WEST HOLLYWOOD, REDACTED: Celebrating The Release of Naked Lies

“To be credible we must be truthful.” — Edward R. Murrow

Forgive me for being MIA since the last Candace piece posted. I needed a break, I suppose. As fair warning: things here are about to get weird. You’ll understand more soon, as I’m still deciding how much of this spiritual odyssey I want to share publicly. The fact of it is so surreal. I’m not entirely sure yet what to make of it.

For now, we’ll stick with what’s familiar.

Jay Beecher you know as frequent HIH contributor. On his Substack lots of these false narratives come exposed.

Over the past few months we’ve paired up to sift through the files together, offering measured commentary as a counter to the sheer insanity coming from online sleuths solely interested in spinning tales of global trafficking cabals as easy and enticing clickbait.

I don’t recall exactly when Jay first landed on my radar, only the sense of relief in discovering him. Another voice in media echoing my stance on Epstein and mainly Maxwell, backed by an impressive compilation of investigative research, facts, and legal filings that supported much of what I gathered but could not “prove.”

The Epstein files are bizarre enough in their factual framework. They don’t need additional conspiracies spun by misinformed interpreters to inflate them.

Jay’s new book Naked Lies leans into the facts as a counter-narrative backed by evidence mainstream coverage has largely ignored or deliberately excluded. Yes, it challenges the prevailing victim narrative. Yes, it asks readers to reconsider what they think they know about Jeffrey Epstein. But it does so on the merit of censored voices—those with information that disrupts pre determined narrative.

“This gripping exposé cuts through the headlines to examine how truth, power and profit collided in one of the biggest scandals of our time: the Epstein Scandal. Far from the media’s portrayal, Virginia Giuffre emerges not as a helpless victim, but as a complex figure manipulated by powerful legal and journalistic interests. With hundreds of millions at stake, reputations were sacrificed and stories reshaped. This book challenges the accepted narrative, re-examining the roles of Epstein, Prince Andrew, President Trump, and a complicit media machine. Were they all truly monsters-or pawns in a far more lucrative game? A provocative investigation into corruption, exploitation, and the price of control. Naked Lies contains exclusive interviews with key witnesses, from accusers to the accused, covers a five-year investigation, and finally lays bare the truth behind the entire sordid affair.”

IAN MAXWELL ON GHISLAINE | TRUMP | “THE GOOD FIGHT”

The files have consumed us in text threads privately. I figured why not discuss it in person with a small group surrounded by faded tabloids and candlelight in a dark West Hollywood bar? Having Jay here in the states to promote the book gave us perfect excuse to do so.

The backroom at Employees Only proved the ideal setting for Thursday night’s event. Tucked behind the main bar and accessed through a hidden door, the space opens into a handsome speakeasy with subtle mid-century flair. A fireplace, a private bar, wall to wall seating, and customizable drinks. “The Billionaire” was a favorite.

A reporter on the phone the next day noted that most in attendance had endured some form of cancellation themselves. He noticed I had arranged a “small but influential group.”

The invites were intentional, I told him. If I had my way writers and reporters would gather like this regularly to discuss cultural flashpoints as a matter of routine. Unfortunately, most in media these days are as guarded in print as they are in person, and who has time to entertain overly cautious people? Life is so short. I prefer those who are as daringly curious as possible. Cowards prevail in the industry, but not in my court.

The invites were deliberate because, I reiterated, it often takes the cancelled to recognize the significance of controversial work. Everyone else is content to tread on eggshells. And sanitized contribution offers nothing to most of the topics I’m interested in.

Brave Attendees ranged from Ken Bensinger of the NYT to a respected editor—“one of the most connected men in the city”—at The Hollywood Reporter, to OG Vice edge lords Shane Smith and Alex Chitty, my new adorable attorney, revered ballet choreographer Lincoln Jones, Peter Kiefer of the CA Post, Malibu transplant / “disgraced” novelist Olivia Nuzzi, X deplorable Matt Bilinski, and Substack on hand in quiet support thanks to brainstorming extraordinaire Hanne Winarsky, along with a handful who preferred to remain anonymous.

As far as timing, Melania’s press appearance that morning could not have been more perfectly timed. The intensity behind her denial that Epstein introduced her to Trump was notably odd and had everyone speculating what might have prompted it. Was she getting ahead of something, or simply fed up with the lingering rumors that place her as a confidant to Epstein and Maxwell?

