Blake’s crime? He sent sexually charged messages to a Boynton Beach police officer who was pretending to be a fifteen-year-old boy. But in a sense, Blake was lucky: he could have been sentenced to life. The case was an interesting example of the kind of treatment regular Florida folks could expect just for soliciting sex with a minor. But nothing about Jeffrey Epstein was regular—and the plea deal he managed to strike in 2007 was simply extraordinary.
Epstein had bought himself one of the best defense teams ever assembled. His connections and contributions to Democratic causes had made him a player on that side of the political aisle. He had a famous Republican, Bill Clinton’s nemesis, Ken Starr, working the other side. And just to make sure they’d covered the bases, Epstein’s team also recruited Roy Black—the lawyer who’d cleared William Kennedy Smith of rape and kept Rush Limbaugh out of prison for his alleged illegal drug use—and Jay Lefkowitz, a defense attorney who’d worked with US attorney R. Alexander Acosta at Ken Starr’s law firm.
And so in September, the US attorney’s office reached a formal agreement with Epstein’s team: the United States would defer federal prosecution in favor of prosecution by the state of Florida.
A non-prosecution agreement (NPA) was drafted; among other things, it assured Epstein that he would not be prosecuted in the Southern District of Florida for felony offenses involving the sexual abuse of underage girls. (By that point, thirty known victims had been discovered.) Instead it allowed him to plead guilty to state felony offenses for solicitation of prostitution and the procurement of minors for prostitution. The NPA established a procedure that allowed Epstein’s victims to sue him in civil court and took the extraordinary step of ensuring that “any potential co-conspirators” of Epstein’s would be immune from prosecution.
“In consideration of Epstein’s agreement to plead guilty and to provide compensation in the manner described above, if Epstein successfully fulfills all of the terms and conditions of this agreement, the United States also agrees that it will not institute any criminal charges against any potential co-conspirators of Epstein,” the agreement stated, mentioning Sarah Kellen and Nadia Marcinkova by name.
“The parties anticipate that this agreement will not be made part of any public record,” the document concludes. “If the United States receives a Freedom of Information Act request or any compulsory process commanding the disclosure of the agreement, it will provide notice to Epstein before making that disclosure.”
Remarkably, despite assurances they’d received from the feds, none of the victims was consulted prior to the drafting of this NPA.
If Epstein did not sign the agreement, he faced a fifty-seven-count indictment and a decade or more in prison. But Epstein’s team of lawyers had gotten him a deal so sweet it could have rotted all the teeth in South Florida.
For all his protestations of innocence, there was every reason in the world to agree to an NPA.
On September 24, 2007, Epstein did sign it.
Once again, none of the victims had been consulted or notified.
CHAPTER 50
Jane Doe: February 2008
As a result of the non-prosecution agreement, a fifty-three-count indictment that federal prosecutors had prepared against Jeffrey Epstein—one that claimed he’d abused dozens of underage women—never was filed.
But as far as lawyers representing Epstein’s victims were concerned, the fact that those victims were not consulted about the non-prosecution agreement was inexcusable. The “government deliberately kept crime victims ‘in the dark’ so that it could enter into a plea arrangement designed to prevent the victims from raising any objections,” they would argue, in documents filed on February 10, 2016. For nine months, the lawyers claimed, from the time that the NPA was signed, on September 24, 2007, Krischer’s office, “doing Epstein’s bidding, [had] concealed the NPA’s existence from victim[s]” and continued to do so until the moment that Epstein had to plead guilty in court, which he finally did June 30, 2008.
In the interim, according to their lawyers, Epstein’s victims were only told, “This case is currently under investigation.”
A lawsuit that Bradley Edwards, a victims’ rights attorney in Fort Lauderdale, filed in July of 2008 cited the Crime Victims’ Rights Act, or CVRA (title 18, section 3771, of the US Code), which states that “victims of federal crimes have rights, including the right to be heard in court, and most particularly, not to be precluded from court proceedings, and the right to be treated fairly.”
