The late Queen Elizabeth II’s final, desperate act of maternal mercy – a rumored £12 million payout to silence Virginia Giuffre’s explosive allegations against Prince Andrew – was meant to bury a royal scandal forever. Instead, it’s unearthed a web of greed, abuse, and betrayal in the Giuffre family that has turned a grieving household into a courtroom bloodbath. With Virginia’s estate officially valued at just £250,000 despite her owning multimillion-pound properties and a ring-fenced charity fund, the question scorching Western Australia’s Supreme Court is simple: Where the hell did the missing millions go? And why is her “trafficker father,” long accused of raping her from age seven, now lurking in the shadows through his vengeful relatives, scheming to claw back a slice of the royal ransom?

The saga began not in Buckingham Palace’s gilded vaults, but in the seedy underbelly of Jeffrey Epstein’s Palm Beach mansion in 2001, where a terrified 17-year-old Virginia – then Roberts – claims she was trafficked for sex with the Queen’s second son. Prince Andrew has always vehemently denied the encounter, calling it “categorically untrue.” But the fallout was seismic: a 2015 civil suit, settled out of court in 2022 for an undisclosed sum widely reported as £12 million, funneled through the late monarch’s personal coffers to spare Andrew a humiliating trial. “The Queen paid because she couldn’t bear to see her favorite son dragged through the mud,” a palace insider whispered at the time. “It was her parting gift to a broken family.”

Virginia, who passed away by suicide on April 25, 2025, at 41 in her sprawling £1.3 million Neergabby farmhouse north of Perth, never lived to spill the financial beans. But her posthumously released memoir, Nobody’s Girl, dropped like a bombshell last month, accusing her own father, Sky Roberts Sr., of shattering her childhood by raping her starting at age seven and pimping her out to a family friend. “He sold me like I was nothing,” she wrote in passages that have left her siblings divided and her estate in tatters. Sky Sr. fired back from his Florida trailer park, snarling to reporters, “Just to straighten this out, I never abused my daughter. She’s confused – it’s all Epstein’s poison.” Yet whispers persist: Did Virginia funnel chunks of the Queen’s millions into silencing her father’s ghosts, or did they vanish into the black hole of her turbulent life?

Fast-forward to the sun-scorched courts of Perth, where yesterday’s procedural hearing in Giuffre plus Anor v Louden plus Anor exposed the rot. Virginia’s two eldest sons, Christian, 19, and Noah, 18 – both living under the thumb of their father, Robert Giuffre, in a modest Perth suburb – stunned the family by gazetting themselves as estate administrators back in June. Their ad in the government bulletin, a dry legal formality, called for creditors to surface, but it ignited a firestorm. “Why them?” seethed Virginia’s paternal aunt, Kimberly Roberts, in a blistering tabloid interview. “Those boys are Robert’s puppets. The money should go straight to all the kids, not filtered through that monster she married.”

Robert Giuffre, 47, the Australian IT consultant Virginia met in 2002 on an Epstein-funded jaunt to Thailand for “massage training,” was no white knight. The couple wed impulsively after ten whirlwind days, relocating to Australia where Virginia birthed four children amid a fairy-tale facade. But by 2025, the fairy tale curdled into domestic nightmare. In January, Virginia spilled to People magazine about Robert’s “latest physical assault,” branding their 23-year marriage a cage of control and bruises. “I can no longer stay silent,” she wrote, her words a prelude to escape. Robert countered with a restraining order, snatching temporary custody of the kids – including their 15-year-old daughter and youngest son – and painting Virginia as unstable. “She’s the one who’s violent,” he claimed in affidavits, his eyes hollow in court sketches.

Desperation peaked in February, when Virginia fired off a frantic email to Perth solicitor Craig Hollett, subject line screaming “implied will.” “If I don’t make it, please don’t let Rob have any money,” she begged, sketching a blueprint for her fortune: the lion’s share to her children, with bequests to siblings, friends, and her pet charity, Speak Out, Act, Reclaim (SOAR), founded three years prior with at least £3 million earmarked for Epstein survivors. Hollett, a grizzled veteran of Aussie probate wars, called it “heartbreakingly informal – but crystal clear in intent.” Eight weeks before her death, Virginia inked a more formal note appointing barrister Karrie Louden and her ex-housekeeper Cheryl Myers – a surrogate “mother figure” who’d wiped her brow through cancer battles and custody fights – as trustees. “They’ll protect the kids from the wolves,” Virginia scrawled, her handwriting shaky from painkillers.

