{"id":10626,"date":"2026-08-09T22:07:35","date_gmt":"2026-08-10T05:07:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.newsmolo.com\/EDC\/2019\/?p=10626"},"modified":"2026-08-09T22:07:35","modified_gmt":"2026-08-10T05:07:35","slug":"did-i-work-for-jeffrey-epstein","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.newsmolo.com\/EDC\/2019\/2026\/08\/09\/did-i-work-for-jeffrey-epstein\/","title":{"rendered":"Did I Work for Jeffrey Epstein?"},"content":{"rendered":"

A True Story in Narrative Form By Robin P.<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n

Work in Progress \u2014 Second Edit<\/em><\/p>\n

\n

Warning: Adult Content and disturbing subject matter.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

With Jeffrey Epstein dead in federal custody following his 2019 death, and Ghislaine Maxwell subsequently convicted for her role in the sexual abuse and trafficking of minors, I began asking myself a question that still bothers me:<\/p>\n

Did I unknowingly work for Jeffrey Epstein?<\/strong><\/p>\n

I don’t know the answer.<\/p>\n

What I do know is what happened to me, what I saw, what I was told, and what I discovered years later. Somewhere along the way, those pieces began forming a picture I never expected to see.<\/p>\n

This story begins in Placerville, California, in the late 1970s.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

The Christmas Present<\/h2>\n

Christmas 1978.<\/p>\n

I was 12-years-old when I found a present beneath our Christmas tree from the family maid!<\/p>\n

I mentioned it to my mother.<\/p>\n

She smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cPut it down,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

When Christmas morning arrived, everyone gathered around the tree. Presents were opened one after another. At some point, my mother pointed toward the package from the maid.<\/p>\n

\u201cOpen that one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Everyone except me seemed to know what was inside.<\/p>\n

I began tearing away the wrapping paper.<\/p>\n

It was a magazine.<\/p>\n

Then I recognized it.<\/p>\n

“Sex to Sexty.”<\/strong><\/p>\n

I froze.<\/p>\n

I didn’t want to open it any farther.<\/p>\n

Then the room erupted in laughter.<\/p>\n

My mother finally explained what had happened.<\/p>\n

The maid had found the magazine hidden underneath my mattress while changing my sheets. She had asked my mother what she should do with it.<\/p>\n

My mother, apparently seeing an opportunity for some Christmas humor, told her to wrap it and give it to me.<\/p>\n

I was 12. I was too young to buy something like that, and I honestly had no idea where it had come from. Nobody ever claimed ownership.<\/p>\n

I was the youngest kid in the family.<\/p>\n

I had been set up.<\/p>\n

And the entire family had been waiting for Christmas morning to watch the joke unfold.<\/p>\n

At the time, it was simply an embarrassing family story.<\/p>\n

Years later, I would look back on it differently\u2014not because of the magazine itself, but because pornography and the strange world surrounding it would eventually become an unexpected thread running through my life.<\/p>\n

I had no idea where that thread would lead.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

Eighteen<\/h2>\n

When I turned 18, my mother asked me a question that completely confused me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you moving?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not moving.\u201d<\/p>\n

She explained.<\/p>\n

I was now a man.<\/p>\n

It was time for me to leave home.<\/p>\n

After 28 years of raising children, she was ready for a child-free house. She had already made arrangements for me to move in with my oldest brother, Scott, in San Jose.<\/p>\n

Scott lived in Willow Glen and was a journeyman union contractor.<\/p>\n

I arrived with an unusual collection of experience for someone my age.<\/p>\n

My mother was a retailer and manufacturer of high-end ready-to-wear clothing for dogs. I had spent years around her business and had learned retail marketing, manufacturing and sales simply by being at her side.<\/p>\n

I had also taught myself computer programming when I was 17.<\/p>\n

The computer was a Radio Shack TRS-80.<\/p>\n

Back then, that felt like the future.<\/p>\n

My education, however, had taken an unexpected detour.<\/p>\n

I was spending time in Placerville Juvenile Hall because I had stolen an IBM Selectric typewriter from my high school.<\/p>\n

Two months in juvenile hall.<\/p>\n

Permanent expulsion from the school district.<\/p>\n

No high school diploma.<\/p>\n

That was my formal education.<\/p>\n

Everything that followed, I largely taught myself.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

