When Giuffre first fell into the orbit of Epstein and his partner/aide de camp, Ghislaine Maxwell, she was a teenager who’d already had long experience with sexual abuse. Her father and a family friend molested her, she writes; later, after escaping an abusive rehab facility, she was raped by a man proffering false promises of modeling gigs. In 2000, her father was working at Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago club in Florida and helped her get a job at the spa there. That’s where, she writes, she met Maxwell and Epstein, who, offering promises of massage training, forced her into a two-year hell of sexual service. The first half of Giuffre’s memoir, chronicling this experience, is at once highly disturbing and compelling reading; with the assistance of collaborator Amy Wallace, she’s delivered a composed yet righteously infuriated account of how Epstein manipulated and abused her, then shared her with others. Psychological conflicts abound—she appreciated the money and some of the creature comforts, but she needed to block out the abuses to appreciate them. Giuffre is careful about naming which of Epstein’s famous friends she was trafficked to—one “well-known Prime Minister” goes unnamed, and she admits being afraid to name powerful men. “First and foremost, I am a parent,” she writes, “and I won’t put my family at risk if I can help it.” Giuffre, however, is open about her experiences with Epstein, Prince Andrew, and the late MIT professor Marvin Minsky. The second half of the book chronicles how she balances marriage and raising a family while pursuing legal recompense for herself and other victims following Epstein’s death and Maxwell’s conviction. That material is less bracing, but it helps underscore the importance of the stakes for her. In light of her suicide in April 2025, it makes the story all the more tragic. She was just getting started as an activist, and her voice here is resolute and clear.