The global shock of the Jeffrey Epstein case has far eclipsed any ordinary international news story. For many onlookers, the reaction was less outrage than resignation: So that's how it works.

But this response reveals a widespread misunderstanding of how American society operates.

To understand the case, one must begin with a basic assessment: At its foundation, the United States was a political economy that, from the nation's inception, has operated on a core logic of capital appreciation and the exchange of interests.

This is not a moral judgment but a structural description.

Many of the Founding Fathers, including George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, were both landowners and businessmen. Alexander Hamilton was both a financier and a political leader, and a key designer of the US fiscal and financial system.

The US Constitution primarily protects property rights, freedom of contract and investment security.

The political scientist Charles E. Lindblom argued that the US economic system often narrows policy options and even constrains the policymaking process. His emphasis on vested interests is key to understanding US politics and economics.

The US was able to push this capital-first logic to the extreme because of unique conditions. As an immigrant society free from Europe's feudal legacy, it could more fully embrace capitalist principles. Insulated by oceans and rich in resources, the US had a unique freedom to experiment and expand.

Under these conditions, it pushed protections for private property and contractual freedom to an extreme, reinforcing them through financial innovation and legalized lobbying.

Seen through this lens, US behavior follows a consistent pattern. Actions aligned with capital interests and manageable risks are framed as free markets or democracy promotion.

Threats to core interests are managed by any means necessary. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, fueled by energy and geopolitical concerns, and the 2008 financial bailouts, are prime examples of this logic. In that crisis, financial institutions were rescued while ordinary households were left to shoulder the losses.

This reflects a logic in which preserving the system tends to take precedence over protecting individuals. It also revives a long-standing debate: When systemic risk emerges, what exactly should institutions choose to protect?

The Epstein case operates within the same framework.

Popular culture ‒ from House of Cards to Billions and Succession ‒ has long depicted corruption and elite collusion, often dismissed as exaggeration by viewers.

The Epstein case, however, has proved more disturbing than fiction. It has raised a central question: How could such crimes persist for so long despite repeated warnings?

Epstein's role goes beyond that of a mere criminal. With his control over powerful networks and information, speculation has flourished. He didn't just exploit. He offered access to elite circles and confidential knowledge.

At elite levels, information is power and relationships are assets.

Anyone who left a record with him risked becoming subject to control. The more secrets he held, the more valuable ‒ and untouchable ‒ he became. This mutual dependence turned Epstein into a toxic asset: dangerous but too risky to confront directly.

This logic mirrors the subprime securities before the 2008 crisis ‒ known to be toxic but too entrenched to remove without risking collapse.

The judicial handling of Epstein's case underscores this point.

After Epstein's 2008 arrest, federal prosecutors struck a plea deal, resulting in an 18-month sentence. He served about 13 months, with work-release allowing him up to 12 hours of daily absence.

Victims were not informed prior to the agreement, in violation of the Crime Victims' Rights Act. The prosecutor in charge, Alexander Acosta, later became US Secretary of Labor under the Donald Trump administration.

The outcome is hard to justify by legal standards, but easier to understand from a risk management perspective. Pursuing the case through normal channels risked triggering unpredictable chain reactions across a wide and powerful set of interests, making rapid and low-profile containment the most rational option.

After the case was reopened in 2019 amid mounting public pressure, Epstein was rearrested. Before trial, however, he died at a Manhattan detention center under circumstances that fueled widespread suspicion. The death was officially ruled a suicide.

Regardless of the truth, the result was clear: The central figure was removed, testimony was cut off and the system was stabilized at minimal cost.

The Big Short showed how financial risk was shifted onto society, while the Epstein case demonstrates how institutional power can suppress the truth under certain conditions.

In both cases, rules are enforced only to the extent that they do not threaten the system itself.

The US has relatively strong legal institutions, electoral mechanisms and media oversight, which in most circumstances serve as meaningful constraints on both citizens and society.

But these mechanisms have limits. When conflicts rise to the level of systemic risk, they yield to the priority of preserving core interests.

The system operates selectively and hierarchically, following a business logic. This is why it is often said that Wall Street's power exceeds that of Washington.

America's strengths and weaknesses stem from the same foundation. The Epstein case exposes this logic in its most extreme form.

The Epstein case is significant not for revealing long-known corruption, but for showing the limits of institutional, legal and public constraints when capital and power are intertwined.

This discussion should go beyond moral condemnation to clarify the ongoing tension between institutional ideals and the realities of modern capitalism.

(This article reflects the author's personal views only. The author is a former senior reporter of People's Daily. Translated by intern Du Rongqi and edited by Lin Rui)