Her remarks about the victims testifying under oath stood out to those of us who know many of these accounts to be fabricated or, at best, riddled with inconsistencies.

Under oath, a lot of these women’s testimonies are bound to shift and shrink.

Might this be part of a more strategic effort to clarify who is profiting from implicating certain parties? Narratives now amplified on a national stage thanks to figures like Thomas Massie, pushing a self-indulgent bid to bring transparency to files he knows nothing about.

Under oath, it would be hard to obscure cases like that of Haley Robinson, one of Massie’s current press pawns, given that she described her role in Epstein’s life as a Heidi Fleiss type, willingly scouting underage girls for him.

The evening kicked off with a call from federal prison. Nicholas Tartaglione greeted a room full of editors like a natural-born narrator, instantly compelling on audio. He had 15 minutes. He used them to walk us through what it was like sharing a cell with Jeffrey Epstein, what Epstein told him about Bill Clinton, and the night he woke to a shoe striking his cheek, opening his eyes to find Epstein hanging, unconscious. A bar full of fresh ears locked onto every word.

We also heard from Kevin Maxwell, who applauded Jay’s commitment to exposing uncomfortable truths, and Alan Dershowitz, who outlined what he described as glaring falsities in the case against him.

Jay read excerpts from the book and played an audio recording from Sarah Ransome, one of the most prominent faces in the Epstein documentaries—a woman who claims she would have swum through shark-infested waters to escape Jeffrey Epstein on the island, yet returned repeatedly over the years of her own will. A college-aged escort photographed in glamorous settings, seemingly at ease in her surroundings. The recording was a voicemail Ransome left Jay, threatening Nancy Mace and others, vowing to burn the country down—her fury so intense it drew the FBI’s attention after she allegedly threatened to harm Virginia Giuffre’s children over money disputes, and, for good measure, to torch the Anne Frank House.

SEE: Police Investigating After Famous Epstein Accuser Threatens to Harm Children, Burn Down Anne Frank’s House, and Issues CHILLING Audio Message

As we wrapped up, conversations had already splintered into different corners among people who had never met before.

We gathered afterward at the Chateau, where I caught sight of André Balazs—in blurred outline due to bad vision—watching from the bar with a cigarette in hand. His figure, even from afar, instantly recognizable from years of scattered secondhand accounts. A man whose name surfaces often in conversation unprompted, and for someone I’ve never met, I know an awful lot about. Specifically the aesthetic of his New York loft, unmatched according to my source. The funeral he hosted for Mary Kennedy, which her family attended over the one RFK arranged. And explicit examples of Andre’s overt sex appeal described by more than one in my circle as essentially the best lover of this era.

He was also quite close with Ghislaine Maxwell and those in her social circle post-Jeffrey Epstein. I’m sure he would have valuable contributions to add.

Regrettably, I did not introduce myself or invite him to join us in conversation.

He disappeared in an instant, leaving a late-night scene of guests splayed out as mismatched characters in varying shades of drunken joy, two women dancing in spite of an empty piano seat.

We exited just before midnight. A rowdy bunch leaving behind a bottle of vodka half full, ushered out alongside heeled starlets in deflated state recounting the famous faces they had spotted throughout the evening.

At the hotel the next morning I found myself marveling at how the Epstein of it all can still forge something unexpectedly good. Journalistic instinct united by strange circumstance among a room full of writers bound not by agreement but by a willingness to engage over complicated matter. Curiosity as reason enough to show up. A good reminder that investment in the craft isn’t entirely dead on the West Coast. And in a worst-case scenario, we could have all been invited to something far more dreadful, like an annual desert festival tracking atrocious bohemian fashion and bad music instead.

Regarding Melania Trump’s recent statement on Epstein, Ian Maxwell offered the following comment:

“The First Lady should never have been put in a position where she felt she had to make a statement, but it’s perhaps understandable as this scandal has needlessly engulfed countless lives and reputations. My own sister has experienced similar waves of false and damaging stories written about her, as indeed has President Trump himself. Of course, there is no credible evidence linking the President to the crimes associated with Jeffrey Epstein, and it is important that people are not condemned by association or speculation.”