The Delaware Way

In America’s Tiniest Political Fiefdom, Could Crossing the Bidens Mean Murder Charges and Total Official Silence?

Delaware is a state smaller than many American counties in both size and population. In such a place, a U.S. senator like Joe Biden enjoyed privileges that would never fly in a bigger state with a vibrant, aggressive media presence. Too far from New York and too far from D.C. for national reporters to keep a real eye on things, Delaware became its own little fiefdom. Speaking out against the Bidens could come at a steep price. My friend, Bill Stevenson, knows this all too well. As the ex-husband of Jill Biden, Bill—now 78—has spent years challenging the official narrative of how Joe and Jill met—and now, in a case dripping with suspected lawfare, he sits in a Delaware jail charged with first-degree murder of his wife Linda. No public indictment details have been released. No autopsy report. Just a wall of official silence that grows more ominous by the day.

I’ve known Bill for years, ever since I started ribbing Jill on my Newsmax show. “She screwed over an all-round great guy, Bill Stevenson,” I’d say, half in jest. Bill called to thank me—and offered that there was far more to the story. Just as the Biden DOJ was investigating and prosecuting Donald Trump for political reasons, the same thing, he strongly believed, had happened to him decades earlier at the direction of Joe Biden.

The Origin Story: From Bar Owner to Biden Insider

Bill Stevenson’s life reads like a cautionary tale about getting too close to power. Bill and Jill met in 1969 at the Jersey shore. He was 21 when they married in 1970 (she was 18), and Bill built a thriving business: the Stone Balloon, a legendary concert venue in Newark, Delaware, that hosted icons like Bruce Springsteen and the Allman Brothers. Life was good; the Stone Balloon was a cash cow.

In 1972, Bill needed zoning help for his expanding empire. Senator Hale Boggs was accessible in the tiny state, but he brushed Bill off with a curt suggestion: “Go see that son-of-a-bitch Biden.” Bill did just that, reaching out to then-councilman and long-shot candidate for the U.S. Senate Joe Biden. What started as a business favor blossomed into a friendship. Bill hosted a fundraiser for Joe’s Senate run at the Stone Balloon, raising crucial cash. Bill vividly remembers stuffing envelopes for the campaign at Joe’s kitchen table alongside Jill, Joe, and Joe’s then-wife Nelia. Joe became a regular in their lives—dinners at the Stevensons’ home, casual hangouts. Bill insists Joe knew Jill well during this time, long before the Bidens’ polished origin story claims otherwise (more on that later).

Then, came the tragedy that reshaped everything. In December 1972, Joe Biden’s wife, Neilia, and infant daughter, Naomi, were killed in a horrific car crash. The nation poured out immense sympathy for the newly widowed young senator. Joe described himself as a “hot commodity in Washington” because of his unique situation—but he famously went home to Delaware every single night to be with his two young sons. Suddenly, those boys needed looking after. Jill was babysitting them a lot. Bill says she began backing out of activities that would normally delight her—the beach, concerts, everything—because she “had to look after the Biden boys.” (The babysitter may have been part of what made the commute worthwhile.)

For Bill, proof of betrayal came in 1974. Jill’s prized Corvette was involved in a minor fender-bender. Bill didn’t find out until days later, and in the most devastating way. The driver of the other car involved in the accident—a man—showed up at the Stone Balloon, not confrontationally, just for follow-up paperwork. Bill was stunned. “Jill was in an accident? With her precious Corvette? She didn’t tell me.” The man replied, “Oh no, Jill wasn’t driving. It was Senator Biden.”

That was the smoking gun. Bill asked Jill to leave the house. But the divorce started amicably enough; Bill was ready to hand over assets. But on court day, everything changed. Joe, Bill says, intervened, insisting Jill deserved a stake in the Stone Balloon. He even pushed her to hire a new lawyer—one in his circle. The case dragged on, and in a bizarre courtroom twist, the judge dissected their life: “Did you pay for her schooling? Buy her a car?” In the end, Jill owed Bill money. Humiliated, Joe vowed revenge, according to Bill

The First Strike: Federal Charges Over Pennies

Revenge arrived eight years later—but it was federal and ferocious. In April 1982—just eight days after the first quarter’s payroll taxes were due—the check was literally in the mail when Bill and his brother were arrested by the FBI for failing to pay about $8,200 in taxes for the Stone Balloon. Think about that: $8,200. A relatively small sum, especially for a venue pulling in crowds and cash. Yet federal agents moved with astonishing speed. Bill’s brother handled the books and ultimately pleaded guilty; he left the state. Bill was hauled into federal court but never convicted on the main charges.

Bill was targeted again by the federal government in a similarly petty legal mess that landed him a fraud conviction four years later. The case centered on a car loan gone wrong—specifically, an $8,000 auto financing deal where authorities alleged he misrepresented details or defaulted in a way that crossed into fraudulent territory. What could have been handled as a civil dispute or simple repossession ballooned into federal criminal charges, resulting in a conviction that, in hindsight, seems absurdly disproportionate for the amount involved. The episode stood out as a low point in an otherwise eventful life, underscoring how minor financial missteps could spiral under the weight of a system where Joe Biden had a role in appointing the US Attorney and the Judge.

