July 4, 1976 — Somewhere off the coast of justice, smoldering ashtray still warm — They say there’s no Epstein client list.

They also say Trump barely knew him.

They said the cameras failed, the guards nodded off, the servers crashed, and the black book was just a phone directory for billionaires with poor memory and perfect immunity.

Now they say we should forget the whole thing.

That’s funny—because nobody forgot about Kenny.

Let’s say Kenny wasn’t a joke.
Let’s say Kenny was a real kid.
Let’s say Kenny got on the wrong jet.
Let’s say Kenny trusted the wrong handshake, the wrong dollar, the wrong smile.

And Kenny didn’t make it back.

There may not be a “client list,” but there’s no shortage of evidence:

  • Flight logs.
  • A black book.
  • Redacted testimony.
  • A trail of young women, broken NDAs, and country club denials.
  • One teen girl, recruited while handing out towels at Mar-a-Lago.

Trump knew Epstein. Knew him like coke knows a mirror.

But the lie isn’t just in the names. It’s in the system.

The lie is that power can’t be touched. That wealth can’t be tried. That children are currency, and accountability is for the poor.

They didn’t kill Epstein to protect him.
They killed him to protect everyone else.

So no—maybe Epstein didn’t kill Kenny.
Maybe it was the lawyers, the donors, the executives, the senators, the princes, and the billionaires who can’t remember the names of the girls they ruined.

Maybe it was America, still high from Reagan’s ghost, watching the Fourth of July fireworks while the ashtray still smokes.

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