Hunter Biden’s name is once again tied to a murky international deal that raises eyebrows and questions about influence peddling near the U.S. Embassy in Bucharest, Romania, as the New York Post reports.
This saga, involving a Beijing-linked firm and a Romanian tycoon facing fraud charges, centers on a failed land proposal that unfolded just after Joe Biden’s vice presidency ended in 2017.
Let’s rewind to 2015, when Hunter Biden first got involved, agreeing to assist Romanian real estate mogul Gabriel Popoviciu during his father’s tenure as vice president. It’s a curious timeline, especially since Joe Biden visited Romania in May 2014, railing against corruption as a societal ill. One wonders if the irony was lost on the family.
Hunter’s role deepened as he acted as Popoviciu’s attorney, even traveling to Romania in November 2016 for a brief stint to represent him before the National Anticorruption Directorate. Two days after returning, he scheduled a cozy “breakfast with dad” -- a detail that fuels speculation about what was discussed over coffee.
Bank records later revealed Popoviciu funneled $3 million to Hunter and his business partners between late 2015 and mid-2017. Over $1 million landed directly in Hunter’s pocket, with a peculiar $10,000 transfer to Hallie Biden, widow of Hunter’s late brother, in early 2017. These payments paint a picture of financial entanglements that don’t exactly scream transparency.
The deal itself crystallized in early 2017, shortly after Joe Biden left office, proposing a joint venture with CEFC China Energy, a firm with deep ties to Beijing, holding up to 47.5% of the stake. The plan? Sell land near the U.S. Embassy in Bucharest to generate revenue for the Romanian government, supposedly to sway prosecutors to drop Popoviciu’s case.
Hunter didn’t shy away from touting his influence, reportedly warning CEFC of consequences tied to his father’s political clout in a July 2017 text. Shortly after, CEFC shelled out $3 million to Hunter and two partners, followed by $5.1 million to Hunter and his uncle, James Biden. It’s hard not to see this as a transaction of convenience rather than merit.
“I’m the only one putting an entire family legacy on the line,” Hunter Biden once declared, as if the weight of his choices was a noble burden. Yet, for conservatives watching this unfold, it feels less like a sacrifice and more like leveraging a famous last name for personal gain.
Meanwhile, Joe Biden’s own words from his 2014 Romania visit echo uncomfortably: “Corruption is a cancer, a cancer that eats away at a citizen’s faith in democracy." If only such strong rhetoric matched the family’s apparent business ethics, the public might not be so skeptical today.
The deal ultimately imploded in 2017 due to disputes among Hunter and his partners, leaving no land sold and no charges dropped. Popoviciu wasn’t spared either -- he was convicted of real estate fraud and slapped with a seven-year prison sentence that year. So much for high-powered intervention.
Adding to the intrigue, testimony from a former Biden family business partner revealed Joe Biden met CEFC Chairman Ye Jianming in Washington, D.C., after leaving office. Republicans have since argued that the Biden family did little tangible work for CEFC’s millions, though James Biden claimed he scouted natural gas prospects in Louisiana. The optics, however, remain disastrous.
Hunter’s ties to Popoviciu also led him to connect the tycoon with former FBI Director Louis Freeh, a move that came just hours before a scheduled meeting with his father in 2015. It’s a web of connections that suggests access was the real currency being traded.
Fast forward to the aftermath: Hunter Biden pleaded guilty to tax fraud linked to his foreign earnings, though he dodged charges for acting as an unregistered foreign agent. These dealings, alongside the CEFC payments, became fodder for a Republican-led impeachment inquiry into Joe Biden, casting a long shadow over the family’s business ventures.
In a final twist, Joe Biden issued blanket pardons to family members in his last weeks in office, covering conduct back to 2014, though he notably excluded himself. For many on the right, this feels like a convenient cleanup of a messy legacy, leaving taxpayers to wonder if justice was truly served.
As details of this saga emerge in the upcoming book Devil’s Advocates by Ken Vogel, set for release on Oct. 14, the public will likely keep wrestling with the implications. From land deals near embassies to millions in foreign payments, the Biden family’s story is a cautionary tale about power, privilege, and the fine line between business and influence. If nothing else, it’s a reminder to keep a sharp eye on those who claim to fight corruption while seemingly wading through it.