Construction<\/h2>\n

Scott and I started a construction company.<\/p>\n

We were subcontractors, and our work eventually included an IBM assembly facility in Morgan Hill and custom homes in Blackhawk Estates in Livermore.<\/p>\n

Some of those homes were remarkable.<\/p>\n

They were being built for people working in the emerging computer industry, and the technology being installed in the houses was ahead of its time.<\/p>\n

Telephone wiring to most rooms.<\/p>\n

Catagory 5 Computer wiring.<\/p>\n

What we would now recognize as extensive networking infrastructure.<\/p>\n

And then there were the wall jacks.<\/p>\n

Everywhere.<\/p>\n

Bathrooms included.<\/p>\n

At the same time, Scott operated something called a BBS\u2014a Bulletin Board System.<\/p>\n

This was before the modern Internet.<\/p>\n

Users connected to computers over telephone lines.<\/p>\n

Scott’s BBS also contained adult material. I knew about it, but pornography wasn’t my interest. I was busy running the business.<\/p>\n

Our construction company was successful.<\/p>\n

We also developed a business strategy that gave us an advantage during union disputes. We established separate entrances for union and nonunion workers, allowing nonunion crews to continue entering a jobsite when union workers were striking.\u00a0 It was called a “Dual Gate” worksite.<\/p>\n

It was an aggressive business practice.<\/p>\n

And it worked.<\/p>\n

But success in construction came with another side.<\/p>\n

One I didn’t like.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

The Envelope<\/h2>\n

The construction industry in the Bay Area was rife with corruption.<\/p>\n

I learned quickly that getting a building inspector to sign off on completed work could become a serious problem if the inspector didn’t show up on time\u2014or decided to become extraordinarily particular about minor details.<\/p>\n

Delays could cost thousands of dollars a day.<\/p>\n

On some of our larger projects, the potential cost approached $10,000 for every day a schedule slipped.<\/p>\n

I learned what everyone around me seemed to already understand.<\/p>\n

Sometimes you took the inspector to lunch.<\/p>\n

Sometimes the lunch came with an envelope.<\/p>\n

Cash.<\/p>\n

I remember carrying the inspection sign-off card to a bar, handing over the envelope, and watching the inspector remove the card, sign and date it, return the card to me and keep the envelope.<\/p>\n

We did good work.<\/p>\n

That was the rationalization.<\/p>\n

The envelope was supposedly about timeliness, not the quality of the work.<\/p>\n

At the time, I accepted it as part of the business.<\/p>\n

Then a large sports facility roof collapsed in a state north of us.<\/p>\n

The workmanship had apparently been approved by inspectors.<\/p>\n

That changed something inside me.<\/p>\n

I had seen enough.<\/p>\n

I was tired of the construction business.<\/p>\n

And I was especially tired of my brother.<\/p>\n

Scott was aggressive, domineering and, in my view, a bully.<\/p>\n

I loaded my truck.<\/p>\n

I left San Jose.<\/p>\n

And I drove to a college parking lot in Pomona.<\/p>\n

I enrolled in school.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

The Internet<\/h2>\n

Scott’s business eventually moved increasingly toward computers and away from traditional construction.<\/p>\n

Then he called me.<\/p>\n

He wanted help launching a website on something new called the Internet<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

At the time, the concept was revolutionary.<\/p>\n

The old computer bulletin boards had connected people directly over telephone lines. Now a much larger network was emerging.<\/p>\n

We saw an opportunity.<\/p>\n

Our idea was to build an online network for architects, engineers and contractors\u2014the AEC industry.<\/p>\n

Architects.<\/p>\n

Engineers.<\/p>\n

Contractors.<\/p>\n

We were early.<\/p>\n

Scott handled the computer communications side.<\/p>\n

I handled business management and sales.<\/p>\n

We sold access to people already using computers in the construction industry and then sold advertising to companies supplying those industries.<\/p>\n

Among the companies we pursued were major manufacturers such as GMC and Craftsman.<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, I became a national sales manager for a manufacturing company and eventually moved deeper into online retail.<\/p>\n

I knew sales.<\/p>\n

I understood manufacturing.<\/p>\n

I understood business.<\/p>\n

But I was not a sophisticated computer programmer.<\/p>\n

I needed programmers.<\/p>\n

And that was where things became complicated.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

The Programmers<\/h2>\n

Through Scott’s BBS operation, he had developed relationships with people who were interested in computers\u2014and in the adult material distributed through the system.<\/p>\n

