteoric Rise: Math, Money, and Making Friends
Jeffrey Epstein began life with little to distinguish him from any other clever son of New York’s outer boroughs. Born in 1953, he moved through the city’s public schools, a quick study with a taste for numbers and an instinct for belonging. He attended Cooper Union and NYU’s Courant Institute but, like Gatsby before him, found the world of credentials inconvenient and exited before collecting a diploma.
It mattered little. At 21, with only his wits, Epstein conned his way into a teaching job at Manhattan’s exclusive Dalton School, an institution that valued pedigrees and connections above all else. He had neither, but he did have charm, and it was enough to win him the attention of Alan “Ace” Greenberg, CEO of Bear Stearns. Through Greenberg’s patronage, Epstein entered the world of high finance, a world whose gatekeepers would spend decades swearing they barely remembered him.
At Bear Stearns, Epstein flourished, specializing in complex, tax-dodging deals for the mega-wealthy. Within five years, he was a limited partner, rubbing elbows with moguls like Edgar Bronfman of Seagram’s. But in 1981, as swiftly as he had risen, he vanished, departing under the haze of a regulatory violation. No charges. No scandal. Just the soft closing of a well-upholstered door.
He landed on his feet, founding Intercontinental Assets Group, a consulting firm trafficking in the recovery of lost fortunes—sometimes for those who had lost, sometimes for those who had stolen. He whispered of work for Saudi arms dealers and hinted at ties to intelligence services. In 1987, he attached himself to Steven Hoffenberg’s Towers Financial Corporation, a Ponzi scheme of jaw-dropping scale. When it collapsed, Epstein—always just out of frame—escaped indictment, while Hoffenberg went to prison.
Wealth, Power, and Patronage: Wexner and the Web
It was in the late 1980s that Epstein found the patron who would change everything: Leslie Wexner, the billionaire behind The Limited and Victoria’s Secret. Wexner, a man who collected protégés as others collect watches, was seduced by Epstein’s intelligence and promise of discretion. By 1991, Epstein had full power of attorney over Wexner’s empire—a trust so total it boggles belief. He bought, sold, and built for Wexner, earning millions and inheriting the kind of credibility money can’t buy.
With Wexner’s blessing, Epstein acquired the palatial 9 East 71st Street mansion in Manhattan, a Palm Beach estate, a Paris apartment, a New Mexico ranch, and eventually, the infamous Little Saint James island. The parties began, private jets ferried scientists, celebrities, and the casually corrupt to paradises where, it would later be alleged, innocence was the entry fee.
Epstein’s circle was a Who’s Who of American and British power: Bill Clinton, Donald Trump, Prince Andrew, Alan Dershowitz. Some were friends, some acquaintances, all at one point willing to pose for the camera or sign the guestbook. The true nature of each relationship would become the stuff of lawsuits, denials, and late-night television. Epstein gave millions to Harvard, hosted physicists at his homes, and painted himself as a benefactor—albeit one who preferred his benefactions in the company of the beautiful and the young.
The Fall: When Justice Looks Away
Epstein’s appetite for underage girls was an open secret in some circles. In March 2005, a 14-year-old girl told Palm Beach police that Epstein had molested her during what was billed as a “massage.” The investigation that followed revealed dozens of victims—most recruited by other girls, paid in cash, and told to bring their friends.
Police compiled a damning dossier, but when it landed on the desk of State Attorney Barry Krischer, something curious happened: the grand jury heard only from a single victim and returned a single, watered-down charge of solicitation of prostitution. The age of the victim was omitted. Palm Beach Police Chief Michael Reiter, disgusted, called in the FBI.
The FBI’s “Operation Leap Year” identified at least 36 underage victims. A 53-page draft indictment for federal sex trafficking was drawn up. Then the machinery of privilege began to creak and moan. Epstein’s legal team, including Alan Dershowitz, Ken Starr, and other titans, negotiated directly with U.S. Attorney Alexander Acosta. What emerged was a non-prosecution agreement so lopsided it bordered on the surreal: Epstein would plead to two minor state charges, serve a cushioned sentence, and receive immunity for any and all potential co-conspirators. The deal was struck in secret. The victims were not notified. Justice—blindfolded, perhaps, but not deaf—turned her face away.
Prison, Privilege, and the “Work Release” That Wasn’t
Epstein’s “punishment” was a master class in the American justice system’s double standard. Sentenced to 18 months, he was allowed out for “work release” 12 hours a day, six days a week. Visitors, including young women, came and went. The guards left his cell unlocked. After 13 months, he was released for “good behavior,” his fortune and freedom largely intact. His friends drifted away in public, but behind closed doors, the parties and the introductions continued.
Meanwhile, the victims, denied their day in court, turned to civil suits. Confidential settlements silenced some; others, like Virginia Giuffre, spoke out. The media, at first largely incurious, began to circle. By 2016, James Patterson’s Filthy Rich and a Miami Herald investigation by Julie K. Brown would reignite public outrage. But for nearly a decade, Epstein moved easily through the corridors of power, his name still good for a dinner reservation or a campaign donation.
The Scandal that Shook the Nation
By the late 2010s, the Epstein case had become the wound that would not heal. When the Miami Herald published “Perversion of Justice,” the country was reminded, uncomfortably, of how far the mighty would go to protect their own. Under pressure, the Department of Justice reopened the case. A federal judge ruled that Epstein’s victims had been denied their rights under the law. The ground shifted.
In July 2019, Epstein was arrested at Teterboro Airport, having just arrived on his private jet from Paris. The charges were federal this time: sex trafficking of minors, conspiracy, and possession of a vast trove of incriminating photographs—some locked in a safe, others in plain sight. There was an Austrian passport under a false name, a Saudi address, and a mountain of evidence suggesting Epstein was not merely a predator but a man in the business of secrets. His contacts spanned continents, and his influence reached into palaces and presidential libraries.
Denied bail as a flight risk, Epstein was sent to the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Manhattan, a grim fortress for the nation’s most notorious. On August 10, 2019, he was found dead, hanged in his cell. The official ruling: suicide. The official reaction: disbelief. In the vacuum left by his death, conspiracy theories blossomed like mushrooms on a corpse. The guards had been asleep. The cameras had failed. The man who knew everyone’s secrets would never testify.
— Written by Randy W. Armstrong