According to him, prosecutors had violated the CVRA rights of the victims. Edwards, who said he was working pro bono, knew that this suit against the government would not allow for monetary recovery of any sort (including lawyers’ fees). But he also knew that if the government, urged by Jeffrey Epstein, had entered into a contract that improperly or illegally violated the rights of Epstein’s victims, then that contract, by nature, would have been improper in and of itself—in which case, the only remedy would have been to have the contract invalidated. And while it is difficult to know what, exactly, would happen if the contract is overturned, one possibility is that the government could prosecute Epstein for crimes against his victims, if the statute of limitations on those crimes has not expired.
At the time of this writing, that case is winding its way through the courts. It has all the earmarks of a modern-day Bleak House—the Charles Dickens novel about a legal case that is so massive and so complex that it drags on forever and drags everyone involved into the mire.
In the meantime, Epstein began to settle out of court with his victims.
In February of 2008, a Virginia woman who went by the alias Jane Doe #2 brought a fifty-million-dollar lawsuit against Epstein.
At the time of their meeting, she claimed, Epstein was fifty-two years old. She was a teenager, and her complaint, which was made public, gave the rest of the world an early glimpse of what Epstein, and the inner workings of his secret world, looked like from a victim’s perspective.
“Epstein is a financier and money manager with a secret clientele limited exclusively to billionaires,” the lawsuit alleged. “He is himself a man of tremendous wealth, power and influence. He maintains his principal home in New York and also owns residences in New Mexico, St. Thomas and Palm Beach, FL. The allegations herein concern Epstein’s conduct while at his lavish estate in Palm Beach.” The complaint continued:
Upon information and belief, Epstein has a sexual preference and obsession for underage minor girls. He engaged in a plan and scheme in which he gained access to primarily economically disadvantaged minor girls in his home, sexually assaulted these girls, and then gave them money. In or about 2004–2005, Jane Doe, then approximately 16 years old, fell into Epstein’s trap and became one of his victims.
Upon information and belief, Jeffrey Epstein carried out his schemes and assaulted girls in Florida, New York, and on his private Island, known as Little St. James, in St. Thomas.
Epstein’s scheme involved the use of young girls to recruit underage girls. (Upon information and belief, the young girl who brought Jane Doe to Epstein was herself a minor victim of Epstein, and will therefore not be named in this Complaint.) Under Epstein’s plan, underage girls were recruited ostensibly to give a wealthy man a massage for monetary compensation in his Palm Beach mansion. The recruiter would be contacted when Epstein was planning to be at his Palm Beach residence or soon after he had arrived there. Epstein or someone on his behalf would direct the recruiter to bring one or more underage girls to the residence. The recruiter, upon information and belief, generally sought out economically disadvantaged underaged girls from western Palm Beach County who would be enticed by the money being offered—generally $200 to $300 per “massage” session—and who were perceived as less likely to complain to authorities or have credibility if allegations of improper conduct were made. This was an important element of Epstein’s plan.
Epstein’s plan reflected a particular pattern and method. Upon arrival at Epstein’s
mansion, the underaged victim would be introduced to Sarah Kellen, Epstein’s assistant, who gathered the girl’s personal information, including her name and telephone number. Ms. Kellen would then bring the girl up a flight of stairs to a bedroom that contained a massage table in addition to other furnishings. There were photographs of nude women lining the stairway hall and in the bedroom. The girl would then find herself alone in the room with Epstein, who would be wearing only a towel. He would then remove his towel and lie naked on the massage table, and direct the girl to remove her clothes. Epstein would then perform one or more lewd, lascivious and sexual acts, including masturbation and touching the girl’s vagina.
