Courtney would accompany each new girl to the mansion—just as Lynn had accompanied her—and walk her up the narrow staircase and into Jeffrey’s bedroom. Courtney wasn’t the same scared girl she was that first time. Now she had confidence, power, and influence. And once she dropped the girl off next to the massage table in Jeffrey’s bedroom, she had money.
Over the next two and a half years, Lynn delivered more than fifty girls between the ages of thirteen and seventeen to “work for Jeffrey,” and Courtney delivered more than thirty. Lynn even created a flyer at her high school with a line of tabs at the bottom including her telephone number so that kids could call her if they wanted to “make $200.” When Lynn or Courtney couldn’t find anyone, they would just go themselves. By this point Courtney had gone so many times that she knew exactly what to expect, until, finally, she didn’t.
As Jeffrey became more familiar with his girls, he pushed the sexual boundaries further. When Courtney was fifteen, she was jumped by some older girls in the trailer park and her braces got busted up. Her family had no money to fix them, and even though she had cash, she really didn’t want to spend her money on dental work. During one massage, while Courtney was pinching Jeffrey’s nipples as hard as she could, he took her head and forced it down on him. This was Courtney’s first oral sex experience and it did not last long. While Jeffrey was holding her head down and she was doing the best job that she could, her braces were apparently getting in the way of his good time. He lifted her head up and told her so. She was sorry for not being better at it and he said it was okay, she just needed to work a little harder and find some more girls for him.
Sarah continued calling and demanding she bring more girls. What began as a seemingly cordial request was now a command. Courtney was expected to bring girls. She was told that if she didn’t, she would disappoint Jeffrey, which was certainly not something she wanted to do. This, she understood, was not just an expectation but a threat. Courtney was desperate. She was looking anywhere and everywhere to find other young teenagers to bring to his house. Jeffrey had a particular type, though. The younger the better, he would say. White. No tattoos. No piercings. No pregnancies. The girls had to look “pure.”
Given these demands, Courtney was no longer regularly attending school. She was still living in the trailer park and was going to parties with older crowds. Innocent-looking fourteen-year-old girls who could keep a secret were not always easy for her to come by. On a few occasions, Courtney brought Jeffrey eighteen-year-olds. Without her even telling him their age, Jeffrey immediately told Courtney they were “too old” and turned them away. He had a keen sense of what he wanted and an equally keen sense of what he did not.
On one occasion, Courtney made a bigger mistake. Desperate for money, and not wanting to perform the sex acts herself, she brought an African American girl to his house. Sarah met them at the door and told them both to wait outside. Jeffrey came down himself. He took Courtney in the house and left the other girl outside. He handed Courtney two hundred dollars and said, “Do not ever do that again. Now get out of here.” He said nothing more.
As their relationship went on, Courtney felt indebted to Jeffrey. At this point, she was seventeen years old and had a long history with him. What began as something awkward that she had questioned as perhaps not right had become something that her maturity told her was wrong. The problem was she saw no way out—not just because of money, but because of the relationship she had formed with Jeffrey. She did not want to disappoint the man who had become her friend, father figure, employer, and master. Still, if she was going to stick with his program—and she was—there were other problems to cope with. By now, it wasn’t just her and Lynn who were bringing girls to Jeffrey.
Jeffrey’s tactic of presenting each girl who performed a massage with the “opportunity” to bring other girls had created a pyramid scheme, or a spiderweb, of young girls, all constantly searching for other girls to bring. While the eighteen- or nineteen-year-olds were too old for Jeffrey’s sexual appetite, they were not too old to recruit younger girls. With many girls in the area hungry for everything that Jeffrey had to offer, not least of which was the feeling of being important, there was abundant competition. To beat the competition, you had to do something special. And one day, that opportunity presented itself in a new way.
Jeffrey’s sexual appetite was extraordinary. When he was in town, he would typically have three or four of these massages a day, each time with a separate teenager. It was harder and harder for Courtney to do anything to set herself apart, and at seventeen she was close to aging out. Still, Jeffrey seemed to appreciate Courtney and their long relationship. If she had any doubts about that, they dissipated on this one particular day, when Jeffrey called for her to work at his house. This time, he asked her to come alone.
Courtney honestly thought that it was going to be a discussion about how the quality of girls that she was bringing was not up to par—not young enough or not pure enough. She arrived at the house and the butler told her to go to the front. It was finally happening. She was now important enough to enter through the front doors. She smiled as she strutted up and knocked.
Jeffrey opened the door himself, something that he had never done before. Courtney’s dreams were coming true, she thought.
She walked in to find a large lion sculpture, the highest ceilings that she had ever seen, a winding staircase, and a view of the swimming pool, where several young, tall, thin girls were sunbathing naked. Despite all she’d done in the last three years, she was shocked.
Jeffrey told her to follow him up the stairs, which she did. She entered the bedroom and on the bed she saw, for the first time, a beautiful young woman named Nadia. Nadia Marcinkova was a real model, and she looked the part. Jeffrey told Courtney that he had purchased Nadia from her family in Yugoslavia. She was part of his harem. After making introductions, Jeffrey got down to business.
