She thought that whatever this guy had done to get where he was in life, it must have been right. Within minutes of meeting him, she already felt like he cared about her and he wanted to help. That’s why she figured he was paying so much for a massage from someone who at the time wasn’t even sure if she was massaging him or just tickling him.
Halfway through the massage, Jeffrey instructed Lynn to leave the room, which she did. What Courtney didn’t know is that her friend was also receiving money—a finder’s fee for bringing another girl to the mansion. As soon as Lynn left, Jeffrey rolled over onto his back and removed his towel. She didn’t know what to do. She froze. But in his typically persuasive manner, Jeffrey told her not to worry, that this was normal, it was natural. He assured her that he was going to tell her exactly what to do, and that she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. Courtney had nothing to compare this situation to, so she believed him. To the best of her understanding, it was normal that rich and powerful men got naked massages.
Jeffrey continued instructing her where to massage, starting with his chest. He closed his eyes and told her to pinch his nipples. Confused, Courtney complied. In an increasingly direct voice, Jeffrey kept telling her, “Harder, harder, harder.” Jeffrey then grabbed himself with his hand and began to touch himself while Courtney was standing there pinching him as directed. As soon as Jeffrey finished, he hopped up off the table. True to his word, he paid her two hundred dollars in cash, and then he left her to find her own way back down the staircase.
To Courtney’s dismay, Jeffrey’s house was like a labyrinth, with multiple stairways. As Courtney would soon learn, the stairway that was used to shuttle high school girls to and from Jeffrey’s bedroom was somewhat disguised. When she left his bedroom with money in her hand, she had no idea where Lynn was, so she scurried around the upstairs area, looking for the secret door to lead her back to where she had started.
There were so many doors up there, so many bedrooms; she didn’t know who else was in the house, and she didn’t want to overstep and walk in on what might be going on behind other doors. Still in shock from what she had just experienced, with self-preservation adrenaline rushing, she cracked open the door that was adjacent to a large painting of a little girl hanging in the hall outside the master bedroom. The girl in the painting appeared to be about four years old, looking back over her shoulder, wearing nothing but underwear that had been pulled down, exposing her untanned bottom. The painting had been made from a photograph of a girl Jeffrey would later claim was his goddaughter. Regardless, the nature of the painting combined with the “what the f***” kind of experience Courtney had just endured caused further confusion as she scrambled around looking for the door that would lead her out of the gigantic maze of a house.
As the seconds passed, she grew more conscious of her surroundings. She actually paid attention to the subjects of the many framed photographs lining the walls and sitting on every desk and dresser. Almost every frame contained a picture of a fully or partially naked young girl. There was one female figure, however, who was clearly older and appeared in many photographs, sometimes in the nude and other times with her clothes on. In the few photographs that did not contain naked females, this older woman appeared with Jeffrey alongside recognizably famous people. In fact, there was a photograph of Jeffrey, this woman, and the Pope sandwiched between two other picture frames containing the images of fully nude young women lounging by Epstein’s swimming pool.
Trying to calm herself, Courtney kept thinking about how nice this guy had been to her, how he cared about her, asked her about things that felt good to share with someone, how he had come from basically nothing to all this. Jeffrey could help her. She knew that he could help her. But he had flipped over on that table and masturbated while forcing her to pinch his nipples, and now she was lost in the upstairs of his mansion, wanting to find a way back down by herself, a way that wouldn’t require her to walk back into his bedroom and ask him for directions.
She realized that she wasn’t just lost, she was trapped. Courtney was in a panic. As she cracked the next door open, she heard a voice that sounded like her friend laughing with someone else. What could possibly be funny at this moment? Did Lynn know what was happening? Was her friend laughing at her? Had Courtney been set up? Did Lynn think this was good? Was this a good thing? Was Courtney just overreacting to momentary disorientation? Was this whole experience totally normal? After all, she had been paid two hundred dollars. She was richer than she had ever been.
Courtney opened the door wider and saw there were stairs. The laughter was coming from the bottom. There was no one chasing her. In fact, there was no one else around. But the idea of seeing Lynn after what had just happened freaked her out. Every step down the stairs ratcheted up her anxiety a bit more until she opened the door at the bottom to find Lynn sitting at the fifteen-seat kitchen island eating cereal and chatting with Jeffrey’s private chef about which was better, Froot Loops or Cheerios.
Courtney told her friend it was time to go. Before they could leave, Sarah Kellen walked in and asked Courtney for her telephone number. She told Courtney that Jeffrey liked her and wanted to see her again. The butler called for a taxicab to come pick up the girls. While they were waiting for it to show, the chef asked Courtney if she wanted a box of Froot Loops. Courtney said yes. Everyone had to know everything and the business-as-usual attitude convinced Courtney, at least for the moment, that Jeffrey was right. This was normal.
