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SATURDAY, 17 OCTOBER 2026 — THE AFTERNOON EDITION

Finance

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Housing nonprofit backed by LA mayoral candidate can't account for $87 million in housing money

LA’s $87M taxpayer money mystery deepens as nonprofit backed by mayoral hopeful Nithya Raman faces spending scrutiny (Photo via New York Post)

Eighty-seven million dollars is the size of the gap Los Angeles City Attorney Hydee Feldstein Soto wants closed. The gap sits inside a nonprofit called LAFLA, a group backed by mayoral candidate Nithya Raman. The money came from the city's "Mansion Tax" and was meant to build housing. The audit demand, reported October 16, does not say where the money went. It says the city does not know.

Start with the number itself. That qualifier is the first entry in the ledger: the city is not disputing a specific sum, it is disputing a ceiling. Eighty-seven million is the most the gap could be, which means the actual figure, whatever it turns out to be, has not been produced by anyone yet. An audit exists to find that number. As of this filing, no audit has finished.

Second entry: who asked. The request came from the city attorney's office, dated October 16 and 17. Nothing in that request makes Feldstein Soto a candidate for mayor, and nothing here calls her one. What the request does establish is narrower and harder to argue with: in a mayoral race where Raman's campaign has built part of its case on housing policy, the only math anyone has put on paper about this particular $87 million came from outside the campaign, from an office whose job is demanding paper.

Compare the proof required elsewhere. On September 28, lawmakers from both parties criticized a taxpayer-funded television commercial for the president titled "Love Me." The commercial needed no audit to be established as a fact. It was airing. People with televisions saw it, and lawmakers objected in the same news cycle. The nonprofit's $87 million needed three weeks and a formal audit demand before anyone could even state the size of the gap, because unlike a commercial, the money does not run on a schedule anyone outside City Hall can watch.

That is the reconciliation, hon. One column shows a nonprofit Raman backs, a tax built for housing, and a figure that tops out at $87 million unaccounted. The other column shows an audit demand with two dates on it and no total yet. Until those columns match, the only number in this race anyone has actually filed is the city attorney's, and it is a ceiling, not an answer.

Continued on Page F120

THE LEDGER

Republicans' "enormous" financial advantage now requires a $150 million personal check from Elon Musk

Republican Senate candidates, he wrote, carry an "enormous" financial advantage into the final three weeks, a spending tsunami that could drown Democratic chances. I reconcile filings against tables for a living, so I pulled the table.

AdImpact's tracking supports the tsunami. That is the money. The advantage is the line item I could not locate.

Byron York had filed comparable arithmetic on October 7: unlikely to keep the House, the Senate a toss-up. The Cook Political Report moved eleven House districts toward Democrats in one week. Back on September 22, Sabato's Crystal Ball moved three Senate races and four governorships left — Iowa from Leans Republican to Toss-up — citing a persistently poor national environment.

Then this morning the quarterly filings landed, which is where a reconciliation usually gets settled. Across more than a dozen competitive Senate races, Democratic candidates raised $253 million from July through September. Republican candidates in those same races raised $56 million. Four and a half to one, hon, running the opposite direction from the warning.

James Talarico raised $60 million in Texas by himself — more, one candidate, than all the Republican candidates in those competitive races raised combined. Ken Paxton raised $18 million, which is accurately described as double his $9 million second quarter, in what is already the most expensive Senate race of the cycle.

So the difference arrives from outside the candidate column. Elon Musk wired over $150 million to a Senate Republican group assisting Paxton, called a decisive return to large-scale political giving by the richest man alive. In September, a separate committee — the Senate Leadership Fund's Austin-based Texas affiliate — had already moved $53.8 million into Paxton's campaign. Two legally distinct PACs, one network, one candidate who raised $18 million on his own.

The network has a budget like anyone. On October 2, the Senate Leadership Fund pulled its ad spending out of Michael Whatley's North Carolina race and redirected it to other candidates, triage against increasingly dire polling.

The word enormous describes the check, not the advantage. There is money. It is simply not distributed by vote.

Continued on Page F120

THE DONOR LIST

Donors gave $330 million for the ballroom; among them a pardon recipient, contractors, and one closed federal investigation.