Bill also recounts threats from Joe’s brothers, Frank and James Biden: “Leave Delaware. You should have given Jill the house.” It’s the kind of muscle-flexing that fits the era—LBJ still alive, J. Edgar Hoover at the FBI, pre-Watergate America where senators in tiny states were untouchable.

The 2020 Spotlight: Challenging the Biden Myth

Bill stayed quiet for decades, but the 2020 election changed everything. During the DNC, a glossy video spun the Biden love story: Joe spots Jill’s photo in a local department-store ad at a train station, tells his brother he’d love to date a girl like that. The brother (who supposedly knew Jill from college) sets up a blind date. Their first date? A movie in Philadelphia. (When asked what film, Jill demurred: “I don’t remember.”) Joe has also said he knew immediately he would marry her the moment they met.

Bill called bullshit—respectfully. In a bombshell Inside Edition interview in September of 2020, he laid it out: Joe met Jill through him during the 1972 fundraiser. They were all friends—until the affair. “I was betrayed by the Bidens,” Bill told the show. “Joe was my friend. Jill was my wife.” He didn’t trash them as bad people; he simply said this is the real story. It all brought him to his current wife Linda, and he wasn’t judging. “This is the truth.” I was impressed by how he handled it.

That’s when Bill entered my orbit for real. He called Newsmax and got through to me. He thanked me for my kind words but said something tantalizing: “There’s more to this story. I want to tell you in person.” He came to New York City with his wife, Linda. Over coffee, Bill dropped the bomb: “Joe Biden is using the DOJ to go after Trump. And guess what? Joe Biden did the same thing to me decades earlier.”

Bill is quite talkative—he’ll offer overwhelming detail on the most mundane matters, which is, actually, endearing and often educational. But to understand his case, I had to review the documents and contemporaneous media reports myself. And there it was: a federal indictment over $8,200 in payroll taxes, served just eight days after the taxes were due. Piecing together the dates of his 1982 arrest, it clicked—this wasn’t coincidence; it was payback.

Bill became a regular guest on my show. The old affair was an afterthought. What we presented was the lawfare parallel: Bill’s ordeal presaged President Trump being locked up over nothing. Bill also offered his full-throated endorsement for President Trump’s election in 2024. Jill Biden’s ex-husband voting for Trump. The story was fascinating and picked up widely—New York Post, Daily Mail, Daily Beast, and more.

The Pardon Push and a Tragic Turn

Trump’s 2024 win—and his return to the White House in 2025—brought hope. I pitched a pardon for Bill to the Trump administration in summer 2025, then directly in November. Things were looking very positive. I sent the docs to his team. Relief was in sight.

Then, between Christmas and New Year’s 2025—December 28, to be exact—a 911 call came in for a domestic disturbance at Bill’s Wilmington home. Linda, 64, was found unresponsive in the living room. Paramedics couldn’t revive her. I called Bill—straight to voicemail—for ten days or so. Then he answered. I was relieved. I didn’t ask for an explanation. He told me he had been jailed on suspicion, then released. His lawyer said he wasn’t in trouble. He was immensely sad. I didn’t have time for a long talk; I was just glad he was out and apparently had done nothing wrong.

Four weeks later—early February 2026—it all flipped. Bill was arrested again and indicted for first-degree murder. But to me, this is insane: No released indictment details. No autopsy. A hearing before a “commissioner,” not a judge. Bill, with a public defender, entered a not-guilty plea. Bail? A staggering $2 million cash. He’s locked up at Howard Young Correctional Institution, isolated.

I called the public defender. She laughed when I identified myself. “Oh, I knew you’d be calling!” she chirped. “Oh, he’s FINE!!!” It was the most bizarre phone call I’ve ever experienced. I told her I was a friend of Bill’s, gravely concerned he was wrongly accused. The giggling never stopped. She did give me the email for the new public defender. The reply was tone-deaf and a brush-off: essentially “We don’t want you visiting Bill, and we’re handling everything.” I tried my contacts from the FBI—like many who have approached them with suspicions of wrongdoing, I came away feeling a bureaucratic runaround by an agency that is incurious about certain kinds of wrongdoing.

Why This Smells Like Revenge

It’s a fiefdom where the “Delaware Way” means deference to power. Locals cede authority to politicians like the Bidens, who feed on that fear. Bill’s been on their wrong side since 1974—divorce humiliation, public affair accusations, Trump endorsements. Now, with a pardon looming, Linda dies under murky circumstances, and Bill is fast-tracked to a murder rap with zero transparency.

People are complex. Could Bill have murdered his wife? Anything is possible. But if I had to bet, I’d put my money on Bill’s innocence—and that his anti-Biden stance invited this. Autopsies can be manipulated, reports skewed, in a state where influence runs deep. Remember Bill’s 1982 tax bust? Same playbook: swift, federal, disproportionate.

This isn’t just Bill’s fight; it’s about unchecked power in small places. The publication of this piece on Substack isn’t enough—let’s get eyes on Delaware, the autopsy, the indictment, the evidence. Bill Stevenson isn’t just Jill’s ex; he’s a symbol of what happens when you cross the wrong family.

If you’ve got tips or insights, hit me up. Let’s shine a light before it’s too late.

Greg Kelly is a Newsmax and WABC host and commentator. This is his opinion, based on conversations with Bill Stevenson and public records. Subscribe for more on politics, power, and the stories the dominant media ignores.