When the cab got there, the two girls walked down the long driveway past two Cadillac Escalades and a black Mercedes before hopping into the taxi. Courtney still had no idea what Lynn knew and didn’t know about this man. As soon as the girls got into the cab, Courtney saw her friend counting money. That was the moment she understood that not only had she been paid two hundred dollars for giving the massage, but that Lynn had been paid two hundred dollars for bringing Courtney to the house. Courtney asked Lynn if she had ever given Jeffrey a massage. Lynn confirmed that she had had similar experiences with him.
Lynn, who had spent some time with Jeffrey and had bought into his philosophy, told Courtney that it was all totally normal. “This is what rich people do. This is how you become successful,” Lynn explained. “They’re only trying to help a bunch of poor trailer park kids like us who need a break in life. Look around you.” To the untrained eye, she was right. Every house was bigger than the next. All of Palm Beach Island was filled with houses that had sprawling gated grand entrances, golden statues, and Bentleys in the driveways.
Lynn looked at her and continued, “Don’t be mad at me. You should thank me. You can bring him girls, too. Any time you need two hundred dollars, you can give him a massage, or whatever that is, and if you don’t want to do that, you can make two hundred dollars just by bringing him friends.”
The girls lived in the same trailer park, so the cab drove them across the bridge from Palm Beach before turning onto Okeechobee and going down streets with hourly motels, old town houses, and other trailers. When they arrived, Courtney and her friend got out of the cab and went their separate ways. Courtney walked the dirt road home to her broken-down single-wide trailer, kicking cigarette butts and crushed beer cans along the way. No one was home. Thank god, she thought.
Courtney sat for a few hours trying to think about her life, everything that she had and didn’t have, and everything that she had learned or seen in the last two hours. It was a lot to process for such a young kid. She reached in her pocket and pulled out the two crisp, folded hundred-dollar bills. She stared at the money. Maybe her friend was right. This was her chance. This was her opportunity. He seemed nice. What was the harm? She definitely didn’t want to live in this trailer for the rest of her life. She definitely didn’t want to be around her parents and their cracked-out friends.
The next day, Sarah Kellen called Courtney and asked her if she wanted to “work.” Courtney knew what that meant. She told Sarah that she didn’t have money for a cab,
so Sarah sent the butler to pick Courtney up in a fancy black town car. The driver was named Juan, although the kids called him John. He told her he had worked for Jeffrey for years. Courtney didn’t say a word, enjoying the nice new car on her way to beautiful Palm Beach Island.
On this trip, she paid close attention to everything. To Courtney, Palm Beach looked like it was out of a movie. The grass was greener than any grass she had ever seen. There were twenty-foot hedges lining the streets. Every car was nicer than the next and the people she saw were happy, wearing designer clothes while walking their well-groomed dogs. The teenagers were jogging or riding their shiny new bikes. And she noticed the half dozen landscaping trucks on the sides of the road with crews slaving away to serve the rich in the burning sun. These people, she thought in a flash, were the people who didn’t make something of their opportunity. She didn’t want to be one of them.
The slick black town car turned on El Brillo Way and headed west to the mansion’s cul-de-sac. The gate opened on the left and John pulled into the large driveway that already had nine other fancy cars parked in it. The house looked like a hotel, white with a wraparound balcony. The driveway and the walkway leading to the house were paved with huge stones. There were two entrances that Courtney could see: the side entrance to the kitchen, which was the way she’d entered the first time, and the beautiful, grand front door.
Courtney wanted to know what was behind that front door. It was the biggest door she had ever seen. But John led her from the car to the side entrance and with every step she took, the big door got farther and farther away. Trying to take in as much as she could, she looked back toward the yard and saw another house that wasn’t connected to the main house. She later learned that this was where the housekeepers and the butler stayed. Good lord, they had their own house! Even that house was five times bigger than the trailer Courtney shared with her parents and little brother. Even the “help” lived like kings. This is why you’re here, she told herself. You can live like this one day.
When they walked into the kitchen, Sarah greeted Courtney like she was an old friend. Courtney looked to the right and saw a refrigerator that had to be eight feet across with two huge stainless-steel doors. There was a large stove, and on the back side of the kitchen island, she could see an opening into a large great room. She was so curious about what was through that door that she started to walk toward it, pretending to be lost and unsure of how to get to Jeffrey’s sprawling bedroom. Sarah stopped her immediately and with a stern voice said, “This way.” Sarah led her up the same hidden stairway and into Jeffrey’s bedroom. After placing the massage oils on the table, Sarah said that Jeffrey would be there shortly. Then she left the room. Once again Courtney was alone.
This time Jeffrey came out of the shower naked, without even bothering to put the towel on. As he approached the table, he smiled at Courtney and gave her a little wink, signalling that it was nice to see her again. On the one hand, this felt strange and made her question what she was doing and everything that had led her to this moment. On the other hand, Jeffrey’s smile projected sincerity and friendliness, both of which disarmed her enough to calm her nerves. That and, of course, the money. The hope of entering this rich universe. The thought of getting out of the pathetic trailer park where she lived. The thought of living a different, and better, life.
