Jul 30, 2020,11:24am EDT
Ghislaine Maxwell Court Records Release Imminent, Expected To Reveal More About Jeffrey Epstein
A trove of old court records involving British socialite Ghislaine Maxwell and dead, disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein are expected to be released Thursday following a judge’s orders to unseal them, and are anticipated to reveal more information connected to Epstein’s alleged sexual abuse of underage girls.
Dozens of documents from the 2015 defamation lawsuit were ordered unsealed by U.S. District Judge Loretta Preska during a July 23 hearing.
Among the documents are depositions from alleged victim Virginia Giuffre and numerous communications from their lawyers.
Maxwell’s lawyers in a Wednesday letter requested that her 2016 depositions—some of the most potentially explosive items—be kept sealed, but was rejected by the judge as an “11th hour” ask; the Court of Appeals should rule on this by Friday.
Besides Maxwell’s depositions, the rest of the documents are expected to be made public sometime on Thursday.
MORE...https://www.forbes.com/sites/lisettevoy ... 17e06c43c8
Whitney Webb discusses the Maxwell docs on the Sonia & Shaun podcast | starts at 37 mins
U.S. District Judge Esther Salas provided a video statement on the death of her son and the injuries to her husband caused by a gunman.
So, basically she's asking for a witness protection program to remove them from the little people, and using her son as emotional manipulation.
norton ash » Sat Aug 08, 2020 4:29 pm wrote:So, basically she's asking for a witness protection program to remove them from the little people, and using her son as emotional manipulation.
Yeah, grieving mothers tend to be calculating monsters. That's a bit much.
annie aronburg » Tue Oct 13, 2020 2:48 am wrote:https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2020/10/i-called-everyone-in-jeffrey-epsteins-little-black-book/
I made the first call from a coffee shop in Los Angeles’ Koreatown the day after Epstein’s suspicious suicide in his cell at Manhattan’s Metropolitan Correctional Center while awaiting trial, a convenient turn of events for the rich and famous people who would now avoid exposure in court. The death was a national scandal. Followers of the Epstein case—I’m including myself here—reacted to his death with a burst of paranoia and anger. Conspiracizing was rampant. I had come across a screenshot of an unredacted section of the black book and determined to track down its source. I decided to check the most awful place on the internet, 8chan, where I was quickly rewarded for my intuition—an unredacted PDF of the entire book had been posted just a few hours earlier. About 12 seconds later I was dialing Melania Trump’s personal cell phone. Voicemail. Then I sent a text to David Copperfield. “David, we need to talk. It’s about Jeffrey.”
I tried a couple more people, none of whom picked up, whereupon I was interrupted by a call from a restricted number. The guy on the line said he was with the FBI. He said there were “reports of fraudulent phone calls” being made on this line, which I immediately understood as bullshit—I wasn’t committing any phone crime or trying to trick someone into doing so. “I don’t know about fraudulent, but I have a feeling I know what you’re talking about,” I said, undoubtedly sounding cool, relaxed, unbothered. He then said, “I have a real call coming in,” to what sounded like someone else in the room, his voice quiet in the way of someone who has just pulled the phone off his face to look at it. He hung up and never called again, as far as I know. Whether the guy was FBI or a private security goon posing as a fed, the call was an important development—it told me that the book I was dealing with and the numbers it contained were genuine. Every cell phone, every yacht line, every private office number—they were all real, and every one of them was about to get a call from me.
In the course of my project I would come to realize the little black book was Maxwell’s as much as it was Epstein’s. Dozens of people I spoke to were surprised to hear they were listed in his book, sometimes alongside their parents’ or siblings’ numbers and home addresses, and just as many claimed they had never once met Epstein. But nearly all of these people did have some kind of relationship with Ghislaine Maxwell. A friend of Maxwell who had also seen the book told me, “This looks like her address book….I know several people [in here] who’ve never met him.” I would figure about a fourth of the people listed in the black book knew only Maxwell.
Her hand in the creation of this book is clear. There are several “massage” lists—lists for California, Paris, New Mexico, and Florida, containing dozens of female first names with numbers beside each. Next to some of these names are little parenthetical notes like “GM really likes.” I spoke to one woman, a bodyworker, who has a note next to her name in the book that reads, “GM hasn’t tried yet.” “Oh!” she shouted. “That’s so fucking creepy!”
“Ghislaine was a shark,” Julie told me, “Anything you read about her that’s positive isn’t true. She’s a scary woman….The picture that Virginia [Giuffre] drew of Ghislaine? I completely believe what she wrote.”
Tracey first met Epstein through a fellow student in an NYC art school in 2001. Tracey told me her friend had been commissioned by Epstein to paint, and that she tried to get Tracey to go on a date with Epstein. Tracey had a boyfriend at the time, and she declined. But when her friend told her that Epstein was a “philanthropist who funds artists” and would fund a screenplay she was working on, Tracey agreed to meet with him in his New York townhouse. “I was there on a business meeting. I was dressed for business. I had a boyfriend.”
The butler answered the door, and down the stairs came Epstein, wearing a white T-shirt and ripped-up jeans. Tracey was taken aback by the size of the staff at the house, “People came in with food,” she recalled. “People were asking me if I wanted massages. I told them no.”
