Relentless Pursuit

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by Bradley J. Edwards


  A woman opened the front door. Virginia talked to her but did not enter. The interaction lasted about three minutes. The door eventually closed, and Virginia called me on my cell phone, unsure where I had gone.

  She was still shaking when I met her at the end of the block. It had been more than a decade, and yet this building was so ingrained in Virginia’s memory it caused her to have a physiological response when she came near it. Her reentry into the perimeters of Epstein’s world had brought back the memories that had caused her to flee the country more than a decade earlier. But there was also another emotion at play. She told me that the woman said she’d inform Jojo that Virginia was there to see him. The woman had closed the door and then, after a few moments, opened it again and told Virginia that Jojo did not want to see her. The only person in the Epstein household she thought had a heart big enough and kind enough to come to the door had refused to see her.

  Virginia understood that his doing so would have gotten him in trouble with his boss, but that did not matter, not now, not here. Right or wrong, she was genuinely surprised and disappointed by his snub. She was also relearning a lesson she’d learned many years before but, in the excitement of high expectations, had forgotten: in Epstein’s world, money trumped friendships. While this was disappointing to Virginia, it was an important gesture for me to see. She was willing to go into the lion’s den. It convinced me further of her credibility and determination.

  Without my prompting, she asked, “How close are we to 301 East Sixty-Sixth Street?” This was the address of the apartments, which Maritza Vasquez had explained were where Epstein stashed his girls. I asked Virginia what she was planning to do once she got there. She said the girls would talk to her because they were going through everything that Virginia had gone through.

  I told her that the only girl who I knew still lived there was Nadia Marcinkova. So, she went to the building and asked the doorman for Nadia. He was well trained when it came to the privacy of the residents of the 301 building. He said he could not confirm whether Nadia was there and that he would need to inform her of Virginia’s credentials. He took the information, made a phone call, and then told Virginia that he could not help her.

  With more time available before going to the Boies Schiller Flexner office, Virginia took me to other places in the city she had frequented, including the Victoria’s Secret store where Epstein often took Virginia and other young girls to purchase lingerie. After this field trip, it was time for the meeting. We checked in at the front desk, but without Stan as an escort, access wasn’t so easy. After taking our identification, which for Virginia was an Australian passport, security allowed us access to the elevators. It was still somewhat unnerving that this was the building where Darren Indyke, Epstein’s personal lawyer, had his office.

  We got off the elevator at the seventh floor and told the Boies Schiller Flexner receptionist that we were there. A few minutes later Stan and David both entered through the glass doors behind us. Virginia and I stood up. She had a way of not being impressed by anyone, and this was no different.

  David led us into his large conference room. He was at the head of the table, but he had not sat for more than a second before Virginia started her spiel, thanking him for his help and telling him that she had stayed silent for too long. She told him that she was here to stop Epstein once and for all.

  David, relaxed but methodical, listened to her patiently. He already had some background on Virginia, from Stan, and wanted to hear directly from her what she had experienced with Epstein and what her intentions were going forward. Knowing Boies’s time was limited, Virginia kept her summary brief, not expanding much beyond what she had alleged in her original Jane Doe 102 complaint. That was enough to get David’s attention. In essence, she was recruited as a teenager by Ghislaine Maxwell to be trafficked by Epstein. Now she wanted to be a part of undoing Epstein’s non-prosecution agreement. I then chimed in about the mechanics of making that happen.

  “It appears obvious Brad has everything well under control. Where do you see me fitting in?” David inquired.

  I responded: “Epstein should be in jail. My goal is to put him there. He will do anything to stop me. He has a powerful team behind him and unlimited resources to go after me, and Virginia, and anyone who stands up to him. I’m going after him, but when he and his team fire, we’re going to need a heavyweight legal team to counter their attacks. There will be plenty of room for you.”

  David reacted quickly. “Okay, then I’m in.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT VIRGINIA

  VIRGINIA WAS A POWERFUL WOMAN who would not scare easily or be bullied by anyone at this point in her life. She was a strong mother who was determined to set an example for her children by standing up to improve the lives of those who had experienced a similar misfortune. To appreciate Virginia’s fortitude, I needed to know where she came from.

