The Illustrated Laptop From Hell
The Ukraine Cover-up
A dramatization of real events. This is Part I.
June 13, 2013 - Norfolk, Virginia
The small private quarters aboard the naval vessel smelled of stale coffee and diesel fuel. Ensign Hunter Biden sat hunched over a small mirror balanced on his footlocker, his hands trembling slightly as he cut precise white lines across the glass surface. Outside, seagulls cried over the Norfolk harbor, their calls mixing with the distant sound of reveille.
“First day,” he muttered to himself, rolling a crisp hundred between his fingers. “First goddamn day.”
He didn’t know it yet, but the urine sample he’d provide later that morning would end his naval career before it truly began. After months of negotiation—on February 16, 2014—the discharge papers would arrive. Administrative separation. Drug use. The Biden name couldn’t protect him from a simple cup and a lab test.
March 16, 2014 - Somewhere Over the Atlantic
Devon Archer scrolled through his emails on the private jet, the cabin pressure making his ears pop. Hunter’s latest forward sat in his inbox: an article titled “Joe Biden Lurks Behind Every U.S. Action on Ukraine.”
Archer’s fingers moved across the keyboard of his laptop, composing his response with the calculated precision of a Wall Street trader spotting an opening in the market.
“There is a unique timing here in this upcoming opportunity,” he typed, then paused, a slight smile crossing his face. “One door closes, another opens.”
The Atlantic stretched dark and endless. Ahead, Kiev awaited. And opportunity wrapped in the blue and yellow flag of a country in crisis.
April 1, 2014 - Kiev, Ukraine
Devon Archer straightened his Hermès tie in the hotel mirror. Outside, Independence Square still bore the scars of revolution—scorched pavement, makeshift memorials, the ghost of violence still hanging in the spring air.
“You speak Ukrainian?” the Burisma executive had asked during yesterday’s meeting.
“Not a word,” Archer had replied with perfect confidence.
“Experience in energy sector?”
“I’m a fast learner.”
They’d laughed. Experience wasn’t what Burisma was buying. Today, April Fools’ Day—the irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d officially join the board of a Cypriot-registered gas company founded by a man who’d advised the recently-fled president. A man named Mykola Zlochevsky who knew exactly what he needed: not energy expertise, but access to the Vice President of the United States.
The contract was signed before lunch.
April 12, 2014 - The White House Press Briefing Room
The VP’s press secretary stood at the podium, reading from prepared remarks with practiced cadence.
“The Vice President will visit Ukraine in ten days,” he announced to the assembled reporters, cameras clicking like mechanical insects. “The purpose of the trip is to consult on the latest steps to enhance Ukraine’s short- and long-term energy security.”
A reporter raised her hand. “Can you elaborate on what ‘energy security’ means in this context?”
“Vice President Biden will be discussing ways to help Ukraine diversify its energy sources and reduce dependence on Russian gas,” came the rehearsed reply.
In Kiev, Mykola Zlochevsky watched the press conference on a livestream, a thin smile crossing his face. Energy security. He’d just hired the Vice President’s son’s business partner. One door closes, another opens indeed.
April 13, 2014 - Georgetown, Maryland
Hunter Biden’s fingers hammered the keyboard in his Georgetown townhouse. The email to Devon Archer ran to thousands of words—a manifesto, a blueprint, a revelation of how the game was really played.
“The contract should begin now,” he typed, his intensity building with each sentence. “Not after the upcoming visit of my guy.”
My guy. Not “the Vice President.” Not “my father.” My guy. Like a fighter talking about his promoter, a fixer about his client.
“That should include a retainer in the range of $25k per month with additional fees where appropriate for more in depth work to go to BSF for our protection.”
Boies Schiller Flexner—the white-shoe law firm that could make anything look legitimate. He was thinking three moves ahead, building the scaffolding of deniability even as he climbed the tower of opportunity.
He hit send at 11:52 PM.
The public face of U.S. policy in Ukraine was about to become very profitable indeed.
