Anatomy of a Horror

In September 2025, survivor Marina Lacerda stood before the US Capitol and spoke publicly about Jeffrey Epstein for the first time. Her story, along with the account of Haley Robson, echoed the trajectory of many other victims, revealing a pattern of grooming, coercion and silence that endured for decades, and raising uncomfortable questions about power, accountability and whether justice has truly been served to Epstein's victims

- Zenaira Bakhsh, Mrinalini Dhyani

STANDING in front of Capitol Hill in September 2025, Marina Lacerda broke her silence publicly for the first time about her sexual abuse at the hands of Jeffery Epstein.

"After all these years, I was free," she said.

Lacerda, also identified as "Minor Victim 1" in the 2019 federal investigation against Epstein, was only 14 years old when she was recruited by him in 2002. A friend suggested she could earn $300 giving a "massage" to a wealthy man.

"She made it sound so okay," she recalls.

She had already been working since 13-factory jobs, waitressing, background modelling, office work. Survival had become her language.

"I was the head of household at 14," Lacerda mentioned. "I just needed to make money."

When she arrived at Epstein's Manhattan mansion, she was overwhelmed. A big wooden door. A waiting room lined with photographs of powerful figures of politicians, royalty and the presidents. Upstairs, a hallway of black-and-white sketches of nude women. A massage room with lotions she recognised from Victoria's Secret and others she didn't.

She recounted how vividly she remembered the clouds painted on the ceiling.

"I remember looking at it. What a place to relax," she says. "That's how much of a child I was."

What followed, Lacerda said, was nothing like what she had been promised. When her boundaries were pushed, she froze. She shook her head no. A friend told her not to be "uptight". Epstein smiled and said she would "get comfortable eventually".

"I remember thinking, this man is crazy. I'm never going to be comfortable with this."

She left with $300. But bills were piling up, her mother wasn't working, and when the call came again, she returned.

The second time, she says, he didn't ask for anything at first. He was kind. Patient. Then, slowly, the lines blurred. One piece of clothing at a time. One step at a time.