He instructed Nadia to kiss Courtney and continued to direct all sorts of action between the two girls. He would push their heads together, tell them to undress each other, and while they were touching one another, he would touch himself next to them. Jeffrey told the girls to perform oral sex on each other in a sixty-nine position while he arranged himself above Courtney’s head to have sex with Nadia. He did that until he had finished, at which point Nadia got up and walked out of the room, leaving Jeffrey and Courtney behind.
“That was amazing. It’s just now hitting her what happened,” he said after Nadia was gone, talking about how he and Courtney had just made Nadia feel so good. Rather than hand Courtney money and kick her out of the house, as usual, Jeffrey told Courtney to follow him to the steam room. They sat together while Jeffrey told her how special she was and how special they had both made Nadia feel. Once again, Courtney was assured that what she was doing was not that bad. She knew better by now. But she also needed the money, not just to build a future life but to maintain the current lifestyle she’d gotten used to.
By this stage, Courtney was using drugs, in part, if not primarily, to dull the experiences that she was engaged in. Her once-promising high school career was long gone. Her life was spent sexually servicing an old man on Palm Beach Island or bringing others to do it in her place. Still, he had always been nice to her. He had always given her the impression that he was looking out for her, and whenever she was having second thoughts, he went the extra mile to make her feel special and convince her that what she was doing was right for herself.
Epstein’s manipulative control was strong, but as she got older and was of less use to him, he paid her less attention. She learned that she wasn’t all that important to him in the end. While she was still bringing him girls, when she could find those suitably young enough, she was back to entering only through the side door. Then she was contacted by law enforcement and realized that Epstein’s gig was up. In her heart, she knew what he had done to her and many others was wrong. Cooperating was her first step to do her part to make things right.
>
* * *
What I’d expected to be a thirty-minute meeting taken as a favor to a lawyer and friend had by now turned into a three-hour marathon of many interwoven tales. The patchwork of her young life was so incredible, all I could say when Courtney finished talking was “I want to help you in whatever way I can. What do you want to do?”
She told me that the FBI had approached her a year ago about their federal investigation of Jeffrey Epstein. She was cooperating with the United States Attorney’s Office through what seemed to be a very long process. Recently she had tried to get in touch with her victim advocate at the FBI, but she was having trouble getting any real information.
Courtney wanted answers. She wanted answers to questions that were basic, and certainly no different from those that the victims I used to represent at the state prosecutor’s office would ask. Was Epstein going to be prosecuted? Would he plead guilty? Would she have to testify at a trial? I told her that I could not imagine this case going to trial when she had described dozens of witnesses and victims who would inevitably also testify—a story that couldn’t possibly be dismissed as having been fabricated and could not be won by the defense. Epstein would eventually have to plead guilty.
Still, she seemed agitated about the state of the investigation and, more to the point, the lack of information about it. In any prosecution she would likely be a key witness, and she understood all that this entailed: the enormous time commitment, the huge expenditure of energy, the replacement of ongoing life with a public airing of her past, the reliving of events she preferred to put behind her.
Most of all, she knew it included facing the man whom she had known so well, who’d turned her life upside down. For Courtney, this case was a very big deal, and to be kept in the dark about it was frustrating. The silence had suspended her life. It had kept her in a state of constant self-questioning. It held her back from moving forward with steps she now knew were right and healthy. It kept her a prisoner of her past—and of him.
I asked her if she had any written communications from the government and she provided me with letters from January and May of 2008 informing her that she had rights under the Crime Victims’ Rights Act; that this was a long investigation; and that the FBI and U.S. Attorney’s Office appreciated her patience.
Courtney’s story was compelling. I felt for her. I told her I would help her. I really believed, as I explained to Courtney at the time, that it would be no problem for me to contact the U.S. Attorney’s Office to find out exactly what was going on in what had to be a major federal investigation and indictment. Courtney left that day with my word that what she was asking me to do was no big deal and that I would make sure that this miscommunication, or noncommunication, from the government would quickly be taken care of.
I thought that this would be nothing more than one telephone call to the U.S. Attorney’s Office. I mean, after all, why would the government be deliberately ignoring her? If it was true that they were, it was probably for a simple reason, like there were so many victims they just didn’t have time to keep informing each one of every step in the process. Or even more likely, because the crimes that Mr. Epstein had committed against these children could result in a life sentence, the government was negotiating how many consecutive life sentences to give him and couldn’t concern themselves with notifying the victims about a case that would never need to be tried because it would end in a guilty plea.
As it turned out, I was wrong. Very wrong. This would be the first time I was wrong in the Epstein saga, but it wouldn’t be the last.
FOUR THE CALL
IN MID-JUNE 2008, I PICKED up the phone to call the assistant U.S. attorney on the case, Marie Villafaña, expecting to have a conversation in which she would confirm that the massive case was moving along as quickly as possible and would result in long prison sentences for Epstein and his co-conspirators. When I was a prosecutor, I would share everything with a victim’s attorney because they had the right to know everything. So I expected this conversation to be an informative one. This was the second time I was wrong in the Epstein case.