Jeff immediately began peppering her with more questions about herself. She was ashamed of her answers, most of which dealt with her parents and poor childhood, so she shaded some of her responses. Jeffrey asked her where she went to school, and she told him John I. Leonard, which was a local high school. He said, “I like you. This time, when you give me my massage, take your top off, and take off your shorts, too. It’s a better massage experience for everyone. You’ll see.”
She knew that he was serious and complied. As she was massaging his back, she heard him begin to moan and thought, Is this also normal? Is this the same thing that happened the first time, but I didn’t realize it? Or am I hurting him? She asked him if she was doing it right and he told her not to talk. He rolled over and demanded that she pinch his nipples. He exclaimed, “Harder,” but she was pinching and squeezing as hard as she could. He kept saying “harder” over and over again, but she didn’t know what more to do. When he couldn’t get the force that he was looking for from her small fourteen-year-old body, Jeffrey reached down to touch himself and began to masturbate again.
This had happened last time. She was ready for it. It isn’t a big deal, she kept telling herself.
Just as she finished that thought, he reached up and placed his hand on her right breast. “Take off your bra, it will be fine,” he told her. She hardly needed a bra. She was nervous, but what choice did she really have? She was alone with one of the most powerful brain surgeons in the world, being paid in cash for just one hour of her time. She justified compliance—What harm could really come from removing my bra? She was embarrassed by her small A-cup breasts, but Jeffrey touched them softly and told her how nice they felt. As she describes it, Jeffrey Epstein was never mean to her.
* * *
There was more to the story, of course, and sitting in my office, she would let it slip out little by little during the interview. All in excruciating detail, yet it was necessary, both from her perspective as the client and mine as her lawyer. What was overwhelmingly clear was Epstein’s manipulation. The hardest part for me was to listen to how he was able to employ his diabolical tactics on such a young kid who was already barely surviving against incredible odds. I was deeply frustrated that a grown man would constantly compliment a child in ways that got her to do things to him not meant for a child to do. As she continued to talk, my blood pressure rose. I found myself emotionally back in my former office as an assistant state attorney, wanting to personally make sure that he was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. This man needed to be stopped.
Courtney recounted Jeffrey’s remarks telling her that her body was so pretty and that she had so much potential—not sexual potential, but human potential. The good stuff, the big stuff, the aspirational stuff. Coming from someone of his status and intelligence, those words boosted her confidence.
Courtney continued to describe how it began with Jeffrey, though she was defensive about how she could have been duped. Jeffrey had asked her very politely to remove her underwear. Before she knew it, he was inserting his finger inside of her with one hand, while touching himself with the other and telling her repeatedly to pinch his nipples harder. Is this still part of the massage?, she asked herself. She had never done anything like this before, but she found it easier to do as she was told, to comply with his wealth, power, and authority rather than to question it.
As soon as Jeffrey finished, he told Courtney to put on her clothes and walked toward the shower. When it was over, her money was always on the dresser. She never once had to ask.
I asked her to describe what she felt the second time after the massage. She took her money and put it into her ripped jean shorts pocket and walked out of Jeffrey’s bedroom. As strange as the experience still was to her, she felt more empowered this time. She didn’t feel trapped. She knew how to find the door to get out. She walked herself down the stairs, and this time it was she who struck up a conversation with the private chef. Courtney was important enough to have been in the room alone with the master of the house. She was important enough to ask for her own cereal, and to have it poured for her.
Moments later, Sarah walked in, and before she could say anything, Courtney announced, “I think I have a friend that Jeffrey would like. I was told that he would pay me if I brought them.” Sarah told her she was right and gave Courtney Jeffrey’s phone number to call when she confirmed the friend wanted to “work.” I’ve made it now, she thought. Everyone on Palm Beach Island was a businessman or businesswoman who had started somewhere. Courtney was only fourteen years old, and in that moment, she knew she was on her way. This was her beginning.
The day after her
second massage, Courtney went to the mall with Lynn, who was the only person on the planet she could talk to about her new “business.” For the first time in her life, she could buy clothes. Up until this point, Courtney had relied on Goodwill or the Salvation Army, or, if she was lucky, hand-me-downs from other kids in the neighborhood. But that was a thing of the past as far as she was now concerned. Today, she could get her very own new clothes—anything she wanted. The same was true for Lynn, so the fact that they were experiencing this entreprenurial power together made each want it more.
As their business with Jeffrey continued, Courtney and Lynn compared notes, and oftentimes they found other girls together. The duo would approach girls at the mall, at school, in the park, at the beach, and anywhere else. Courtney’s grades were no longer important. School was no longer important. She had new clothes and a whole new attitude. What was school for, anyway? To get a good job one day, right? She already had one, and she was her own boss. So was Lynn. Every day that Jeffrey was in town, Courtney or Lynn would be called by his team and asked if she wanted to work, or if she had any girls who did. Courtney and Lynn were working virtually around the clock, asking other teenagers if they wanted to get paid two hundred dollars to give a rich man a massage at his mansion in Palm Beach. Almost universally, their prospects agreed.
Relentless Pursuit Page 4
