Speaker 1: What's up everyone, and welcome to another episode of the
Epstein Chronicles. Have you noticed that the people who did
the dirtiest work in Epstein's operation somehow walked away clean,
Like cleaner than a whistle that's never been blown. I mean,
think about it. You've got Larry freakin Vesoski, the man
who choffered Epstein's circuses sin through the clouds for thirty
damn years, and he's out here living his best life,
flying high mowan is Epstein bought lawn in New Mexico,
probably sleeping like a baby, because apparently in America, if
you fly the plane, you're just doing your job. Yeah, okay, sure,
And if I drive the getaway car, I'm just helping
with the commute, right yo. It's wild man. If you
dig through those flight logs, the depositions, the testimonies, it's
like reading a script written by clowns for the end
of civilization. Larry's in there grinning, saying he's never saw
anything inappropriate. Sure, Champ, you just spent three decades flying
a billionaire pervert, a bunch of shady politicians, and the
whole last financial sector to a private island called Little
Saint James, But you didn't see squat. What did you do?
Keep your eyes closed from takeoff to landing. Now they'll
call him a pilot, but let's be honest. He wasn't
just flying planes. He's flying cover. He was the logistics
department for one of the darkest operations in modern history,
and he managed to pull it off with a straight face.
You almost have to admire that kind of nerve or stupidity,
maybe both. He's like the guy in every mob movie
who says, I just delivered the package's boss, I don't
know what's in him. The justice system looked at him,
the guy who literally piloted the entire trafficking network, and said,
you know what, he seems trustworthy. The man got Land
out of the deal. Land, you and me bust our
asses for a mortgage. This guy keeps quiet for thirty
years and gets a piece of Zoro ranch as a souvenir.
You might call that shit a bonus, but I'm calling
it a payoff with a sunset view. But sure, Larry
was just a pilot. Nothing to see here, folks move along.
And the craziest part, nobody even talks about him, not
the press, not the talking heads, not the FEDS. It's
like the guy turned into a ghost, made a plausible deniability. Meanwhile,
the survivors are still out here fighting for scraps of justice,
and Larry sipping coffee in peace, like he wasn't the
one fueling Epstein's flight planned to hell, And that might
be the absurdity of it all. The real joke. The
guys who made the monster possible are the ones who
got away clean. They built the runway, they fueled the jet,
they plotted the course, and somehow, when it all went down,
they managed to parachute out right before the crash. But
I guess that's the world for you. If you're rich enough,
powerful enough, or useful enough accountabilities just turbulence, you hold tight,
you wait it out, and you land safely while everyone
else burns. And Larry Vasoski, he's proof of it, proof
that if you keep your head down, smile for the
cameras and say I just flew the plane, the system
will attatch you on the back and call it professionalism. Meanwhile,
the rest of us are left watching the wreckage wondering
how the hell we ended up living in a country
where flying the plane for a predator gets you land,
but telling the truth gets you buried, So let's just
cut the crap right off the bat. Larry Vsaski's two
thousand and nine deposition was one of those you've got
to be kidding me moments. You could practically smell the
nervous sweat through the transcript. Here's a guy who spent decades,
decades flying Jeffrey Epstein around the world like his own
personal chauffeur in the sky, and suddenly he's got amnesia
about everything. The man could recall tell numbers, flight altitudes,
and weather patterns from ninety seven, but when it came
to under age girls, shady guess and word behavior, poof
total memory, white A pilots so blind in death you'd
think he was flying with a bag over his head.
From the second that the deposition started, it had the
rhythm of a high school kid lying to the principal
about a broken window. I just flew the plane. Yeah, okay, Larry,
you just flew the plane. You just happened to fly
the most notorious sex trafficker on Earth around the globe
to his private island, to his Paris apartment, to his
ranch in New Mexico. And you just flew the same way.
The bartender just pours the drinks when the mafia is
running money through the till. Spare me and let's talk
about this whole. I didn't see anything suspicious, routine. That's
the part that gets me. The man was on those
flights with Bill Clinton, Prince Andrew, Kevin Spacey, at who Barack,
the kind of guest list that would make the Vatican blush,
And somehow nothing looked off, nothing strange, just another day
in the friendly skies. Yeah, sure thing, Larry just a
normal seventeen year old massage therapist. Hopping on the jet
with billionaires. Happens every day in coach right. Then we
get to the part that really gives the game away,
the Zoro Ranch land deal. Epstein gave a Saski land
a Christmas bonus and even a car and land, like
a king tossing a plot of Earth to his favorite night.
You really think Epstein was handing out New Mexico real
estate because Larry, remember to refill the jet fuel. Please.
This was not a reward. It was hush money. It's
like giving your getaway driver a lake house and saying
thanks for not snitching, buddy. And the whole thing about
the promotion man day. If Rogers gets demoted because he
kept a logbook, come on, Rogers actually documented who flew
where and when Epstein finds out about that, and suddenly
Larry's the chief pilot. Rogers had receipts, Larry had silence.
One gets demoted, one gets rewarded. Real subtle. Jeff might
as well have handed him a pilot's cap with will
Laie for Land stitched on the front, reading that deposition.
You can tell Larry was walking a tightrope over a
pit of crocodile's. Every word he said, had that My
lawyer told me to say this flavor. I don't recall.
