Another Florida Swamp Monster. Meet Rep. Cory Mills.
Cory Mills has stolen valor, assault allegations, and $85,000 in unpaid rent. Mike Johnson calls him a "faithful colleague." Welcome to the party of family values.
I have long suspected that Trump possesses all the lasting appeal of a one-hit wonder song— to some catchy on first hearing, for most insufferable by the third play, and positively migraine-inducing after four years of constant repetition. Yet here we are, subjected to the encore performance even after we fired him in 2020.
When the electorate saw fit to grant him a second engagement, certain predictions crystallized with the cheerless clarity of a gin-induced hangover. The first was that re-election would be interpreted by Mr. Trump and his admirers as vindication—not merely of policies or character, but of existence itself. From this would bloom the fantasy of a mandate, the charming notion that all of “real America” had been simply breathless with longing for our beloved goon’s return, and that we would naturally surrender our troublesome habit of independent thought to let Herr Trump direct the proceedings.
More alarming still was the certainty that changes would arrive at a velocity designed to induce vertigo. I imagined a decent interval, perhaps time enough to unpack the moving boxes. I was, as usual, far too optimistic. The whole ghastly pageant unfolded faster than a bad marriage, and there the nation sat, ring on finger, wondering how it got talked into this.
But do watch his acolytes in Washington—they’re not merely carrying water for Trump; they’re auditioning. They’ve grasped what Trump himself cannot: that even the most tiresome acts must eventually leave the stage. Trump will not secure a third term, barring a constitutional amendment I shudder to imagine, but some eager understudyman will attempt to assume the role. This is what has compelled me to catalog his leadership, a task with all the pleasure of inventorying a crime scene.
It had been an educational tour through the lower circles. A rational person expects a certain baseline of corruption in politics—it comes with the marble and the mahogany—but few of Trump’s associates had made quite such a spectacular shambles as Congressman Cory Mills of Florida.
My Substack newsletter has evolved into an inadvertent directory of Florida politicians, and not one emerges smelling of anything but sulfur and swamp water. Bondi, Gaetz, Trump, Acosta, DeSantis (Mrs.) and now Mills—Florida’s political class functions like organized crime, only without the organizational skills or the honor among thieves. I am beginning to suspect that the sole distinction between a Florida politician and a thief is just a ski mask and a more public schedule.
Cory Mills represented that distinction with admirable clarity. At forty-five, he boasted the full complement of credentials: Army veteran, defense contractor, twenty-four million dollars in assets, and a thirteen-point re-election margin in 2024. He also boasted a restraining order from October, an assault investigation from February, and an eviction lawsuit from July concerning eighty-five thousand dollars in unpaid rent.
Speaker Mike Johnson described him as a “faithful colleague.”
The war hero narrative deserves examination first, since Mr. Mills is so fond of leading with it. He claimed to have earned a Bronze Star in Iraq in 2003 for saving two soldiers’ lives—a lovely story, the sort that played beautifully at fundraisers. Except that in 2025, following an Army investigation conducted by people with the regrettable habit of checking facts, one of those soldiers reported that his injuries were not life-threatening and he retained no memory of Mills being present. The sergeant Mills supposedly rescued offered an even simpler assessment: the incident did not occur. Stolen valor as campaign strategy—how terribly modern.
Then came the women. Oh, the women. Mills was married but separated since 2019, a status that apparently liberated him to conduct exhaustive field research into precisely how abominably one man could behave while collecting a congressional salary.
First, Miss Lindsey Langston—Republican state committeewoman, Miss United States 2024, and possessor of judgment that clearly failed her in November 2021. She dated Mills until February 2025, when she discovered through media reports, as one does, that he was seeing someone else. Nothing said romance like learning one’s relationship status from the evening news.
Then there was Sarah Raviani, twenty-seven, who telephoned 911 in February from Mills’ penthouse. Police observed fresh bruises on her arm and documented that Mills “grabbed her, shoved her, and pushed her out of the door”—the sort of hospitality one associated with seedy nightclubs, not sitting congressmen. Miss Raviani later retracted her allegations, as women in such circumstances so often do, particularly when the man in question has power, lawyers, and a Bronze Star he may or may not have earned. Federal prosecutors declined to charge Mills.
When Langston ended their association, Mills responded with the communication skills we’ve come to expect from our representatives. “May want to tell every guy you date that if we run into each other at any point. Strap up cowboy”—a sitting congressman threatening violence against his ex-girlfriend’s future suitors. This was followed by “I can send him a few videos of you as well. Oh, I still have them”—revenge porn as relationship closure. How thoroughly modern. How completely vile. Langston asked him to cease contact eleven times, demonstrating considerably more patience than the situation warranted.
