Скачать или смотреть Quantum Psychology | Howard Lutnick's Guide to Controlling the Narrative

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Jeffrey Epstein’s story has been framed, from the beginning, as one of sex, surveillance, and kompromat. According to the prevailing narrative, Epstein gathered leverage by secretly recording the powerful in compromising situations. That story is lurid, memorable, and easy to tell. But it may also function as a double feint: a public myth that conceals the real mechanism of his power.

The true prize in Epstein’s world was not gossip but money. For years he was renowned for his ability to move funds across borders, park assets offshore, and service clients who preferred discretion. Yet very little is known about the mechanics of that system. How did one man, without a major bank behind him, shift such sums with impunity? The answer may resemble an ancient model rather than a modern one.

In the thirteenth century, the Knights Templar created the first pan-European transfer network. Pilgrims deposited money at one commandery and received a coded note they could redeem elsewhere. In practice, the Templars were not hauling gold across borders; they were balancing accounts across their widespread holdings. What looked like movement was in fact pre-placement. They had already distributed the capital. They were simply reconciling ledgers.

A billionaire financier could do the same today. By maintaining layers of accounts, shell companies, and custodial arrangements in multiple jurisdictions, he does not “move” money so much as offset it. The legal and banking structures are already in place. The trick is to match credits and debits discreetly. No planes full of cash are necessary.

From this perspective, the “blackmail tapes” narrative is not merely sensational but useful. It keeps the public focused on a domain where there will be no receipts. It also ensures that any later revelations—about bank wires, trusts, or shell accounts—seem prosaic by comparison. Being remembered as a predator is catastrophic for one man’s reputation, but it is far less threatening to a system than exposing a clandestine financial network that may implicate banks, sovereign funds, and politically connected billionaires.

This logic also clarifies Howard Lutnick’s recent remarks. As Epstein’s former neighbor and now a cabinet secretary, Lutnick publicly recounted a single visit to Epstein’s house, complete with “massage room” and a boast about “the right kind of massage.” He called Epstein “the greatest blackmailer ever” and spoke of hidden cameras. In doing so, he positioned himself as close enough to know but morally clean—while reinforcing the familiar myth of espionage and sexual leverage.

The high-probability danger for anyone in Epstein’s orbit is not the discovery of a hidden tape but the emergence of a financial record: a transfer, a loan, an offshore structure. Those documents are concrete and dated. They cannot be massaged as easily as rumor. By priming the public to expect scandalous video, the absence of such video can serve as exculpation, and the presence of financial traces can be dismissed as “just business.”

Seen in this light, the “greatest blackmailer ever” narrative functions less as revelation than as misdirection. It channels scrutiny toward the improbable and away from the likely. It also provides a ready-made explanation for any trace data—“he spied on everyone”—while distracting from the hard reality of cross-border finance. This is the double feint: a scandal that hides a system, a myth of surveillance that obscures a network of money.