Twenty-five million dollars, handed over, purchases nothing whatever, and that is the handsome part of it. Apple gave twenty-five million to the ballroom. Nvidia gave twenty-five million and requested anonymity — requested, mind you, and did not keep it. The Adelson Family Foundation, twenty-five. Charles Ergen, co-founder and chairman of Dish Network, twenty-five. Fifty-seven names, each committed to a hundred thousand at the least, and the list runs past three hundred and thirty million dollars. Three hundred and thirty. A gift is a transfer without consideration — consideration being whatever comes back the other way — so by its own construction this money bought nothing at all. And what did Big Tech suppose it was doing? One government watchdog says those companies "bankrolled it fully expecting a return on their investment." Further down the same list, among names not published before, sit donors who have had a presidential pardon, government contracts, and at least one federal investigation closed. Most of the money arrived before the East Wing came down. The work proceeds, for now, after a ruling of the Supreme Court in August ... and the house is yours. The list is not.

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Trump threatens towns with 'backward and poor'; his own party's senator moves to leave data centers broke instead.

THE WRECKING CREW kept the blueprints from August open on the workbench. The warning did not test well close to home. Twenty-five days later, on September 25, the chief's own county, Palm Beach, took a 6-0 vote: facilities over 50 megawatts, a one-year moratorium, no new construction. The permitting authority had been sitting in the county code the whole time; the commissioners only had to use it. Memphis had already used a different tool, a zoning fight and a primary ballot, to beat Elon Musk's xAI. Washington State had wiring older than that, a utility and siting law already on the shelf.

On Thursday the crew found two more tools, both government issue, neither built for the occasion.

The tinkerer went to Washington first. Senator Bernie Moreno, a Republican from Ohio, introduced a bill titled the Recapturing Excessive Corporate Largesse through Accountability and Incentive Measures; the wire's own copy cuts off before it reaches the short name the title is plainly built to spell. The mechanism inside it is plain enough without the name: any local or state tax break handed to a data center gets taxed back by the federal government at 100 percent. The discount a town offers to lure the servers in, the discount a county offers to keep them, comes back out whole. It is the same federal tax code that has always had a line for an excess benefit, aimed now at an industry Moreno's own party was told, six and a half weeks earlier on August 31, to welcome or go broke.

The pilot flew to Austin. Gina Hinojosa, the Democrat running against Governor Greg Abbott, stood near the governor's mansion Thursday morning and vowed a moratorium on new data centers in Texas, the same tool Palm Beach County had already pulled off its own shelf.

The muscle checked the inventory: a county's zoning code, a state's utility law, a city's ballot, and now a federal tax statute and a governor's-race pledge. Five tools, five drawers, none of them built for this fight and none of them new. Somebody just had to open the drawer.

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Inflation prints 3.7%, gas up 9% in a month; president reports very little inflation

The September consumer price report landed Tuesday: prices up 3.7 percent over the year, higher than expected, with the heavy lifting done by gasoline, up 9 percent in a single month. That is page one of the file. Page two arrived Wednesday in Kalispell, Montana, where the president told a rally, "We have very little inflation." NBC spoke with people who had driven to that rally to hear it. They said they feel the pinch.

So we reconcile. The difference between 3.7 percent and "very little" is not a rounding convention or a seasonal adjustment. It is two different accounts of the same month, filed by the same government, one of them typed up by the Bureau of Labor Statistics and one of them delivered standing up.

The public has already filed a third. A Harris poll for the Guardian, out the same day, finds 61 percent believe the country is in a recession and 65 percent of independents say the economy is worse; three-quarters are worried about a recession arriving. The Guardian notes, correctly, that by the standard definition the country is not in one. Nobody at the pump is reading the standard definition. They are reading the sign, and the sign moved 9 percent in thirty days.

This is not a mood that showed up with the CPI release. On 21 September, an NBC poll had 55 percent saying the administration's policies made economic conditions worse against 26 percent saying better. On 23 September, rural approval was reported slipping on the cost of living, which is the column that was supposed to be load-bearing. On 28 September, food bank directors described demand up and shipping costs up, which they tied to higher energy costs from the Iran war and to cuts in food assistance. Food banks keep a ledger too, hon, and theirs is in cases, not percentages.

The approval numbers are the same reconciliation in another currency. Reuters/Ipsos had 32 percent on 5 October and 32 percent again on 6 October, a record low that did not move. Wednesday's Fox News poll put overall approval at 36 percent and disapproval at 64 — also a record low across both terms, and that one is Fox.

Four surveys, one price index, one speech. Five of the six agree. The administration's position is that the sixth is the accurate one, and that the gasoline receipt in your glovebox is a misunderstanding of very little.

