Imagine, if you will, a former U.S. President—orange of hue, slippery of truth—waddling back onto the stage of public opinion not with grace, not with remorse, but with the uncooked swagger of a man who believes facts are just party guests you can disinvite later. Now picture that same man casually acknowledging that yes, one of the most high-profile sex trafficking victims in modern history, Virginia Giuffre, was recruited by Jeffrey Epstein from his own Mar-a-Lago resort.
What does one even say in response to that?
Apparently, if you’re Donald J. Trump, you say it like you’re revealing a fun trivia fact about the help. “Did you know the girl Epstein trafficked was picked up at my place? Small world!”
Let’s take a slow, disgusted stroll through this carnival of denial, shall we?
Mar-a-Lago: Now with 30% More Grooming Potential!
In any other timeline, “Mar-a-Lago” would be the punchline to a joke about white wine spritzers and collapsing democracies. But in this one, it’s the backdrop for the origin story of a child sex trafficking ring. Not that Trump seems concerned. No, he appears more interested in brushing past it like it’s a Yelp complaint about valet service.
Virginia Giuffre’s family—who, unlike the former president, have functioning moral compasses and the ability to string together empathy without cue cards—responded with something between horror and whiplash. They were shocked, confused, and incensed that the man once entrusted with national secrets is casually name-dropping his connection to a criminal sex ring like it’s a networking success story.
They also had a singular, clear message: Don’t you dare pardon Ghislaine Maxwell.
Which brings us to Trump’s favorite pastime: public flirtation with moral depravity.
Ghislaine Maxwell: Just a Gal Who Loves a Good Sentencing
Let’s be clear: Ghislaine Maxwell is not the misunderstood villain in a telenovela. She was convicted of sex trafficking minors. Children. Real human girls, not conspiratorial holograms or “very fine people.” Her trial peeled back the silk curtain of elite depravity to reveal a sweaty, humid, very real horror show.
And yet, Trump, the man who once said he “wished her well” with the kind of wink you usually save for co-defendants, has never quite distanced himself from the radioactive heat of that scandal. No firm denouncements. No accountability. Just the occasional verbal shrug and some suspiciously friendly rhetoric, as though Ghislaine simply missed her HOA dues.
Pardoning her? He hasn’t said he will.
But he hasn’t said he won’t.
Which, in Trump-speak, is basically foreplay.
“I Barely Knew Him,” the Sequel to “We Took the Same Jet Thirteen Times”
Let’s not forget, Trump’s relationship with Jeffrey Epstein was a buffet of contradictions. Public photos. Friendly quotes. Shared party guests. Proximity. But when Epstein was finally arrested, Trump pulled the usual Houdini routine.
“I had a falling out with him.”
“We weren’t close.”
“I kicked him out.”
“We shared a cheesecake at Nobu once, and that’s it.”
And now, in a bold new twist for the already saturated genre of Trumpian revisionist history, he’s essentially reminding us that Epstein plucked one of his victims straight from his beach club, and yet… somehow, he’s the innocent bystander.
Sir. You are not the innocent bystander.
You were the host.
You were the casting agent, the set, and the lighting guy.
Let’s Talk About the Word “Recruited”
There’s a special cruelty in Trump’s phrasing. He didn’t say “Epstein abused girls he found at Mar-a-Lago.” He didn’t say “I’m horrified to learn someone was preyed on while working at my resort.” No. He said “recruited,” like it was a temp agency for trauma.
It’s the same detached language used by people who want to sound informed without sounding accountable.
Words like “recruited” soften the horror.
They imply intention. Opportunity. Consent.
They bleach a crime until it reads like a résumé bullet.
But let’s not pretend. This wasn’t a recruitment. It was a kidnapping done in broad daylight with business cards and hush money.
Final Thought:
This entire spectacle is not just galling—it’s instructive. It shows us exactly how predators survive in plain sight. They shake hands with billionaires. They network through country clubs. They pass victims off like party favors and call it “recruitment.”
And years later, they’re still invited back on stage—still given microphones, platforms, the benefit of the doubt.
We should not be shocked that Trump said the quiet part out loud. We should be furious that after everything we know, after Epstein’s suicide, after Maxwell’s conviction, the man who welcomed them both into his club is still playing the Aw shucks card on national television.
Virginia Giuffre survived.
Others didn’t.
And the only people who should be recruiting anything now are law enforcement officials—issuing subpoenas, not soundbites.