Consistent with the foregoing plan and scheme, Jane Doe was recruited to give Epstein a massage for monetary compensation. Jane was brought to Epstein’s mansion in Palm Beach. Once at the mansion, Jane was introduced to Sarah Kellen, who led her up the flight of stairs to the room with the massage table. In this room, Epstein told Jane to take off her clothes and give him a massage. Jane kept her panties and bra on and complied with Epstein’s instructions. Epstein wore only a towel around his waste [sic]. After a short period of time, Epstein removed the towel and rolled over exposing his penis. Epstein began to masturbate and he sexually assaulted Jane.
After Epstein had completed the assault, Jane was then able to get dressed, leave the room and go back down the stairs. Jane was paid $200 by Epstein. The young girl who recruited Jane was paid $100 by Epstein for bringing Jane to him.
As a result of this encounter with Epstein, Jane experienced confusion, shame, humiliation and embarrassment, and has suffered severe psychological and emotional injuries.
CHAPTER 51
Jeffrey Epstein: June 30, 2008
On June 30, 2008, more than three years after the start of Officer Pagan’s investigation into his dealings with underage girls, Jeffrey Epstein reported to the Palm Beach County jail.
A few days earlier, Epstein had taken a phone call from the New York Times. At the time, he’d been working, or vacationing (the line having long since blurred), at his compound on Little Saint Jeff’s.
“I respect the legal process,” Epstein had said. “I will abide by this.”
He’d spent years fighting the charges—fighting the state, then the federal government, in an effort to avoid a sentence that would have seen him emerge from prison an old man. But the battle had aged him. Mellowed him, even. Months earlier, he had all but boasted to a journalist from New York magazine.
“It’s the Icarus story, someone who flies too close to the sun,” that journalist said in reference to “the agony” of Epstein’s legal “ordeal.”
“Did Icarus like massages?” Epstein responded.
But after Epstein’s indictment, there were no more boasts. For the most part, he kept silent in public and retreated into his Eyes Wide Shut world. And when the New York Times did manage to get him to speak on the record, he spoke like a chastened man.
Sitting on his patio down on Little St. James, Epstein likened himself to the shipwrecked Gulliver after he washes ashore on Lilliput.
“Gulliver’s playfulness had unintended consequences,” he said.
On the eve of his departure, he had a few more things to say:
“That is what happens with wealth. There are unexpected burdens as well as benefits….”
“Your body can be confined, but not your mind….”
“I am not blameless….”
Outside of the agreement he’d signed with the prosecutor’s office, this was the closest Epstein had come to admitting his guilt. But strange details were sprinkled throughout the story. He had formed a “board of directors of friends” who would counsel him on his behavior. And, seemingly for the first time, he’d hired a full-time masseur—a man.
Readers of the New York Times might have wondered: Epstein was going to jail for eighteen months. What need would he have for a full-time masseur?
The story’s last line hinted at the answer: in preparation for incarceration, Epstein had set up an e-mail alert.
From then on, his automatic reply would read “On vacation.”
PART V
Incarceration
CHAPTER 52
Jeffrey Epstein: June 30, 2008
The Palm Beach County Main Detention Center is on the west side of Lake Worth Lagoon, which separates West Palm Beach from the island of Palm Beach. Epstein’s home on El Brillo Way is five miles to the east. Mary’s high school is several miles to the west.
It’s fitting, somehow, that this jail—which is the jail Epstein ends up in, after turning himself in to the local sheriff—lies in between the two points.
The detention center’s inmates, their families, and their lawyers call it the Gun Club, a reference not only to the jail’s address, on Gun Club Road, but also to its population of hustlers, burglars, drug dealers, rapists, and murderers. There’s the occasional hooker as well. And, from time to time, Haitian refugees are lodged there.
There are three thousand inmates in all.
Some wait a year before making their way to the courthouse, their date with the public defender, and an appearance before the judge. Some get out much sooner, if only they can make bail. But there’s no bail without money—or at least collateral—and, of course, being without money is often what lands people in jail in the first place.
Jeffrey Epstein could have posted bail for every single inmate in the Gun Club.
But that’s just one of the ways in which Epstein is unlike his fellow inmates. He’s an admitted pedophile now. Even a famous one.
