Me Too
The bastard Jeffrey Epstein is looking out the window while the plane is getting de-iced, murmuring quietly into his phone. I store my carry-on and get settled next to him, graciously accepting a glass of champagne from the flight attendant. I don't typically fly first class and I planned to take advantage of all the little perks. Getting my seat assigned next to one of the biggest pedophiles in the world was quite an unexpected perk. Our flight was only scheduled to be an hour, so I knew I had to work fast. Luckily the de-icing would buy me a few more minutes... He just needed to hang up his damn phone. I gather my thoughts while I sip and wait.
"Has anyone ever told you that you look like the actor Tim Williams?" I ask him immediately after he sets down his phone. He looks over at me warily, quickly sizing me up. I know what he sees and how inconsequential I must be to him. Plain looks, no makeup. My gray roots are showing and I've developed a sizable belly pouch courtesy of my four children. A woman close to 40 is simply not his type.
"But you're not," I say before he can answer. I smile conspiratorily. "I know exactly who you are. Actually, I know what you are. Too bad your private jet Lolita is in need of maintenance." I shake my head as if it's a real shame.
"Who the fuck are you?" his eyes narrow.
"Oh, just someone who knows all about you," and I wink. "I know about your disgusting island and the underage girls and the celebrities and politicians." He looks at me coldly and then calmly reaches up to push the flight attendant call button. I immediately recline my seat, wrap my sweater tightly and close my eyes. My head lolls to the side. I promptly push out a stream of drool onto my chin, my mouth agape. Bodily fluids do not scare mothers.
The attendant approaches and kindly asks how she can assist him. "This woman is harassing me and I'd like to change seats."
I'm assuming that she looks down at me as she diplomatically tells him that the flight is full and that changing seats is not possible. But she also sounds very skeptical of his claim. Good, I think. I wait a few minutes before waking up in case she is keeping an eye on me.
I raise my seat. "Unfortunately for you, I do not have narcolepsy," I sigh. He ignores me. I continue on. "Anyway, I know all about your underground network. I know the cover-ups, the lies, the presidents, the abuse, your evil bitch Ghislaine. I know -"
He cuts me off. "How do you know anything about me? You're the bitch." He's whispering but his face and demeanor are threatening. Maybe he thinks I'll pipe down a bit to match him if he's speaking softly.
"I'll leave my sources out of it. But I know more than you could imagine. And I will make sure it's all public." He looks at me blankly and I'm wondering if he believes me. So I decide to push further. I tell him some of the details I had heard from the courtroom. Sordid stuff like that sticks with you even when you'd rather forget. I tell him things that I shouldn't know, things that very few people could know in the present day. I tell him that I have the means to expose him. I tell him that I will expose him.
Unless, of course, he can help me with something small. It's no big deal, really. It will only take a minute of his time.
Can you imagine if someone who knew the future was telling you things about your life that you thought were private? Things they had no way of knowing. It would certainly be frightening. The bastard was shaken and confused. It crosses my mind that the monster sitting next to me is actually human, after all. Yet men like him are accustomed to being in control. He regards me with disdain while I play my part and smile.
For a split second, my conscience gives me pause. But then I think of his victims. I also think of my four daughters at home, ages 9, 11, 13 and 15, and how he wouldn't give a damn about them. And I know that I am doing the right thing. For us, at least...maybe not for him. I continue on, knowing that we only have a few minutes left before landing. He soon folds under my persistence. Time's up, Mr. Epstein.
"Fuck you," he practically spits as he exits the plane, elbowing me hard back into my seat. Stoic, I finally have nothing left to say to him. My job here is finished. My aching ribs are a small price to pay for what I've done.
As I leave the aircraft I reach into my pocket and feel the paper sandwiched between my fingers. I know that he won't have time to stop the check from being cashed and it won't even be a blip on his radar once the arrest is made in the next few minutes. Thanks to him, I am a quarter of a million dollars richer. Definitely not a bad day's work for a mom pushing forty.