It was unlike any conversation I ever had with a prosecutor. From the very beginning, Villafaña was guarded. I introduced myself as Courtney Wild’s attorney, a former prosecutor, and someone who would assist her in any way she needed to ensure a successful prosecution in this important case. She only said, “Okay. Thanks for offering to help. The investigation is ongoing. I’ll call you when we need anything from Courtney.”
My dissatisfaction with the first call led me to call her again. I figured if she knew I was on the right team, she would appreciate having another advocate in the corner of the victims. Unable to reach her, I left a message and waited for a response. When she called me back a day later, I was on a vacation with my family in a little time-share motel in Pompano Beach that my father-in-law had rented for us. I had promised my wife, Terry, that I wouldn’t work on this vacation. But when the “unknown” number appeared on my phone, I knew it was Marie and that I had to answer.
I kept her on the phone for thirty minutes, asking questions, trying to elicit any information I could. The more I asked, the less she gave. I finally told her that in addition to representing Courtney, I was meeting with Courtney’s friends who were also victims. I understood that coordination was difficult, especially with so many victims, and assured Villafaña that I would help.
I paced around the run-down pool deck as I shared what information I knew. Villafaña explained that she was fully aware of all the information I had. She confirmed that there were many people involved, both in terms of criminal targets as well as the number of people prosecuting the case for the government. In fact, she explained that the case began as an investigation by the local Palm Beach Police Department, which was originally submitted to the Palm Beach County state attorney, Barry Krischer. But in 2006, because of the extent of some of the crimes, the case had been turned over to the FBI and the U.S. Attorney’s Office.
Marie told me who some of Jeffrey Epstein’s big-name lawyers were. I responded that they made this a dream case for a prosecutor—I was jealous of her opportunity. She had the chance to take down what had to be the most prolific sexual predator in American history. And she got to do it against some of the best criminal defense attorneys in the United States. I reminded her that she had dozens of victims who could all testify in the same case corroborating one another’s stories, and that there was absolutely no factual defense. I told her I was all in if she needed any help. She told me thanks and that we would stay in touch. I had a lot to offer, yet she was not asking for my help. This was strange. Even given the typical way prosecutors ask for more information than they dole out, her apparent ambivalence about my assistance and utter refusal to share basic information with a lawyer representing her victims made me suspicious.
After the call, I made a public records request to the Palm Beach County State Attorney’s Office in an effort to obtain the Palm Beach Police Department’s criminal investigation file. My paralegal, Shawn, checked on that request every single day for a week.
* * *
The day after my vacation ended, I met for the first time with Lynn, and then Marissa, another friend of Courtney’s who had fallen victim to Epstein. Courtney had set up the meeting with Lynn and told her to trust me. Lynn did not trust anyone. She met me in a public park, and while I already knew all the relevant portions of her story, she went out of her way to shock me. Lynn was all about the shock factor. While she was only fourteen when she first “worked” for Jeffrey, she had been exposed to more than most kids her age. And even though she was no longer working for Jeffrey, she didn’t leave the line of work. With one story after another, Lynn tried her best to get a rise out of me. While I admit I was learning things I had never known before—such as the inner workings and prevalence of “jack shacks”—I was unfazed.
After peeling through her layers of side stories, she reflected on her young son, who was playing on the playgr
ound in front of us, and said, “I would kill someone if they did to him what Epstein did to me.” She was worried, though, that because of her other life experiences she would not be a sympathetic witness. She was also conflicted. She still liked many things about Jeffrey Epstein and spoke fondly of him. While I could not help her with that complicated conflict of emotions, I reminded her that she had been a child and not to worry about what other people would think. As I was leaving the park, she asked if I was sure I would help her after all I’d heard. In a way I think she wanted me to say no, so that she could brag that she was too much for me and so that she could avoid the conflict altogether. I told her that as long as she told me the truth, I would help her. This was good enough for her.
I then went to Marissa’s house where she described her experience with Jeffrey Epstein. Unlike Lynn and Courtney, Marissa never brought any of her friends to Epstein. Marissa had a fascinating yet troubled background that led her to being influenced by her friends into going to Jeffrey Epstein’s lair when she was only fourteen years old.
While Courtney and Lynn had strong facades, there was no hiding that Marissa had been damaged tremendously. At that moment, I realized something that I hadn’t understood when Courtney had originally explained the scheme. While Epstein’s victims had been lumped together in police reports, pleadings, newspaper articles, and other narratives, they are all strikingly different individuals. The only common denominators were their vulnerable ages and socioeconomic disadvantages, which a powerful, manipulative, and rich man was able to exploit.
When I got home from West Palm Beach that day, I immediately called AUSA Marie Villafaña—I couldn’t wait to tell her the additional information I had gathered from the other firsthand accounts and descriptions of the predatory behavior that occurred at 358 El Brillo Way. But to my dismay, our conversation did not go as I had hoped. She was not surprised by anything I was telling her, except for the fact that I had met with Lynn.
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