She remembered climbing a marble staircase and walking into a “huge, grand room.” Epstein “acted like a gentleman for two hours,” Tracey said. “We talked about Dolly”—the sheep cloned in 1996, to great fanfare—“and the whole cloning thing, and he told me he had a place down in Mexico that was already working on cloning humans.
“We had an interesting talk for about two hours, and at the end of the meeting he groped me. I started crying and wanted to get out, and I remember being so scared that I wouldn’t get out, because there were so many people working there. I really thought I might not get out of there.”
Epstein tried to hand Tracey a check, ostensibly for the screenplay Tracey had gone there to discuss, but she turned and fled out the door. She called her boyfriend immediately after the incident and has never told more than a couple close friends about it since. She thought about speaking out when the first round of allegations became public, but she decided not to, out of fear for her safety. “I was always afraid, because I knew he was really powerful. And you’re going to think it’s totally crazy, but I bet you he cloned himself, and whoever killed themselves was a clone….I try not to think about it. I wouldn’t put it past that he’s out there somewhere. He said he had a lab in Mexico, because the Dolly thing got shut down.”
During one of our last conversations, Julie mentioned, in throwaway fashion, a diary entry she had stumbled upon about a book recommendation from Epstein. Summarizing for me, she explained that she’d asked Epstein why he had so many girls around. “I asked him why he was like this,” she recalled, “and he said to me to read some book….He told me it influenced him to become wealthy.”
The book was The Man From O.R.G.Y., an obscure 1965 James Bond ripoff written by Theodore Mark Gottfried under the pen name of Ted Mark. It’s about a con man who travels the world under the guise of being a “sex researcher” in order to spy for the US government. The novel begins with protagonist Steve Victor in Damascus for the kickoff of an “extensive survey of Arab and Oriental sex practices.” There he is approached by a US diplomat and invited to the embassy. In short order, Victor is recruited to spy for the US government.
This research program you’re engaged on, Mr. Victor, gives you entry to places the United States government could never officially investigate. The key to a factor which might prove quite vital in our handling of international power politics lies in one of these places.
The novel is an unbearable horror show. It’s violent and grotesquely pornographic, containing toddler brothels and graphic details of children and infants being ceremonially raped and trained into sex slavery. The protagonist gets custody of such a slave from the US embassy–his fake research organization, O.R.G.Y, stands for Organization for the Rational Guidance of Youth.
Julie didn’t know what the book was about, but she remembered the conversation well. “It was one of the last things we talked about….He said to me, ‘Read this book, and that will help you understand,’” Julie told me. “I never read it and don’t think I ever will.”
“My wife’s going to be pissed I talked to you about this,” the self-styled “pitbull of comedy” told me one day, “but look, I’ve got nothing to hide.”
This was Bobby Slayton, a stand-up comic who is notorious for his racist and sexist material. “He used to call me up and be like, ‘How do you get on stage with all this #MeToo stuff?” Slayton said.
Epstein took a liking to the comedian after seeing him perform at the Palm Beach Improv in the 1990s. “The guy was a big fan of mine, and his girlfriend [Ghislaine] called me for his 50th birthday party. She said he was a big fan and wanted me to come entertain, and that there was going to be some big, high-profile people there.
“So, I asked, what does it pay? And she says, well, it doesn’t pay anything, but we’re going to fly you out and put you up, and I said, what kind of fucking gig is this?”
Slayton mentioned to Maxwell offhandedly that he might bring his wife, to which she answered “no women.” The party fell through—or at least Slayton’s invite did—but Epstein kept in contact with the comedian, catching his shows around Palm Beach, Miami, and New York. Epstein invited Slayton to his mansion in Palm Beach for coffee and to “talk about comedy,” but when Slayton arrived Epstein wouldn’t let him inside. “He showed me the pool and the garage, his cars, but didn’t let me in,” Slayton said. He was never invited to the private island, but he once brought it up in conversation with Epstein, who responded that he “didn’t invite many people out there.” When Slayton proposed he and his wife come out to the island sometime, Epstein responded, “No, no wives.”
“Jeffrey was a giant comedy fan, huge, all he talked to me about was comedy,” Slayton said. “He was like a little kid talking about it….He loved guys with an edge. He loved Lewis Black, Sam Kinison, Bill Hicks—he liked guys with an edge.”
Epstein’s fondness for edginess went well beyond comedy. Julie told me Epstein “liked anything controversial or politically incorrect. And anything to do with the brain….If it was something that no one else would say, something controversial, even about anything racial or whatever, he was happy to say it.” She described him as “edgy” and “un-PC.”
Julie said a friend of hers dumped Epstein for “being racist,” after a racist remark by him sparked an argument between the two. When a model in their social circle began to do nonprofit work in Africa, Epstein and several of his “intellectual” friends told her—as she phrased it— that “Africa is a waste, there’s nothing that you can do that’s ever going to help—it’s a waste of money.”
In his conversations with Slayton, Epstein was cagy, stopping short of offering his own opinion on things like #MeToo. “He didn’t really get into any of his own opinions. He just asked a lot of questions. He asked the kinds of questions that a young comic would ask in comedy class.”
Was he funny?
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 26 guests