Some of these people were extraordinarily talented programmers.<\/p>\n

They were operating at a technical level far beyond my own.<\/p>\n

They helped install and maintain servers I used for e-commerce.<\/p>\n

At one point, one of them asked me to keep a particular server operating even though the hosting company wanted me to upgrade it.<\/p>\n

They maintained it for me.<\/p>\n

They charged me nothing.<\/p>\n

At the time, I regarded that as a favor.<\/p>\n

Looking back, I see something else.<\/p>\n

A red flag.<\/p>\n

I simply didn’t recognize it then.<\/p>\n

I knew enough programming to read my server traffic logs.<\/p>\n

And the traffic didn’t make sense.<\/p>\n

The amount of traffic coming through some of my dedicated servers was far greater than my legitimate e-commerce activity could explain.<\/p>\n

Then an exploit exposed shared-server passwords because of a configuration problem at the hosting company.<\/p>\n

Another exploited program had been installed for my e-commerce operation.<\/p>\n

I shut the server down.<\/p>\n

The programmers gave me a bad feeling.<\/p>\n

I didn’t trust them.<\/p>\n

Their technical abilities were so far beyond mine that I couldn’t effectively police what was happening on equipment I was paying for.<\/p>\n

I still didn’t know what was generating all that traffic.<\/p>\n

I only knew that something was wrong.<\/p>\n

And I walked away.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

Livermore<\/h2>\n

Years passed.<\/p>\n

Scott increasingly moved into computer consulting and development.<\/p>\n

Then came another Christmas.<\/p>\n

My mother was going to visit Scott and exchange gifts. She invited my wife and me to come along.<\/p>\n

Scott had moved to Livermore.<\/p>\n

I knew the area.<\/p>\n

Livermore was home to Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory and Sandia-related research facilities.<\/p>\n

I have always been fascinated by high-energy physics and theoretical astrophysics. The science happening in that region fascinated me.<\/p>\n

Scott, however, had something else on his mind.<\/p>\n

As soon as I arrived, he wanted to show me his new warehouse.<\/p>\n

It was only a short drive from his house.<\/p>\n

On the way, he told me the warehouse was located near what he described as an Internet \u201cbackbone.\u201d<\/p>\n

When we arrived, we pulled into a row of metal warehouse buildings.<\/p>\n

Scott jumped out.<\/p>\n

He walked inside.<\/p>\n

Then he pointed at the concrete floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight here,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

He told me he was going to drill down and access the Internet through what he described as a trunk line.<\/p>\n

Then he made an even more extraordinary claim.<\/p>\n

He said he was going to use the connection to access computers at the laboratory.<\/p>\n

He told me the government facility had enormous storage capacity and extremely fast connections.<\/p>\n

I remember listening to him and thinking:<\/p>\n

This is insane.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I tried not to be rude.<\/p>\n

It was Christmas.<\/p>\n

But he was describing what sounded to me like a plan to penetrate a secure government research network.<\/p>\n

He also claimed he had insiders helping him.<\/p>\n

I knew enough about computers to understand that this wasn’t something I wanted to be involved with.<\/p>\n

I dismissed the entire conversation as nonsense.<\/p>\n

After a few hours, my wife and I left.<\/p>\n

On the way home, I told her what Scott had said.<\/p>\n

I put it out of my mind.<\/p>\n

Or at least I tried.<\/p>\n

Later, Scott asked me to help his son come up with descriptive names for a collection of adult photographs.<\/p>\n

I found an excuse to leave.<\/p>\n

The contrast between the two conversations bothered me.<\/p>\n

But I didn’t know what to make of it.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

The Business<\/h2>\n

Several years later, my mother asked me to help Scott with another business.<\/p>\n

This one involved a database-driven network for high-level construction industries.<\/p>\n

Large aggregate companies.<\/p>\n

Heavy equipment.<\/p>\n

GPS-positioned machinery.<\/p>\n

The kind of business where my marketing background made sense.<\/p>\n

The work was easy for me, and it gave me the opportunity to attend CONEXPO-CON\/AGG in Las Vegas as a sales director.<\/p>\n

I could work remotely from Lake Arrowhead.<\/p>\n

The money was good.<\/p>\n

Scott handled the Internet side.<\/p>\n

Another man handled accounting and financing.<\/p>\n

His name was F. Hornblower.<\/p>\n

At first, the name simply struck me as unusual.<\/p>\n

The world is full of unusual names.<\/p>\n

Then the checks started arriving late.<\/p>\n

Once, one of my payments bounced.<\/p>\n

I called about it.<\/p>\n

I was told that the financial operation routinely disputed payments because some percentage of recipients never noticed or pursued the reversals.<\/p>\n

