From Tesla to Test Tubes: How Elon Musk’s Mormon Lieutenant Helped Engineer a Billionaire Baby Factory.

Elon Musk, the billionaire CEO of Tesla and SpaceX, has found himself at the center of a growing controversy as revelations emerge about his increasingly unconventional approach to fatherhood and relationship management.

A recent investigative report describes a carefully orchestrated system involving significant financial inducements, non-disclosure agreements, and the strategic use of a close aide to manage what has been dubbed “harem drama.”
At the heart of this operation is Jared Birchall, a devout Mormon and Musk’s trusted family-office chief, who is playing a pivotal role in negotiating arrangements with women who have had children with Musk or been approached for such relationships.

Birchall, formerly a banker at Morgan Stanley and now head of Musk’s personal wealth office, takes on responsibilities that extend well beyond financial oversight.
According to the report, he serves as Musk’s primary liaison with mothers, discussing pregnancy plans, financial support, and, crucially, strict confidentiality provisions.
Birchall was recorded in a phone call with one of the mothers, conservative influencer Ashley St. Clair, emphasizing that his “job was to protect Elon.” As Birchall put it, Musk is “the biggest lightning rod on the entire planet,” and secrecy is paramount.

Musk’s pronatalist philosophy, which holds that modern societies are suffering from dangerously low birth rates, has motivated his push to father numerous children. The report indicates he now has at least 14 children by four different women—including his ex-wife Justine Musk, singer Grimes, Neuralink executive Shivon Zilis, and St. Clair—with sources suggesting the total may be even higher.

His public platform on X (formerly Twitter) reportedly doubles as a recruitment channel, with messages encouraging potential mothers to consider surrogacy or direct pregnancy with him. In one exchange with St. Clair, Musk reportedly texted, “I want to knock you up again,” and in other discussions he proposed using surrogates to rapidly expand his family before any potential global “apocalypse.”

Financial arrangements tied to these relationships appear extensive. Birchall offered St.

Clair as much as $15 million upfront and $100,000 per month until their child reached age 21—in exchange for complete silence about Musk and their child.

Once she publicly announced the child on X and resisted further privacy constraints, Musk allegedly pulled back these offers, reducing them to $40,000 monthly and later cutting payments further to $20,000. Birchall reportedly justified these NDAs by citing concerns over “mentally unstable” individuals distorting facts—stressing that anything less would be “absolutely insane and irresponsible.”

The involvement of Birchall is notable not only for the level of discretion he provides but also for his personal background.

A practicing Latter-day Saint, Birchall comes from a devout Mormon family and maintains a low public profile. According to sources, he has five children and, despite being raised in a faith community where polygamy is a historical echo rather than practice, he now serves as orchestrator of Musk’s reproductive ambitions.

Critics have pointed to a dissonance between his religious values and the transactional nature of the relationships he helps manage.

Financial matters aside, there are hints of deeper complexity. Musk reportedly sought to establish a residential compound in Austin, Texas, where he envisioned his children and their mothers living together in what was described as a “meritocracy.”
Mothers who maintained confidentiality and cooperation would receive financial benefits, while those who did not could face withdrawal of support. One mother, Grimes, is said to have refused to join, while St. Clair was pressured to relocate there—text messages reportedly urging her to be “with our kid legion.”

The fallout from these revelations has sparked broader debate. Critics argue the structure bears too close a resemblance to a coercive harem, accusing Musk of exploiting power imbalances and treating mothers like employees.

Editorial voices have warned of the ethical hazards of commodifying relationships and children under the guise of secrecy, cautioning this model may resemble dystopian family structures.

Radio show hosts and podcast guests have singled out Birchall, underscoring that his facilitation implicates him in what they describe as deeply problematic dynamics between Musk and vulnerable women.

Musk responded to the exposé in typically idiosyncratic fashion, posting on X, “TMZ >> WSJ,” signifying, perhaps ironically, his preference for tabloid-style coverage over serious journalism.

His comment was swiftly followed by a flurry of memes, as followers applauded his pithy dismissal of the report.

Despite Musk’s rhetorical deflection, the implications of the story extend well beyond personal scandal. Some analysts argue the public’s growing discomfort highlights a potential accountability gap for ultra-wealthy individuals.

Musk’s stature—as the richest person in the world, with a net worth estimated at $368 billion—allows him to structure personal affairs in ways few others could.

Critics question whether financial might should enable someone to negotiate privacy in exchange for silence about family life—and whether those agreements should be enforceable.

At the same time, Musk’s narrative reflects broader societal tensions over population decline. His repeated warnings of demographic collapse in Western countries have sparked intense interest—if not widespread anxiety—among those who see his personal actions as an attempt to model what he believes society needs more of: highly intelligent, reproduction-oriented offspring. His supporters portray him as a visionary taking action against population stagnation; detractors see a stark contradiction between promising the benefits of childbearing while deploying secretive clauses to keep his own from telling their stories.

For the mothers involved—some of whom prefer to remain anonymous—the public spotlight has brought no relief. St. Clair has voiced concerns over her child’s legitimacy and emotional welfare, and has criticized the coercive terms linked to financial incentives. Grimes, meanwhile, has waged a custody battle that she says nearly left her financially ruined—a conflict that ended in August, though terms remain sealed. Zilis, who lives in the Austin compound with four of Musk’s children, was described by Birchall as “going in and out of finding contentment.”

Observers around the globe are weighing in. Some point to the internal contradictions of a man preaching pluralistic reproduction via private wealth—but also invoking secrecy and leverage. Others question the ethics of birthing arrangements tied to surrogacy or incentivized cooperation, and note the possible legal complexities that may arise if any of the parties challenge agreement terms.

The saga raises fundamental questions: To what extent should the private lives of megabillionaires become subjects of public scrutiny? How far can financial power be used to shape personal narratives? And does assembling a “legion” of children under a manager’s direction raise red flags about family, autonomy, and transparency? Even as Elon Musk attempts to shrug off criticism, likening the coverage to TMZ gossip rather than serious reporting, the public’s reaction suggests otherwise.

In an age when private behavior is increasingly politicized, Musk’s reproductive strategy complicates conversations about power, wealth, and parenthood. It challenges conventional ideas about family structure, and raises the specter of transactional arrangements veiled by secrecy. If nothing else, the unfolding revelations have shown that even the world’s richest individual cannot fully contain the consequences of decisions that reach far beyond Silicon Valley boardrooms—or the gulf between billionaires and everyone else.