The monster in the Oval Office – and his victims

She begins:

“Weeks before my seventeenth birthday, I was walking toward the Mar-a-Lago spa, on my way to work, when a car slowed behind me. I wish I could say that I sensed that something evil was tracking me, but as I headed into the building, I had no inkling of the danger I was in. In the car was a British socialite named Ghislaine Maxwell.”

She continues.

“Mar-a-Lago employees are required to make guests feel welcome. The woman’s eyes alight on my book, which I’ve jammed with sticky notes. ‘Are you interested in massage?’ Maxwell asks.”

She’s excited. She goes to an address to learn how to give massages and earn more. Her Dad drives her.

“Jeffrey has been waiting to meet you,” Maxwell said, starting up the stairs. “Come.”

Afterwards, the girl went home and tried to shower it all off. She doesn’t tell her parents.

“So begins the period of my life that has been dissected and analyzed more than any other. I don’t enjoy repeating this story; it hurts to relive what I did and what was done to me. I worry that the awful details distract from a broader truth. Yes, I was sexually abused.”

And she was sixteen years old when it all started.

Sixteen.

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