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Deal meant to cut pump prices promotes refineries from liabilities to goldmines

Start with the ledger, because the ledger is the part that holds still.

The drawer filed 5 September has AAA's average for a gallon of diesel at $5.88, a record set that Saturday. A Saturday report from Axios, cited in the same drawer, had incumbent Republicans worried about the figure, their own polling placing the blame on the president. Diesel moves freight, so a household meets that number later, inside the price of whatever gets delivered to it.

On 21 September the president posted the cause: Russia has lost control of its diesel oil industry due to its war with Ukraine. That is a diagnosis. I will take it as filed.

By the twenty-ninth the states had stopped waiting on a federal measure. Texas and Georgia announced emergency steps on Monday of that week, aimed at diesel, while the White House continued to weigh its own. Two states, one fuel, no barrels.

On 10 October the federal measure arrived: a temporary sanctions reprieve, 800,000 tons of Russian diesel over two months, and the observation that Ukraine, which objected, should get a new president. One day later, six senators from both parties asked the president to immediately reverse course. This week the letter came from Advancing American Freedom, the think tank founded by former Vice President Pence, asking the administration not to let Russia ship unsanctioned diesel here at all. Six senators, both parties, a conservative think tank, and some Senate Republicans besides, all on the same side of a supply question. I have worked this desk a while, hon. That column does not usually fill up.

Now today's entry, the one that reconciles. The reprieve was called too little, too late. And the firms that turn crude into diesel are going, per the Guardian, from liabilities to goldmines: they expect record profits out of the shortage, the record prices being the reason they expect them.

So the table reads like this. The shortage that justified the deal is the shortage the refiners are counting on. The price that justified the deal is the price that pays them. Households paid the record at the pump and keep paying it inside freight. Two states paid for emergency measures. Ukraine was told to change presidents. Count the parties to this and one column improves, and that one is an expectation, not yet a filing.

What I cannot find in any of these papers is a barrel that arrived. Eight hundred thousand tons was announced. The announcement is a document; the delivery is a thing.

Continued on Page F119

Eighteen days after Nobel economists called Proposition 40 democracy's turning point against oligarchy, top Democrats joined the billionaires.

Start with the instrument, because it is short. Proposition 40 puts a one-time tax of 5 percent on the net worth of people with $1 billion or more, and the money funds the state's healthcare system. On September 21 it was polling at 52 percent. There is one answer to that division. I ran it twice and got it twice.

The opposition opened before the economists did. On August 25, organizations backed by billionaires — Sergey Brin and Peter Thiel among the backers — launched an advertising blitz asking California voters to turn the measure down. The two most prominent groups in the fight, by the account in front of me, are called Building a Better California and Californians Against Wasteful Spending and Higher Taxes. Prominent is the word the receipt uses. It does not tell me their share of the spending, so I will not tell you one.

Then September 21, and a group of Nobel Prize-winning economists saying the November vote "may mark a turning point in the battle between democracy and oligarchy." That is a sentence about sides, and sides can be footed like any other column.

So I footed them. October 1: John O'Farrell, formerly a partner at Andreessen Horowitz, posted a twelve-post thread on X explaining why he would be happy to pay. The account carrying the thread adds that he is not alone in that; that line belongs to the reporter, not to him, and I am leaving it where it was filed. The same account puts the money moving the other way at tens of millions, poured in by some of California's richest residents together. Fifty million is one filer's bill, once. Tens of millions is a group total. Those are not the same unit and I will not net them. I will note only that they are written with the same number of digits.

October 9: top Democrats join the wealthiest in fighting the tax. The wire's phrase is "top Democrats," and I am keeping the wire's phrase — individuals, eighteen days after the economists drew the line, standing on the far side of it.

October 14: the billionaires say they "have become piñatas for politicians," and instead of taking a hit, they are swinging back. Fifty days from the first ad to the piñata.

Healthcare is the column the fifty million was headed for. That is the entry. Reconciled.

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Trump empanels a committee to fire a Fed governor the Supreme Court already said he couldn't fire.

On October 2, the Justice Department told Bloomberg News it would not reopen the investigation into Jerome Powell, the former Federal Reserve chair, over cost overruns tied to the central bank's building renovation project. Attorney General Todd Blanche said he had not ruled out continuing to look, which is the same sentence building inspectors use when they close a file and keep the folder. The money attached to that file was real: a renovation, a budget, an overrun large enough that the department had opened a criminal inquiry into it in the first place. It is now closed.