And, famously, pedophiles tend to fare poorly in jail.
Luckily for Epstein, Ric Bradshaw, the sheriff in charge of local jails, transfers Epstein to the infirmary, where he spends exactly one night before being transferred seven miles up the road to a much smaller, safer location: the Palm Beach County Central Detention Center—or, as it’s known, the Stockade.
“It’s not somewhere we’d put a serial killer,” Ric Bradshaw says.
Most of the residents here are addicts who take part in drug education programs, prostitutes, petty criminals, and drunks. It’s a far safer place for Epstein to be, and, unlike other inmates (except, of course, those being held in solitary), he’ll end up with his own cell, even his own wing, which he has to himself. Epstein’s allowed to pay for a security guard, who sits outside the cell and keeps watch. And he’s allowed any number of visitors.
For a convicted felon, it’s an extraordinary benefits package.
But according to Sheriff Bradshaw, who also oversees the Stockade, Epstein is incredulous over the treatment he is receiving.
“He was astonished that he had to go to prison at all,” Bradshaw remembers.
“Let’s just say he didn’t think he belonged there.”
CHAPTER 53
Sheriff Ric Bradshaw: June 2015
Our job,” says Ric Bradshaw, “was to make sure nobody killed him.”
Sheriff Bradshaw could have stepped off the set of a Western. Imposingly tall, with his cowboy hat, Kurt Russell mustache, and slow, southern drawl, he looks exactly like an old-school law officer—the kind you once would have found patrolling the streets of Tombstone, Deadwood, or Dodge City. He’s been a lawman for forty-four years, eleven of which have been spent as the head of the county’s jails. As a rule, he doesn’t talk to the media, and today, as he talks about Jeffrey Epstein, he’s clearly uncomfortable, fidgety, and ill disposed.
But here in his wood-paneled office on the first floor of the Gun Club, Bradshaw remembers Epstein quite well.
“We have a thousand sexual predators in the county,” he says. “When he arrived here, he was one of them. He definitely fit the category we have to ensure the general population is not going to take their anger out on.”
Although he understands that Epstein is a sex offender and has a sense of the scope of his alleged crimes, Bradshaw’s also aware that the actual conviction was for a “low-level felony.” At the req
uest of Epstein’s attorneys—a request that is confirmed by a court order—Epstein is quickly granted “work release.”
What it means in practice is that six days a week, for up to sixteen—sixteen!—hours each day, Epstein is allowed to leave the Stockade to be driven by a designated driver in a car earmarked especially for him to any one of three places: his lawyer Jack Goldberger’s office in downtown West Palm Beach, the Palm Beach office of a science foundation that he’s established, and his house on El Brillo Way.
Despite the ankle bracelet he wears, it could be argued that as a fabulously rich prisoner with two of his own jets parked nearby, at the Palm Beach International Airport, Epstein might have posed a flight risk.
Instead, every day of the week save one, he’s allowed to go to his lawyer’s, to go to his office, or simply to go home.
Did the deputy in charge of Epstein go to the house on El Brillo Way?
Ric Bradshaw considers the question.
“Yes,” he says, “he did.”
Did the deputy go inside the house?
“Yes, he did.”
If so, the deputy might have encountered Nadia Marcinkova, who was staying on El Brillo Way at the time. He may also have met a suave short-haired gentleman who spoke with a distinct French accent.
That would be Jean-Luc Brunel.
For the duration of Jeffrey Epstein’s stay—or half stay—in the Stockade, Brunel’s taken up residence in the house on El Brillo Way.
CHAPTER 54
Jeffrey Epstein: June 30, 2008–July 21, 2009
According to Sheriff Ric Bradshaw, the treatment Jeffrey Epstein received in the Stockade was not preferential. By some measures, he isn’t wrong.
In 2010, millionaire polo mogul John Goodman killed a young man while driving drunk. He was convicted but was allowed to spend two years under house arrest while his appeal was being tried.