The 74 Seconds That Made the Epstein Files Disappear

It took 74 seconds for the Epstein files to vanish.

Newly released documents and images tied to Jeffrey Epstein were published by the Department of Justice on December 19, 2025. By that evening, they were gone—restricted from public access, their modification history erased. Among the missing materials: images linking Epstein to Donald Trump.

What followed was not a press release, not a clarification, but a confrontation—quiet, methodical, and devastating—inside a Senate hearing room the next morning.

December 20, 2025 — Senate Judiciary Committee

The room is full. Cameras capture every movement, every pause.

Senator Cory Booker sits with a single manila folder in front of him. Closed. Across the table is Attorney General Pam Bondi, appointed just six weeks earlier. She appears confident, composed. Her hands rest flat on the table.

This is supposed to be routine oversight: budgets, staffing, procedure.

Booker begins softly.

“Thank you for being here, General Bondi. I’d like to start with something straightforward.”

He asks about the Epstein-related files released on December 19th.

Bondi confirms. Yes, the files were released. Yes, they included documents and images.

Booker opens the folder.

“How many files were released?”

Bondi hesitates. “I’d have to confirm the exact number.”

“247 documents. Sixty-three images,” Booker says. “Does that sound right?”

A half-second pause. “If those are the numbers from the release log, yes.”

He slides a sheet across the table.

It’s a Federal Asset Management System printout. Timestamp: 11:47 a.m., December 19th. All files logged, verified, publicly accessible.

Bondi nods.

“And some of those images showed Jeffrey Epstein with Donald Trump,” Booker says.

Silence.

Bondi tightens her jaw. “Some images included various individuals.”

“Including the president.”

“I would need to review the specific content,” she replies.

Booker does not push. Instead, he slides over another sheet.

Same system. Same files. Timestamp: 11:51 p.m.

“What do you see?”

Bondi studies the page. “Status changes.”

“Read the status.”

“Access restricted.”

“For how many files?”

She exhales. “I’d have to count.”

“All of them,” Booker says. “All 247 documents. All 63 images. Restricted within twelve hours of release.”

Bondi says she doesn’t know who ordered it.

Booker nods and pulls out a third document—an internal DOJ email, timestamped 9:17 p.m., December 19th.

Subject line: Asset registry update required.

It requests immediate modification of Case File ES-2019447—the Epstein archive.

The sender’s terminal badge logs show entry at 8:53 p.m. and exit at 11:58 p.m., just minutes after the restrictions went live.

“The sender’s office is three doors from yours,” Booker says.

Bondi says nothing.

Then comes the fourth document: the Digital Evidence Registry.

At 11:51 p.m., access logs were reset.

At 12:03 a.m., the modification history was deleted.

“Not restricted,” Booker says quietly. “Deleted.”

Bondi explains she isn’t a technical expert.

“These aren’t databases,” Booker replies. “They’re evidence.”

Silence fills the room.

Only three offices have access to that system: the Attorney General, the Deputy AG, and Records Management.

At 12:11 a.m., an automated system alert flags unauthorized modifications to the Epstein files and sends it directly to Bondi’s office.

She acknowledges it at 12:34 a.m.

“You were awake,” Booker notes.

Bondi says she receives hundreds of alerts.

“This one was marked priority urgent,” Booker says. “And after acknowledging it, you sent two emails at 12:41 a.m.—one to the Deputy AG, one to the White House Counsel.”

She confirms.

The email to the White House reads: ES archive status requires immediate review.

The response comes back:
Noted. Will address internally. No further action required from DOJ.

Signed by the White House Counsel, copied to the Chief of Staff.

“You deferred,” Booker says.

“Yes.”

“You did not investigate evidence tampering involving files your department released.”

“I was told it would be handled internally.”

Booker leans back.

He recites the timeline slowly, deliberately:

11:47 a.m. — Files released

11:51 p.m. — Access restricted

12:03 a.m. — Logs erased

12:11 a.m. — Your office alerted

12:34 a.m. — You acknowledge

12:41 a.m. — You email the White House

10:03 a.m. — They tell you not to investigate

The files are still inaccessible.

“Are the Trump–Epstein images among them?” Booker asks.

Bondi exhales. “Yes. Likely.”

“Have you tried to access them?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She does not answer.

Booker stands.

The room shifts.

“We are issuing subpoenas today,” he says. “For the full email thread. For access logs. For every communication between DOJ and the White House between December 19th and 20th. And we want the files restored—all of them, including the images of Trump with Epstein.”

Bondi stands as well. Her face is blank.

“We’ll cooperate fully with lawful oversight,” she says.

The follow-up hearing is scheduled for January 7th.

By 3:00 p.m., subpoenas are signed.
By 5:00 p.m., the story is everywhere.

The Epstein files remain restricted.
The modification logs remain erased.
The images remain inaccessible.

And no one—inside the DOJ or the White House—has explained who made them disappear.