One week later, on October 9, the president opened a different kind of file. He announced a committee to investigate Lisa Cook, a sitting Fed governor, over allegations of mortgage fraud — this after the Supreme Court had already ruled, in June, that his first attempt to fire her was unconstitutional. The new committee does not report to a court. It reports to the White House, which will consult with Justice Department officials on what to do with what it finds. A hearing is set for November 5, at the White House, which Cook "shall" attend, in the committee's own word for it.

This is not Cook's first filing on the question. On August 27, her lawyers, Abbe Lowell and Norm Eisen, said the administration had "no legal basis" to remove her, pointing to the ruling already on the books. It produced a second committee for her.

On October 14, a lawyer for Cook denounced the new panel directly, raising what the filing's language calls "significant concerns" over its "objectivity and fitness" to decide her seat on the board that sets the nation's interest rates. That is the board Powell used to chair. He kept his seat through the overrun. She is being asked to defend her seat through a mortgage allegation, before a panel the White House built and will consult with itself about.

Reconcile the two files side by side and the gap has a shape: one Fed official's cost overrun closes without a hearing; another Fed official's mortgage gets a hearing she is ordered to attend. The interest rate the board sets touches every mortgage in the country, including, as it happens, hers. Whose column that gap shows up in is not a mystery, hon.

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THE LEDGER

The $4,910 Trump still owes is arriving as two pardons for diesel mechanics.

The first number came out of Dallas on a Wednesday in September, during the president's address to the Republican Party's midterm convention: five thousand dollars to every American adult, he said, if Republicans keep control of Congress. Nothing in the pledge specified how, when, or from which account.

By the third of October, Washington had an answer, and it was ninety dollars. The administration announced a one-time ninety-dollar payment to twenty million Medicare beneficiaries, drawn, by one outlet's reporting, from the Medicare Improvement Fund. The remaining four thousand nine hundred ten dollars of the September pledge was given no date.

Three days later, in Nebraska, the president signed an executive order onstage at another rally. It waived the off-road requirement for red-dyed diesel, fuel that is already tax-exempt when used in farming and construction, framed as relief from diesel costs ahead of the midterms. No dollar figure came with the order; the fuel in question had not been paying the tax in question.

This week, in Alaska, at a rally backing Senator Dan Sullivan and other Republicans on the ballot, the diesel thread came back from the other direction. The president signed pardons onstage for Zachary Czubak and Patrick Fleming, co-owners of an Anchorage repair shop who had pleaded guilty in 2022 to conspiring to violate the Clean Air Act by tampering with the devices that monitor diesel emissions. He called them wrongly charged. The New York Times, writing the same day, named the pardons for what they were on the ledger: another giveaway, added to a midterm pitch that already ran to checks and a diesel order.

Reconciling the column: in five weeks, the pledge has produced one payment that has been announced, not shown delivered; one tax exemption extended to fuel that was already exempt; and two Clean Air Act convictions voided by signature. The $4,910 balance from September carries no due date in any receipt filed since. What the documents show moving, line by line, is forgiveness — of a tax position already in place, and of a federal pollution conviction — and forgiveness requires no appropriation, no check, and no entry in the Treasury's ledger. The $5,000 would.

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THE LEDGER

Treasury's third-largest sanctions fine ever amounts to four cents per dollar Wall Street banks pocketed in profit.

The Treasury Department announced, on a Tuesday afternoon after markets closed, that Bank of America would pay more than $1.21 billion for violating sanctions and anti-money-laundering law — the third-largest penalty the department has ever issued. Regulators found the bank failed to report billions of dollars in suspicious transactions, including payments that may have involved Chinese money-laundering networks and criminals operating along the southern border. The department's own language stops at "may." So does ours.

Third-largest is accurate, as far as it goes. The department has issued only two sanctions fines bigger than this one in its history. What the announcement does not say is what else happened this week on the same ledger: America's biggest banks reported nearly $32 billion in combined profit. Set the fine beside the profit and it comes to about four cents on the dollar. Four cents, hon, is a tip. It is not a sanction.

Bank of America has sat at this table before. In January 2013, it was one of ten lenders that paid $8.5 billion to stop a government review of foreclosure paperwork from the Great Recession, and separately agreed to pay $11.6 billion to Fannie Mae, the mortgage finance company that had bought the loans. The review ended before the counting did. That discount was a payout too. It went to the man holding the paper, not the customers whose paperwork started this column.