The explanation was that the company kept the money from those who didn’t challenge the transactions.<\/p>\n

I was told my payment had been disputed accidentally because I was new.<\/p>\n

I eventually received the money.<\/p>\n

I was also told the financier was extremely wealthy and lived on a private island somewhere in the Caribbean.<\/p>\n

Again, I accepted the explanation.<\/p>\n

The money was good.<\/p>\n

The work was minimal.<\/p>\n

Then things changed.<\/p>\n

Scott told me lawyers had taken control of the business and moved it to Canada.<\/p>\n

Soon afterward, I learned that Scott had moved again.<\/p>\n

This time to Georgia.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

The Island<\/h2>\n

The story about the financier’s island bothered me.<\/p>\n

But not enough.<\/p>\n

Not yet.<\/p>\n

At the time, I had no reason to connect the financier with anyone famous.<\/p>\n

No name jumped out at me.<\/p>\n

No alarm went off.<\/p>\n

It was simply another strange detail in a series of strange details surrounding my brother’s businesses.<\/p>\n

Then the business disappeared.<\/p>\n

Or, more accurately, it changed hands.<\/p>\n

I was told the lawyers had taken it over.<\/p>\n

Years later, I would learn the name of a major Internet pornography company operating in Canada.<\/p>\n

Pornhub.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I cannot independently establish from my personal knowledge that the business I worked for became Pornhub.<\/p>\n

That is part of the mystery.<\/p>\n

It is one of the connections I eventually began trying to understand.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

Littleton<\/h2>\n

After September 11, 2001, I became increasingly withdrawn.<\/p>\n

The world had changed.<\/p>\n

I had also heard about the Columbine High School massacre in Colorado, but I didn’t know exactly where Columbine was in relation to Scott’s home in Littleton.<\/p>\n

Then my sister Ann called.<\/p>\n

She told me things were bad.<\/p>\n

She wanted me to contact Scott.<\/p>\n

I didn’t particularly like my brother.<\/p>\n

But I loved my nieces and nephews.<\/p>\n

I called the number Ann had given me.<\/p>\n

One of my nephews answered.<\/p>\n

He was the same nephew who, years earlier in Livermore, had been helping with descriptive names for pornographic images.<\/p>\n

We talked.<\/p>\n

At some point, I asked him about Columbine.<\/p>\n

He told me it was in the next school district from Littleton.<\/p>\n

Then he said something that stopped me cold.<\/p>\n

He said the black trench coats worn by the killers were \u201ckind of cool.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was stunned.<\/p>\n

I couldn’t reach Scott.<\/p>\n

I called Ann.<\/p>\n

We agreed that something had to change.<\/p>\n

She offered to give Scott a place to stay in Placerville if I could get him there.<\/p>\n

So I rented a large U-Haul.<\/p>\n

I drove to Littleton.<\/p>\n

When I arrived, Scott hadn’t even started packing.<\/p>\n

Eventually, I got him out.<\/p>\n

We loaded the truck and headed back to California.<\/p>\n

When we arrived in Placerville, I tried to contact Ann.<\/p>\n

No answer.<\/p>\n

She had gone to Scotland.<\/p>\n

The house I had available was between renters.<\/p>\n

So I let Scott and his children stay there temporarily.<\/p>\n

Temporary became years.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

The Aphrodisiac<\/h2>\n

Scott had no job.<\/p>\n

But he had a business plan.<\/p>\n

He had a product.<\/p>\n

He had an online sales channel.<\/p>\n

I asked what he intended to sell.<\/p>\n

\u201cA female aphrodisiac,\u201d he told me.<\/p>\n

I asked how it worked.<\/p>\n

His answer disturbed me.<\/p>\n

He said it didn’t really matter whether it worked.<\/p>\n

He could sell it.<\/p>\n

My first instinct was to put him out.<\/p>\n

But there were children involved.<\/p>\n

Three nephews and two nieces.<\/p>\n

They ranged in age from 17 down to 7.<\/p>\n

I couldn’t simply turn my back on them.<\/p>\n

The Chinese-made product turned out to be difficult or impossible to import, and that business failed.<\/p>\n