May 12, 2014 - Burisma Holdings Announcement
The press release went out across the wire services in English, Ukrainian, and Russian.
“Burisma Holdings is pleased to announce the appointment of R. Hunter Biden to its Board of Directors.”
In London, British authorities were, at that very moment, holding $23 million of Zlochevsky’s money, seized amid money laundering suspicions. The timing was exquisite—hire the Vice President’s son while your assets are frozen, then watch how quickly problems can be solved.
Hunter read the announcement on his phone. No mention of his lack of energy experience. No mention of his inability to speak Ukrainian or Russian. No mention of his recent discharge from the Navy for cocaine use.
Just: “R. Hunter Biden brings a wealth of experience in public service and business.”
“Experience,” he said aloud to his empty office, laughing. “That’s one word for it.”
May 13, 2014 - The Burisma Website
The photo appeared on Burisma’s corporate website without warning: Vice President Joe Biden and Devon Archer, smiling together at the White House. The implication hung in the pixels like smoke—access, connection, power.
The phone in Joe Biden’s lawyer’s office rang within hours.
“Take. It. Down.” The lawyer’s voice carried the cold fury of someone cleaning up a mess that should never have been made. “Now.”
In Kiev, the Burisma communications team scrambled. They’d overplayed their hand, been too obvious, too eager to show off their new acquisition.
The photo disappeared from the website by evening.
But the internet remembers everything. Screenshots had already spread across Ukrainian business circles, Russian intelligence services, Republican opposition researchers. The image was gone, but the damage—the proof of connection—would last forever.
“Idiots,” Hunter texted to Archer. “Subtle as a brick.”
“They’re learning,” Archer replied. “We all are.”
July 26, 2014 - Email Exchange
Hunter’s email to his business partner was brief, almost casual. The kind of message that would later be read aloud in congressional hearings, parsed by lawyers, analyzed by investigators.
“Quick question,” he wrote, as if asking about dinner plans. “Wanted to touch base about my guy’s upcoming Chinese meeting.”
My guy. There it was again. The Vice President of the United States reduced to a possessive pronoun, a asset, a piece on the board to be moved strategically for maximum advantage.
The Chinese understood family. They understood connections transcended titles. They understood that in America, as in Beijing, power flowed through only a few select channels.
The meeting was being arranged. Doors in China were opening. And Hunter was ensuring his partners knew exactly who was opening them.
March 1, 2015 - Café Milano, Georgetown
The private dining room at Café Milano hummed with quiet conversation and the clink of expensive stemware. Hunter had reserved the best table, the one tucked away where Washington power brokers could meet without the prying eyes of tourists or junior staffers.
Vadym Pozharskyi, advisor to Burisma’s board, had flown in from Kiev specifically for this dinner. He sat across from Hunter, nervous energy barely concealed beneath his Eastern European formality.
“Will he come?” Pozharskyi asked, checking his watch for the third time.
“Relax,” Hunter said, sipping his wine. “He’ll be here.”
At 7:47 PM, Vice President Joe Biden walked into the private room, Secret Service detail discreetly positioned outside. Warm smiles, firm handshakes, the practiced choreography of Washington networking.
“Vadym, this is my father,” Hunter said, as if introducing a college friend to his dad at a football game, not connecting a Ukrainian energy executive to the second most powerful man in America.
They talked for eighteen minutes—sports, weather, nothing of substance, everything plausibly deniable.
But Pozharskyi would later send an email thanking Hunter for “the opportunity to meet your father and spend some time together.”
Opportunity. That word again. In Washington, opportunity was currency.
A dramatization of real events. This is Part I. Please see Miranda Devine’s book for the derivation of the term “Laptop from Hell”.
The entire Illustrated Spygate is available online! Don’t miss it.
I get it, but am concerned about the made for TV movie dramatization of this. The assumption is that it is common knowledge what happened, so only thing left is to riff on it. I disagree. I think the only think left is subpoenas.
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