The pattern is not only the bank's. In March 2023, when a different lender, Silicon Valley Bank, failed — the second-largest bank collapse in American history — the government's response was speed, a weekend seizure, assets handed to the FDIC, not a public accounting of the gap between what the bank owed and what it had kept.

Every one of these records — 2013, 2017, 2023, and this week — arrives with a dollar figure and a superlative attached. None of them has yet closed the gap between what a bank pays when it is caught and what it keeps when it is not. The announcement says historic. The arithmetic says routine.

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QUID PRO QUO

Guilfoyle calls exit over alleged $100,000 credit-card ask 'the honour of a lifetime'

Here is the reconciliation, hon. On Thursday, October 8, Eric Deters, a Trump donor and former congressional candidate, told MS Now that Kimberly Guilfoyle, then the U.S. ambassador to Greece, had ambushed him with an offer: access to administration officials, in exchange for paying off her $100,000 American Express bill. That same Thursday he said it again, on ABC's Good Morning America, under his own name, on camera: "It was all quid pro quo." Two outlets, one day, one number, $100,000, unchanged.

That same Thursday, reporters put the number to Secretary of State Marco Rubio. He brushed off the questions. Not "that's false." Not "that never happened." Brushed off — the posture of a man declining to either confirm or deny a figure he has already seen in print.

The next day, Friday, October 9, Deters gave the number to a third outlet, CBS News: the same $100,000, the same American Express bill, the same exchange. By Friday, the Hill was reporting that the Guilfoyle matter had joined a week of scrutiny around Trump advisers — the second adviser to draw that kind of headline inside the same week, the Hill noted, citing other questionable conduct including favor shown to a Greek energy firm.

On Tuesday, October 13, five days after Deters first went on the record, the White House asked her to resign. Asked why, the president did not cite ethics and did not cite the allegation. He cited the coverage: "We didn't like what we were reading." Read that again. The stated objection to a six-figure solicitation was not the solicitation. It was the reading.

Guilfoyle's response that day gave the wires two quotable phrases: the allegations are "false," and the ambassadorship was "the honour of a lifetime." Run those two phrases against the deposit. Neither contains a number. Neither contains a bank. The figure that put her name in three news outlets across two days does not appear in either phrase she chose to put her name to.

That is the reconciliation available from what she actually said: a five-day gap between the first on-the-record account and the resignation, three outlets carrying one unchanged number, a secretary of state who would not deny it, and an exit statement that reaches for "honour" and "lifetime" without once reaching for $100,000. The ledger only balances if you don't ask what the honour cost, or who was supposed to pay it.

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Speaker says he just wouldn't watch the execution the UN already warned is torture.

The language is public record, so let's read it back in order. On October 9, the United Nations' top human rights expert told reporters that broadcasting a federal execution live "is tantamount to a public execution" and would breach the "absolute prohibition" on torture. The same day, the Guardian carried the word "medieval" from rights advocates describing the Pentagon's confirmed plan to livestream the execution of Nidal Hasan, convicted of killing thirteen people at Fort Hood in 2009. The plan did not change.

It did not change a few days later, either, when the House Speaker offered his own review of a program he is not ordering and cannot cancel. "I wouldn't be watching," Mike Johnson told reporters, asking the President to reconsider showing the execution to the public. That is the Speaker's contribution to a broadcast the UN has already filed under torture: not a legal objection, a scheduling one. He will not be tuning in.

Sgt. Alonzo Lunsford, who survived the shooting the execution answers, gave his own account that same week, on NewsNation's "Katie Pavlich Tonight." He said he is "excited about the firing squad." Nothing in the filings says anyone asked him before the plan was announced.

Set the three statements side by side and the gap is the story. The UN's language is absolute: a prohibition, not a preference. The Speaker's language is personal: a channel he will not watch. The survivor's language is the only one that carries a signature from the day in 2009 the state is now scheduling a camera around, and it still arrived after the schedule, not before it.

One government is preserving the instruments. Another is preserving the broadcast slot. Both filings describe the thing that already happened as the reason to keep the equipment ready for the thing that hasn't happened yet.

The absolute prohibition is still on the page. So is the schedule. Nobody has reconciled them, hon. They are just running at the same time, in the same December, on the same decision nobody with the word "absolute" in their job title gets to make.

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The finance archive — every headline the section has run