George Santos, the former New York congressman whose political career unraveled amid scandal, walked out of a federal prison in New Jersey on October 17, 2025, after President Donald Trump commuted his seven-year sentence for wire fraud and identity theft. The dramatic turn of events capped off a tumultuous year for Santos, who had served just 84 days behind bars before receiving a presidential reprieve. Yet, as Santos reacquaints himself with life outside prison—enjoying hibachi dinners, reconnecting with his husband, and plotting a memoir—questions linger about his future, both legally and personally.
Santos’s release was as unexpected for him as it was for the public. According to New York Magazine, he learned of the commutation not from prison officials, but from a commotion in the cafeteria, where inmates were watching the news. “I’m like, ‘Yeah, whatever,’” Santos recalled. “I’m always on TV. They’re probably shit talking me.” But when he saw the chyrons announcing Trump’s decision, the reality set in. Within hours, his husband Matt Gerard was en route from the Poconos to pick him up, and Santos was dreaming of bottled water and a proper shower—luxuries denied during his incarceration.
The former lawmaker’s rapid return to freedom was met with both celebration and skepticism. President Trump’s rationale for the commutation, posted on Truth Social, was characteristically blunt: Santos had displayed the “Courage, Conviction and Intelligence to ALWAYS VOTE REPUBLICAN!” Trump added, “George Santos was somewhat of a ‘rogue,’ but there are many rogues throughout our Country that aren’t forced to serve seven years in prison.” As reported by Bloomberg and The Hill, the move immediately reignited debate over the use of presidential clemency and the political calculations behind it.
Santos’s legal saga began in earnest the previous summer, when he pleaded guilty to wire fraud and aggravated identity theft as part of a plea deal. He faced a staggering 23 federal counts, including money laundering, theft of public funds, making materially false statements to the House of Representatives and the Federal Election Commission, and falsifying records to obstruct the FEC. The charges stemmed from a pattern of deception that included defrauding donors and misusing campaign funds for personal indulgences. As New York Magazine detailed, Santos spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on luxury items like Botox and Ferragamo, rather than on his campaign.
His time in prison was, by all accounts, harrowing. In an interview with CBS News New York’s Marcia Kramer, Santos described arriving at Federal Correctional Institution Fairton to an environment fraught with tension. “The first night was tough. No one truly prepares for something like this,” he said. Prison officials, he claimed, shut down the facility and shuffled inmates to accommodate his arrival, a move he believed could have fostered hostility if not for his ability to navigate the situation. Within a month, Santos was placed in protective custody due to death threats, spending 41 days in a cell less than six feet wide and nine feet high, allowed out for just one hour a day. “It was mentally torturous,” he reflected, adding that he wrote three suicide notes during his confinement. “I wanted to document my feelings in case I felt short and weak and did it.” Prayer, he said, ultimately helped him through the darkest moments.
Inside, Santos lost over 30 pounds working in the kitchen and subsisting on what he described as “beef taco, beef-taco salad, chicken taco, chicken-taco salad, chicken fajitas, beef fajitas.” He joked about the monotony of the menu and the subpar ingredients, lamenting, “How many Mexican dishes are we gonna serve in an American prison?” He also reconnected with Samuel Miele, a former campaign fundraiser who was serving time for related offenses, and cracked jokes with other white-collar inmates. But the isolation and deprivation took their toll, with Santos describing the environment as “really dirty” and mentally exhausting.
Throughout his ordeal, Santos’s husband, Matt Gerard, remained a steadfast source of support. Gerard, a former pharmacist, visited as often as he could, even after being turned away once, and held onto hope that Trump would intervene. “I was very positive all the time, saying, ‘Oh, he’s not going to jail because President Trump is going to help him,’” Gerard told New York Magazine. Upon Santos’s release, the couple reunited for an emotional homecoming, celebrating with Champagne and their two pet macaws. Gerard expressed profound relief: “I’m so happy. I can’t even explain how grateful I am.”
Yet, freedom has not erased the consequences of Santos’s actions. In his CBS interview, Santos offered a sweeping apology: “First and foremost, I’m sorry. I owe so many people apologies. I owe my former constituents who I let down. I betrayed their trust. I betrayed my former colleagues’ trust in the House of Representatives, both Republicans and Democrats.” He added, “I know talk is cheap. I just want everyone back home to know—please, judge me by the actions moving forward.” He pledged to use his second chance to do good, expressing a desire to work on prison reform and help troubled youth avoid the mistakes he made. “We’re not rehabilitating prisoners, hence our recidivism rate is through the roof,” Santos said.
Not everyone is ready to move on. Nassau County District Attorney Anne Donnelly, whose jurisdiction includes part of Santos’s former district, issued a statement on October 22, 2025, underscoring her commitment to prosecuting political corruption “wherever it exists regardless of political affiliation.” While she stopped short of confirming an active investigation, her remarks left open the possibility of state-level charges. Santos, for his part, seemed caught off guard by the prospect, telling CBS, “It hasn’t crossed my mind. Like I said, I have no pendencies with them ... my entire case was federal. Not that I’m aware of, I don’t even know how’d they would do it.”
Financially, Santos faces mounting legal bills and the loss of his congressional salary. He has turned to selling personalized video messages on Cameo for $300 each and is contemplating a memoir based on notes he kept in prison. He even floated the idea of competing on Dancing With the Stars, noting, “Sean Spicer had a good time, and Anna Delvey did it in an ankle monitor. Why can’t I do it?”
Despite the whirlwind, Santos insists he has learned from his ordeal. “The largest lesson I’ve learned in my life is to always keep it above board. Don’t play loose and fast, and keep it 100 percent honest,” he told New York Magazine. He admitted to being “a product of my own chaos,” saying, “I didn’t want to accept that I was my own worst enemy for the longest time, and accepting I was my own worst enemy has been so sobering.”
For now, Santos is focused on rebuilding his life, advocating for prison reform, and seeking redemption in the eyes of the public. Whether he will face further legal jeopardy remains uncertain, but his story stands as a cautionary tale of political ambition, personal downfall, and the enduring complexities of American justice.
