Epstein Exchanged Emails With Former Lawyer For Barack Obama
Pedophile Jeffrey Epstein cut ties with Bill Clinton because he thought the former president was a liar, according to new emails his estate turned over to Congress on Wednesday.
The emails, obtained by the House Oversight Committee, also reveal that Kathryn Ruemmler — former White House counsel to Barack Obama — maintained a remarkably cozy relationship with Epstein. The two exchanged friendly messages and regularly chatted politics in the run-up to the 2016 election, underscoring just how deep Epstein’s connections ran inside Democratic power circles, the New York Post reported.
In a Jan. 23, 2016, email, Epstein wrote that he broke off contact with Clinton after “he swore, with whole-hearted conviction to me that he had done something, he had forgotten that he also swore the exact opposite to me only weeks before.”
“Who knows what they’re talking about,” a Clinton spokesperson replied in a statement. “What we do know and have always said is that President Clinton knew nothing about Epstein’s heinous crimes and hadn’t spoken to him in twenty years. Now here it is in black and white.”
“I will just say I told you so. Not to sound overly dramatic, but he is very close to being a psychopath,” Ruemmler had said earlier in the exchange of the mysterious individual. “[H]e has no conscience. It’s scary.”
“He obviously said something to you yesterday that was disturbing, and you don’t want to tell me. Just tell me — I can take it. I promise,” added Ruemmler of the person, who at one time was listed in January 2019 as a backup executor to Epstein’s estate, according to The Wall Street Journal.
who was once listed as a backup executor to Epstein’s estate in January 2019, the Wall Street Journal reported.
But it remains unclear how long the rift lasted, as Clinton appears in other emails within the more than 20,000 pages of documents released Wednesday by the House Oversight Committee.
“Let’s do a men of the world conference,” theoretical physicist Lawrence Krauss said in an April 5, 2018, email to Epstein, sending a proposed invite list that included Clinton, actor Kevin Spacey, former Sen. Al Franken (D-Minn.) and director Woody Allen.
Ruemmler met Epstein while working as a partner at Latham & Watkins. She is now the chief legal officer and general counsel at Goldman Sachs. A spokesperson for the firm said her interactions with Epstein were limited to business.
“They shared a common client that originated as an Epstein referral,” the spokesperson said, referring to her time at Latham & Watkins.
Clinton and Epstein’s ties date back to at least the early 1990s, when Epstein donated to Bill Clinton’s presidential campaign. He later contributed $20,000 to Hillary Clinton’s 1999 Senate campaign. White House visitor logs show Epstein visited the White House more than a dozen times during Clinton’s presidency.
After Clinton left office, the two remained in contact. Epstein continued donating to the Clinton Foundation, and flight records show Clinton took more than two dozen trips on Epstein’s private plane, often referred to as the “Lolita Express.”
Epstein was known to travel with young women on his jet while maintaining relationships with a number of prominent public figures.
The former president was photographed receiving a shoulder massage from Chauntae Davies, a 22-year-old massage therapist, during a refueling stop on a 2002 humanitarian trip to Africa aboard the “Lolita Express.”
Clinton also visited Epstein’s New York apartment, though a spokesperson said he never traveled to Epstein’s private island, Little St. James. Notably, Epstein kept a painting in his Upper East Side residence depicting Clinton in a blue dress — a reference to the garment central to the former president’s scandal involving Monica Lewinsky.
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.” But the next mo
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.”
But the next morning in the emergency room, the doctor studied my X-ray and immediately called 911—because what he saw… exposed a horrifying truth.
Part One: “It’s Just a Joke”
On my birthday, the room smelled like sugar and candles and cheap champagne. A pink cake sat in the center of the table, my name written across it in looping frosting. Everyone was laughing. Phones were out. Someone shouted for me to make a wish.
My sister stood closest to me.
She grinned, eyes bright with something that wasn’t kindness. Before I could even lean forward, her hands slammed the cake straight into my face.
The impact was harder than anyone expected.
I felt myself stumble backward, my heel catching on the rug. There was a sharp crack as my head hit the edge of the table, then the floor. For a split second, the room spun in white and pink. I tasted sugar—and then iron.
Blood mixed with frosting, dripping down my chin.
People screamed, then laughed nervously.
“Oh my God,” someone said, still chuckling. “It’s just a joke!”
My sister laughed the loudest. “Relax! You’re so dramatic.”
I tried to sit up. Pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision blurred, and the ceiling swayed like it was floating. Someone wiped my face with a napkin, smearing blood across my cheek.
“You’re fine,” my mother said quickly. “Don’t ruin the mood.”
I remember thinking how strange it was that my ears were ringing louder than the music.
I remember the taste of frosting as I swallowed blood.
I remember waking up hours later in my bed, alone, my head throbbing, my phone full of messages telling me not to be “too sensitive.”
By morning, I couldn’t lift my arm.
Part Two: The X-Ray That Changed Everything
The emergency room smelled like disinfectant and sleepless nights. The doctor asked how it happened. I hesitated, then said quietly, “I fell.”
He nodded, unconvinced, and ordered X-rays “just to be safe.”
I lay on the cold table staring at the ceiling, replaying the laughter over and over in my head. It’s just a joke. That sentence hurt almost as much as my skull.
When the doctor returned, he wasn’t smiling.
He stared at the image on the screen for a long time. Too long.
Then he left the room without a word.
Minutes later, he came back—with a nurse, a security officer, and his phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I need emergency services. Immediately.”
My heart started pounding. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He turned to me, his voice careful. “This isn’t a simple fall.”
He pointed to the X-ray. Even I could see it—fine fractures branching like cracks in glass, not just in my skull, but along my collarbone and ribs. Old fractures. Healed wrong. Layered.
“These injuries happened at different times,” he said gently. “Some weeks apart. Some months.”
I stared at the screen, my mouth dry.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “This pattern isn’t accidental. And the impact that brought you in today could have killed you.”
The word killed echoed in my ears.
“Who did this to you?” he asked softly.
I thought of my sister’s grin. My parents’ laughter. All the times I’d been shoved, tripped, “joked” into walls. All the times I’d been told I was clumsy. Sensitive. Overreacting.
My hands began to shake.
“I think…” My voice broke. “I think it was never a joke.”
Part Three: When Laughter Turns Into Sirens
The police arrived quietly. Calmly. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen something like me.
They didn’t accuse. They asked questions.
Who was there last night?
Who pushed you?
How often do you get hurt?
For the first time, I didn’t minimize. I didn’t protect anyone. I told the truth.
By evening, my phone was exploding.
My mother crying.
My father furious.
My sister screaming that I had “ruined everything.”
“You’re exaggerating!” she yelled over voicemail. “It was cake! Everyone saw it!”
Everyone had seen it.
That was the horrifying truth.
Everyone had seen it—and laughed.
The investigation didn’t take long. Videos surfaced. Old medical records were reviewed. Witnesses contradicted themselves. Patterns became impossible to ignore.
What started as a “birthday prank” became an assault case.
What they called humor was documented as violence.
I was moved to a different room that night, monitored closely, safe for the first time in years. As I lay there, ice wrapped around my head, I realized something terrifying and freeing all at once:
If that cake hadn’t been smashed into my face…
If I hadn’t fallen just right…
The truth might have stayed buried forever.
Sometimes it takes breaking something visible to expose what’s been shattered for years.