I wasn't aware. I never saw that. It's a legal
equivalent of covering your ears and humming loudly. He didn't
want to lie under oath, but he also didn't want
to tell the truth, so he found the sweet spot.
Say nothing, admit nothing, Pretend you're to stupid to notice
the circus going on ten feet behind you, and the
eye just flew the plane stick would almost be funny
if it wasn't so pathetic. Larry flew the Lolita Express
for thirty years. Thirty years and we're supposed to believe
He never once asked, hey, boss, why do we keep
flying all these random teenage girls around the world. Not Larry.
Larry's too focused on his instrument panel to notice the
fifteen year old British girl in the back talking about
modeling gigs. What a coincidence. He even claimed that he
never looked in the back of the plane. Yeah, sure
a thing. Private jets are in jumbo liners. You can
see straight from the cockpit to the champagne glasses. That's
like saying you worked in a strip club for twenty
years but never saw anyone dancing. What you do, keep
your eyes glued to the ultimeter and hum hymns to
yourself every time a young girl walked on board. Give
me a break. And those massages don't even get me started.
Epstein had massage tables on the planes in the houses
at the RAM. This six fuck would have tables in
the middle of the jungle if he could. The guy
who packed the luggage and stocked the plane didn't notice
a fulled out massage table or oil bottles clinking around.
Come on, man, even Stevie Wonder would have picked up
on that. What's wild is how close he was to
Epstein personally. This guy wasn't just a pilot. He was
part of the furniture. He flew Epstein's family, his friends,
his guests, his girlfriends, glaying Maxwell's groceries. Probably he handled
all the logistics, kept the jets spotless, arranged every trip,
and through it all were supposed to just buy that
he was an innocent bystander with a pilot's license. He
was the logistics department of a trafficking empire. Whether he
admits it or not, you can almost imagine him sitting
there in that deposition room, knowing full well that if
he opened his mouth, the whole rotten structure could come
crashing down. So he played it safe, shrugged, smiled, deflected,
the perfect company man. You could almost hear the gears
turning in his head. Say less, Larry, say less. What
should have been him testifying was more about performing, and
the audience was a team of lawyers praying he didn't slip.
And look, it's not like Epstein's some benevolent boss handing
out stock options. Every single gift that that man gave
had strings thicker than an anchor chain. You didn't just
get a piece of land. You got an understanding, You
got loyalty or silence, depending on what you prefer to
call it. Bosaski didn't get rewarded for his flying. He
got rewarded for keeping his damn mouse shut. His description
of Epstein during the deposition is straight up propaganda. He
was a good employer, treated his staff well. Yeah, sure,
the same way a mob boss takes care of his guys.
You do what you're told, you get paid, You cross
the line, you disappear. It's amazing how many people who
love working for Epstein all somehow forgot what went on
around them. Funny how memory loss seems to be contagious
among rich men's employees. And that land on Zoro Ranch,
that wasn't just any dirt. That was ground zero for
some of the creepiest stuff Epstein was up to. That's
where he built his so called science compound, where the
rumors about genetic experiments and breeding projects come from. So
when Epstein had a Vesosky a slice of that property,
it wasn't generosity. It was a contract, an unspoken deal.
You're a part of this. Now your name's on the map,
just like mine. Congratulations, you're complicit. And when you zoom out.
The pattern's obvious. Epstein had an operation, and every operation
needs logistics. That's where good old Larry came in. He
wasn't just a pilot, he was a delivery system. He
made sure the right people got to the right places
without a paper trail. Every flight, every time zone, every
cover story, it all went through him. And when the
Fed started knocking on doors, Larry kept his cool, didn't flip,
didn't panic, didn't drop names. You think, after thirty years,
the guy might have had a conscience, but no, he
stayed loyal to the end. That kind of loyalty doesn't
come from respect, It comes from self preservation. He knew
that telling the truth might land him right next to
Epstein in a cell, or worse, on the wrong end
of whatever made Epstein disappear. And what gets me is
how Larry managed to keep this aw shucks just a
pilot image for so long, like he's some working stiff
who just happened to get caught up and billionaire nonsense.
Regular working guys don't get free land, million dollar perks
and lifetime protection for just doing their job. If a
mechanic gets a free garage from his boss, everyone starts
asking questions. But Epstein's pilot gets a ranch plot and
nobody bats an eye. Yeah, that checks out. And look,
there's no doubt that the deposition reads like bad improv.
You can almost see the smirk, the gollie g I
don't know anything about that. Look, he's trying to act
simple while playing a very sophisticated game. Keep the lies small.
The answer is vague and the truth buried. It's not
that he didn't know, it's that he knew too much.
Knowing too much in Epstein's world is a dangerous hobby. Now. Look,
in the end, Epstein didn't surround himself with idiots. He
surrounded himself with enablers, people who could smile, play dumb
and keep the machine running. And Larry Vasoski was the
perfect cog, the pilot who saw everything and said nothing.
He didn't need to be told to keep quiet. The
gifts told him plenty. So yeah, Larry's deposition one for
the ages. Every answer was like a wink to the audience.
I know you know, but let's pretend I don't. The
performance was flawless, and when you realize what he got
in return land money and a lifetime pass, had a
real accountability. It all falls right into place. The man
wasn't a bystander, he was part of the act, and
in Epstein's twisted little umpire, silence wasn't golden. It was currency.
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