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holdings in New Mexico. He began a Xanadu-like refurbishment of his Caribbean Island. He befriended Bill Clinton in his new after-office life—and that would prove to be quite the fatal pairing. The post-Monica Clinton, now having pardoned the on-the-lam financier Marc Rich—at this point, before his own rehabilitation, Clinton really is the world’s ultimate sleaze ball—was suddenly being ferried around in the jet of... who exactly? The New York Post was the first to take formal media note of the Clinton-Epstein connection, hinting at a sex and money bromance. “I suppose travel with Clinton changed the arc of my life,” Epstein tells me. “There were, I knew, lots of obvious reasons not to do it, but having the ability to spend 100 hours with a former president just doesn’t happen to many people.” I met Epstein around this time, on the flight out to TED. (Epstein had become an active backer of advanced scientific research and a fixture at the conference.) A small group assembled at the private plane terminal at JFK, most of us unfamiliar with our benefactor, and as we headed in the direction of the discreet private plans we were gently pointed to our ride: Epstein’s 727. It was like something out of a men’s magazine fantasy of the luxe life. The quiet of the plane, engineered into acoustic perfection, seemed spooky. Epstein was accompanied by three young women who were witty, poised, helpful, as well as powerfully alluring. And Epstein, tanned, relaxed, with a wide open HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_022916