  Virginia detailed it as well as she could. Her childhood was no fairy tale. In fact, from start to finish it was something out of a horror movie. At an early age, Virginia’s parents put her in a girls’ home that she couldn’t tolerate. So she ran away—she boarded a bus in Palm Beach and went to Miami. She was a beautiful, tall, thin blonde with bright blue eyes who had not showered or eaten for days when a limousine pulled up next to the bus stop where she was sitting.

  The man in the car rolled down the window and said, “You look like you could use a place to stay. Hop in.” Adventurous, alone, and with nowhere to go, she hopped in. The sixty-three-year-old man introduced himself as Ron Eppinger. He treated this fifteen-year-old kid as his new girlfriend. He was a professional sex trafficker who imported women from Europe to pimp out as part of his escort service, called Perfect 10.

  Within a month or so of Virginia’s arrival, Ron learned that he had been noticed by the FBI. The federal investigation was focused solely on the international escort service that Ron was running, and it had not yet hit their radar that he was also coercing a fifteen-year-old into sex. Ron was scared. He didn’t want to be caught, especially with Virginia. He drove her one night from Miami to Ocala, Florida, where he brutally abused her physically and mentally. She desperately wanted to escape, but she was afraid that he would kill her if she tried. She figured out that she had been stashed somewhere in a barn in the middle of the Ocala woods in northern Florida.

  Ron needed to get rid of her one way or the other. Unbeknownst to Virginia, he was coordinating with someone to take her off his hands. In June 1999, Ron drove Virginia to Hot Chocolates nightclub in Fort Lauderdale and introduced her to a friend of the owner named David Kelmanson, who was involved in a seedy club scene. Kelmanson made her his so-called girlfriend. For a few weeks, Kelmanson showed her off at the nightclub and around town. Despite her age, she was able to hold her own in any crowd.

  Virginia didn’t want that life, but she was too afraid to escape Kelmanson and go to the police. She knew the police would have taken her home, where her parents would have rejected her, and with no money or place to live, she’d inevitably end up back in a troubled kids’ shelter, which was, to her, worse than the streets. Virginia was stuck.

  But now the FBI was hot on Eppinger’s trail, which meant they were also hot on the trail of his friends. Virginia was in bed with Kelmanson one night when the Wilton Manors Police Department and the FBI burst through the front door. In June 1999, she was taken to the police station and, as predicted, her parents were called to pick her up. Her father came to take her home. This time, he didn’t kick her out.

  Virginia’s father worked as a maintenance man at Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago Club in Palm Beach, where he helped her get a summer job as a towel girl in the club’s women’s locker room. She couldn’t change her past as a runaway, but she had a tremendous energy and drive to be successful. Working at the spa introduced her to the lifestyles of the famous and wealthy clientele she assisted on a daily basis.

  Virginia went to the public library to get a book on massage therapy and brought it to work. She
was reading it on her lunch break one day, sitting on a bench outside the Mar-a-Lago spa, when she was approached by a beautiful, charming woman who struck her as supremely important and elegant. Her British accent added to her allure. The woman showed an interest in the book Virginia was reading and wasted no time telling her that she could get Virginia a job with her billionaire friend who owned a house around the corner.

  Virginia told the woman that she was just trying to learn, but really didn’t know much about massage, to which the woman replied that she and her boss would teach Virginia anything that she needed to know. She handed Virginia the address and said, “I’m Ghislaine. See you tonight,” presupposing that Virginia would show up.

  Virginia ran to her father, excited. Someone thought she was important.

  This was her chance, and she couldn’t let it slip by. Virginia had been beaten, abused, sexually assaulted, discarded, and told by the world that she would amount to nothing. Still, here she was, only sixteen, about to start working for a billionaire.

  That evening, Virginia’s father drove her to a palatial Palm Beach mansion on the water at 358 El Brillo Way. Too naïve to be scared, Virginia hopped out of the car and went to the door, ready to learn, to leave the past behind.

