The United States Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit has deIivered a striking blow to Special Counsel Jack Smith’s inves tigation, setting a precedent that could have future impIications for executive privilege and the separation of powers.
The court’s ruling, filed on Tuesday, revolves around the search of information stored at premises controlled by Twitter/X, which appealed Smith’s warrant.
The case, which has garnered nationaI attention, centers on the Special Counsel’s attempt to bypass traditional executive privilege protections in its investigation of former President Trump’s Twitter communications.
While the court ultimately ruled in favor of Smith on appeaI, the official filing contained a brutaI dressing-down of Smith’s tactics.
I Discovered My Husband Claims I’m His Child’s Caretaker Whom He Keeps Employed Due to Pity — I Enacted My Retribution Shortly Afterwards
When Megan visited her husband’s office with his favorite lunch to surprise him, she learned a startling secret from his receptionist. Megan found out that her husband had been telling everyone she’s merely his kid’s nanny, allowing him to act freely at work.
Recently, I discovered that my husband has been telling everyone that I am merely his child’s nanny, one he keeps out of pity.
What?
It was an ordinary day, and I decided to surprise my husband with lunch from his favorite fast food place. We had both been working long hours lately and had little time to connect.
This was my first visit to Ben’s new office, and I was excited about surprising him.
“Hi, honey,” he said, answering his phone as I parked the car. “I’m just on a call; I’ll be done soon.”
I didn’t really want to talk to him; I just wanted to make sure he was there.
I got out of the car, grabbed the takeout bag, feeling a thrill. When Ben and I were first married, we often surprised each other at work or met up spontaneously.
It was the spark that kept our marriage alive.
Ben’s office was sleek and modern. I walked in, and a friendly receptionist greeted me with a bright smile.
“Good afternoon!” she said. “You’re Mr. Link’s nanny, right? Is something wrong with the kids? Should I buzz him, or do you want to go straight up?”
I nearly dropped the bag of food.
“Excuse me?” I asked, my heart racing.
The receptionist looked puzzled, as if unsure if she’d misspoken or if I hadn’t heard her right.
“Aren’t you Mr. Link’s nanny?” she repeated, her smile fading.
I took a deep breath, trying to process her words.
“No, I’m not the nanny,” I said. “I’m his wife, Mrs. Megan Link.”
Her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly looked around to ensure no one else was listening.
“Oh my God,” she said. “I am so sorry! I had no idea! Please, come with me.”
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