Then Scott returned to pornography.<\/p>\n

This time, he was operating from my rental property in Placerville.<\/p>\n

And eventually, something happened that changed how I viewed everything that had come before.<\/p>\n

I learned that the story Scott had told me years earlier about penetrating the computers associated with the Livermore-area laboratory was not simply a drunken fantasy or one of his outrageous stories.<\/p>\n

According to what I later learned, an intrusion had occurred, and Scott was allegedly involved.<\/p>\n

I also recognized the name of one of the programmers who had worked on my servers.<\/p>\n

The same name appeared in connection with another individual reportedly involved in computer crimes and child-pornography offenses.<\/p>\n

I cannot prove that the two were the same person.<\/p>\n

But I recognized the name.<\/p>\n

And suddenly the old memories came rushing back.<\/p>\n

The strange programmers.<\/p>\n

The unexplained server traffic.<\/p>\n

The free server maintenance.<\/p>\n

The adult-content network.<\/p>\n

The alleged government computer intrusion.<\/p>\n

The mysterious business.<\/p>\n

The lawyers.<\/p>\n

Canada.<\/p>\n

The financier on an island.<\/p>\n

The pornography operation.<\/p>\n

The pieces were no longer isolated incidents in my mind.<\/p>\n

They seemed connected.<\/p>\n

But a suspicion is not proof.<\/p>\n

That distinction matters.<\/p>\n

\n
\n<\/div>\n

The Breaking Point<\/h2>\n

By then, I had reached my limit.<\/p>\n

I forced Scott and his family out of my property.<\/p>\n

The confrontation became violent.<\/p>\n

One of his children, now older, was involved in an altercation that left me with a concussion.<\/p>\n

After that, the family fractured.<\/p>\n

I have had no meaningful communication with most of them for roughly a decade.<\/p>\n

For years, I tried not to think about any of it.<\/p>\n

Then the name Jeffrey Epstein<\/strong> became impossible to ignore.<\/p>\n

A wealthy financier.<\/p>\n

A private island.<\/p>\n

A network of powerful connections.<\/p>\n

Sexual exploitation of young women and girls.<\/p>\n

And suddenly I remembered the man I had been told about years earlier\u2014the financier who supposedly lived on a private island in the Caribbean.<\/p>\n

I remembered the strange business arrangements.<\/p>\n

The unexplained money.<\/p>\n

The mysterious accountant.<\/p>\n

The lawyers who supposedly moved the company to Canada.<\/p>\n

The people surrounding my brother.<\/p>\n

The programmers.<\/p>\n

The pornography.<\/p>\n

The servers.<\/p>\n

The connections I had dismissed because, taken individually, none of them seemed impossible.<\/p>\n

And I began asking myself the question that gives this story its title:<\/p>\n

Did I work for Jeffrey Epstein?<\/strong><\/p>\n

I don’t know.<\/p>\n

I have no document with Epstein’s signature on it.<\/p>\n

I never met Jeffrey Epstein.<\/p>\n

I never knowingly accepted money from Jeffrey Epstein.<\/p>\n

I never knowingly worked for Jeffrey Epstein.<\/p>\n

What I have are memories.<\/p>\n

Names.<\/p>\n

Businesses.<\/p>\n

Conversations.<\/p>\n

Technology.<\/p>\n

Unexplained circumstances.<\/p>\n

And a series of coincidences that, when viewed separately, might mean very little\u2014but when viewed together, have become impossible for me to completely dismiss.<\/p>\n

Perhaps there is an innocent explanation for every one of them.<\/p>\n

Perhaps there isn’t.<\/p>\n

That is the uncomfortable place where I find myself today.<\/p>\n

I am not claiming that my suspicions are established fact.<\/p>\n

I am telling you why I have them.<\/p>\n

For years, I thought the strangest things that happened in my life were unrelated events.<\/p>\n

Now I wonder whether I was standing inside a much larger story without knowing it.<\/p>\n

And if I was\u2014<\/p>\n

I was only a small piece of it.<\/p>\n

A salesman.<\/p>\n

A businessman.<\/p>\n

A brother.<\/p>\n

A man trying to make a living in the early days of the Internet.<\/p>\n

A man who saw things he didn’t understand and walked away from things that frightened him.<\/p>\n

The question remains.<\/p>\n

Did I work for Jeffrey Epstein without knowing it?<\/strong><\/p>\n

I still don’t know.<\/p>\n

But after everything I have seen, I can no longer pretend I never asked.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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