  Ghislaine greeted Virginia and welcomed her into the house, which caused Virginia to boil with excitement. Every time she thought things couldn’t get better, they did. She was pinching herself to remember that this wasn’t just a dream. “Jeffrey has been waiting to meet you,” Ghislaine told her in her soft, sophisticated accent. “Follow me,” she said as she led Virginia up the stairs.

  Virginia was taken to the bedroom to begin the massage, and Maxwell instructed her on every aspect from the location and placement of the oils to the length of time she would need to spend on each portion of the body, as well as the purpose behind every movement. Virginia paid close attention so that she could impress her new bosses as much as they had impressed her. While standing on one side of the massage table, around the corner from the master bed, listening intently to Ghislaine brag about Epstein’s brilliance and importance, Virginia saw someone emerging from the adjoining room, which, she would soon learn, held a shower. She turned to look and saw an older man who resembled Ralph Lauren walking in her direction wearing only a towel and a big, childish grin. “I’m Jeffrey,” he said. He then lay down on the massage table.

  Ghislaine and Jeffrey seemed almost giddy while asking Virginia questions about her life and her future, interspersed with Ghislaine’s instruction on how to give a proper massage. Ghislaine wasted little time before stripping off all her clothes and telling Virginia to do the same. Ghislaine and Jeffrey made their movements seem so natural. It was as though this was the way massage was performed in the world of the rich and famous. Get with the program or get another job.

  Virginia, embarrassed, first removed her white Mar-a-Lago uniform shirt and skirt. Maxwell and Epstein laughed to each other as they commented about how cute Virginia’s Hello Kitty underwear was. Ghislaine picked up a bottle of massage oil from the table nearby. She gave it two big pumps and rubbed her hands together before placing them on Jeffrey’s naked body. “Just do what I do,” she said.

  Virginia placed her hands on Jeffrey and followed Ghislaine’s every movement. Together they worked down Jeffrey’s back, and while Ghislaine spent time massaging his buttocks, Virginia glided her hands past, to the backs of Jeffrey’s legs. Ghislaine placed her hands on top of Virginia’s and pulled them back up. “It is important that you don’t miss anywhere. If you skip around, the blood will not flow right,” Ghislaine explained as she continued to guide Virginia’s hands. The only thing calming Virginia about the fact that she was standing naked in front of two naked adults was the constant instruction from Ghislaine—reassurance that this was just a typical massage in their world.

  Just when Virginia became comfortable with the motions, she heard Jeffrey begin to moan. At first, she couldn’t tell if this was a sexual type of moan or a reaction to the pressure. Before Virginia had time to contemplate an answer, Jeffrey turned over and Virginia pulled both of her hands back and held them up in the air like two stop signs.

  Jeffrey looked at her and smiled. Virginia stayed in that position, waiting for instruction. Ghislaine immediately placed both hands on Jeffrey’s chest. “Like this,” she said. “You want to push the blood away from the heart. Your turn.” Virginia placed one hand on each of Jeffrey’s pecs and began massaging in a circular motion. “Not in a circle,” Ghislaine interrupted. “Push the blood away. Don’t be afraid to use pressure.” Virginia kept her eyes on Jeffrey’s chest as she was rubbing. She could feel Jeffrey staring at her and could see his big smile from the corner of her eye. Jeffrey turned his head ever so slightly to look at Ghislaine. At the same time, Virginia peeked up. She saw Jeffrey wink in Ghislaine’s direction and then close his eyes. “You’re doing great,” Ghislaine confirmed.

  By this point, Virginia was over the fact that everyone in the room was naked. It wasn’t the strangest situation she had ever been in. It was, however, the nicest room in the nicest house, and she was getting top-rank instruction in massage therapy. Or so she thought. Just as she was beginning to get her groove, Jeffrey reached his hand down and began stroking himself. He opened his eyes briefly, “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Shocked, and now realizing that this was not what she had hoped it to be, Virginia felt herself almost unable to respond. She wasn’t going to let this ruin her chance, though. She just didn’t know what to say.

  Hoping to get more professional instruction and deflect from the activity that was going on below Jeffrey’s waistline, Virginia asked, “What do I do next?”