Circuit Judge Fred Koberlein Jr., who has presumably heard every variety of lie in his courtroom career, found Langston credible and Mills “untruthful.” The judge characterized Mills’ explanation as “difficult to comprehend and for the most part incomprehensible”—judicial language for “this man is lying, and badly.” The resulting restraining order bars Mills from mentioning Langston on any social media platform, which must be terribly constraining for a congressman in the age of truth-telling via Twitter.
While occupied with terrorizing former girlfriends, Mills was simultaneously innovating in the field of not paying rent. By July he owed eighty-five thousand dollars—four months on a penthouse costing $20,833 monthly. He had been late virtually every month since moving in, accumulating nearly fifteen thousand dollars in late fees with the dedication other men bring to stamp collecting. His excuse? The payment portal was malfunctioning. Except Mills had successfully paid back rent multiple times during his tenancy, suggesting the portal worked splendidly when sheriffs and court dates were involved.
But there’s more—there’s always more with these types. The House Office of Congressional Ethics found “substantial reason to believe” Mills misrepresented his financial disclosures and may have profited from federal contracts while serving in Congress. His company PACEM is forty-eight million dollars in debt and has been shut down twice for failing to pay workers’ compensation insurance. Even his business ventures aspired to deadbeat status.
Enter Mike Johnson, Speaker of the House, champion of Christian values, defender of the sanctity of traditional marriage, and guardian of public morality. When asked about Mills’ restraining order, Johnson offered this gem: “I have not heard or looked into any of the details of that. I’ve been a little busy.” He continued: “He’s been a faithful colleague here. I don’t know all the details of all the individual allegations, and what he’s doing—things outside life.”
“Things outside life.” That is Johnson’s phrase for revenge porn threats, for shoving women, for terrorizing ex-girlfriends, for failing to pay rent while drawing a congressional salary. “Things outside life,” as though threatening women exists in some separate dimension, unconnected to character or fitness for office.
Then came this magnificent conclusion: “Let’s just talk about the things that are really serious.”
You have to take a minute to appreciate the full dimensions of this statement. The Speaker who wishes to regulate pregnancy, to legislate bedroom activities for Americans, to police reading material, does not consider a congressman threatening women to be serious. The man who believes government belongs in your doctor’s office cannot spare five minutes to investigate whether his colleague belongs in a jail cell.
Even the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee managed to muster outrage: “It is abhorrent that apparently Speaker Johnson doesn’t think that domestic violence is ‘serious.’” When Marjorie Taylor Greene accused someone of hypocrisy, that person had achieved something truly special—they had managed to position themselves to the moral right of a woman who once suggested Jewish space lasers caused California wildfires.
The party of family values examined Cory Mills—studied the threats, the lies, the unpaid bills, the court orders, the bruises on a twenty-seven-year-old woman’s arm—and decided he was perfectly satisfactory. Johnson calls him faithful. The caucus shrugs with the indifference of men who have grown comfortable with worse. The voters re-elected him by thirteen points, because in Florida, apparently, threatening women and dodging rent is considered constituent service.
Mills remains. He will vote on morality legislation, presumably without irony. He will retain his committee assignments. He will collect his salary, though whether he’ll pay his rent remains an open question. And Lindsey Langston lives with a restraining order that expires in January, knowing the man who threatened to distribute intimate videos of her wields power, enjoys protection, and belongs to a party that considers the whole sordid business just “things outside life.”
The gentleman from Florida. War hero, businessman, and faithful colleague…
Well maybe.
Josh Powell is a healthcare writer, consultant, and former CEO of a leading multidisciplinary surgical center in New York. Most recently, he served as Project Manager for Columbia University’s NIH-funded HEALing Communities Study, addressing the opioid epidemic through evidence-based interventions.
His book, “AIDS and HIV Related Diseases,” published by Hachette Book Group, established him as an authoritative voice in healthcare. Powell’s insights have appeared in prestigious publications including Politico and The New England Journal of Medicine. As a recognized expert, he has been featured on major media outlets including CBS, NBC, NPR, and PBS.
In an era where independent journalism and free expression face mounting pressures, your support makes all the difference. By subscribing to The Powell House Press, you’re not just accessing premium content—you’re directly funding independent commentary and analysis free from corporate influence or editorial interference. Paid subscriptions allow me to continue investigating important stories, sharing unfiltered perspectives, and maintaining the editorial independence that makes honest journalism possible. When you invest in independent writers, you’re investing in the principle that diverse voices and open dialogue are essential to a healthy democracy. Your subscription helps ensure that independent writers can continue to ask hard questions, challenge conventional wisdom, and provide the kind of fearless commentary that mainstream outlets often can’t or won’t publish.