  Jeffrey and Ghislaine immediately laughed simultaneously the way two people do when they have an inside joke. “I know what he wants now,” Ghislaine said. She walked away from the table and brought back a large white plastic instrument with a ball on top that looked like a back massager.

  “What do I do with that?” Virginia asked. That question was also met with a short cackle from Jeffrey and Ghislaine.

  Ghislaine extended her arm and Jeffrey grabbed the device and turned to Virginia. “You just keep doing what you’re doing. This is for me to hold.” Jeffrey turned it on low and dropped his arm beside the table, sliding the device between Virginia’s legs and pressing the top against Virginia’s inner thighs. “Doesn’t that feel good?” Jeffrey queried.

  Virginia wasn’t sure what to think and definitely wasn’t sure what to say. The situation had changed so many times since her father had dropped her off at the house—both in reality and in her mind. What the hell is happening right now? How do I get out of this house?, she thought to herself. Almost as if he could read her mind, Jeffrey whispered, “Everything is okay. This is going to be great for all of us.”

  This calming voice immediately convinced Virginia that despite the fact she had never experienced whatever was going on at the time, it was normal. Or as Jeffrey so confidently told her, it was okay. Those words resonated with her. Nobody was holding her down against her will, as she had suffered in the past. Nobody was berating her or screaming at her or telling her how worthless she was.

  Jeffrey increased the intensity of the device and closed his own eyes before saying more sternly, “Now pinch my nipples.”

  Before Virginia could do anything, Ghislaine grabbed Jeffrey’s nipples between her pointer fingers and thumbs and said, “Don’t be easy on him. He likes it hard.” She appeared to squeeze as hard as she could, while looking at Jeffrey’s closed eyes and letting out a soft moan herself. Then she said, “Your turn.”

  Virginia grabbed hold of Jeffrey’s nipples and tried to squeeze, although her hands were not quite as strong as Ghislaine’s and the vibration from the device between her legs was distracting her. “Harder,” Jeffrey demanded.

  Virginia squeezed. “Very good,” Ghislaine said with approval. Ghislaine then instructed Virginia to get on top and straddle Jeffrey until he
finished.

  Jeffrey invited Virginia to join him and Maxwell in the shower. Nothing about this was made to seem unusual. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Epstein and Maxwell worked together seamlessly, as if they had done this many times before. Even the washing-up process seemed standard.

  Maxwell led the way toward the shower. “Follow me,” she said. All three entered the shower, where there were two soaps, one in the shape of a penis and one in the shape of a vagina. “Now wash me off up and down,” Epstein instructed. Virginia compliantly followed suit. After the shower, the three dried off. In front of Virginia, Jeffrey said to Ghislaine, “She’s a keeper,” as he walked to the other side of his master bedroom.

  “You did great. He really loved you,” Ghislaine told Virginia as she was putting her Mar-a-Lago polo back on. Ghislaine handed Virginia cash, “Can you come back tomorrow after you get off of work?”

  “Of course,” Virginia responded almost subconsciously, her mind still in a whirlwind. Ghislaine showed Virginia the stairway to get back downstairs and told her that Juan would drive her home.

  Sure enough, when Virginia got to the base of the stairs, Juan was waiting. There was another woman in the kitchen as Virginia was passing through on the way to the car with Juan. She was a beautiful brunette with curly hair who looked up at Virginia with a soft smile and said in a British accent, “Hi, I’m Emmy.”

  “Oh, hi, I’m Jenna,” Virginia responded, as that was the nickname she often used with friends. Unsure what to say but knowing it was rude to keep walking, Virginia said the first thing that came to her mind. “Do you work for Jeffrey?”

  “Not exactly, but sort of,” Emmy responded. “I’m Ghislaine’s assistant.”

  “Oh, good,” Virginia said. Feeling pressured by the fact that Juan had turned around to watch this conversation while also waiting with the keys in his hand, “Great. See you tomorrow.” Emmy just smiled as Virginia and Juan left the house and walked toward the shiny black Suburban.

 

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