March brought a grotesque twist: an Instagram selfie of Virginia’s battered face, captioned as the wreckage of a school bus crash that “doctors say gives me four days to live.” Kidney failure, she claimed, her body a roadmap of old scars. Skeptics whispered staging – a cry for sympathy amid the marriage meltdown – but Virginia’s inner circle swore it was real, another lash from a life of lashes. On April 25, in the echoing quiet of Neergabby – a 100-acre idyll with horse paddocks and ocean views 50 miles from Perth – she ended it all. A single gunshot, the coroner ruled suicide, but friends like SOAR co-founder Fiona Prior murmured of “pushed to the brink.” Her £1.2 million Perth family home, two other properties topping £1 million each, a 2017 Toyota Kluger, a 2024 Chevrolet Silverado, jewelry, a beloved horse, and the contents of Neergabby should’ve tallied millions. Yet probate papers peg the estate at a paltry half-million Aussie dollars (£250,000), sparking the million-dollar question: Where’s the rest?

Enter the vanishing £12 million. Settled in February 2022, the payout was meant to muzzle Virginia’s claims forever – no admission of guilt from Andrew, just cold cash to “fund her future,” as her lawyers put it. But traces evaporated. Epstein’s 2009 £371,000 check? Deposited, then dispersed. Ghislaine Maxwell’s post-defamation hush money in 2017? Undisclosed, but juicy enough to bankroll SOAR’s launch. “Virginia poured it into healing – properties for security, the charity for justice,” insists Myers, her voice cracking in a tearful affidavit. “Robert controlled the accounts; he siphoned for his ‘business ventures’ – dodgy IT startups that went bust.” Robert scoffs: “Lies from bitter women. She blew it on therapies, lawyers, and that farm fantasy.” Court docs reveal Witty River Pty Ltd, the shell owning Neergabby, held 50 shares in Virginia’s name, plus beneficiary rights to a family trust – assets now inflating the estate to over $472,000. But the lion’s share? Poof.

The courtroom clash yesterday was pure Shakespearean venom. Christian and Noah, strapping lads with their mother’s fierce eyes, argued Virginia lacked “testamentary capacity” – her medical file a litany of painkillers, depression meds, and Epstein PTSD that “clouded her judgment,” per their filing. Louden and Myers fired back, waving the trustee note like a smoking gun: “She was lucid, loving – and terrified of Robert getting a penny.” Under Aussie law, as a separated (not divorced) spouse, Robert’s entitled to a third – a windfall that could hit £80,000 from the scraps alone, but millions if hidden funds surface. He’s been “added as interested party,” his lawyer smirking from the gallery.

Then the family vultures circled. Virginia’s half-brother Danny Wilson (full name Daniel Scott Wilson) and brother Sky Roberts Jr. – sons of the accused rapist Sky Sr. – muscled in, denying greed but angling for “moral shares” to honor their sister’s “true will.” Kimberly Roberts, Virginia’s aunt and Sky Sr.’s sister, exploded to the press: “Those boys have no right! Linked to that monster dad who sold her out – the estate’s for the kids only!” The brothers’ PR handler shot back: “Virginia intended it for her children, managed properly – not to her estranged husband. We trust the court.” A close friend confided to investigators: “By the end, Virginia absolutely hated Robert. He was controlling, abusive – she didn’t want him touching a dime.”

Lingering shadows deepen the mystery. US lawyer Alan Dershowitz’s settled defamation suit – Virginia retracted her trafficking claim against him as a “possible mistake” – survives her death, eyeing estate assets. Rina Oh, another Epstein “victim” turned accuser, sues the estate for £500,000 over Virginia’s memoir claims that Oh abused her; Oh, from a Tokyo penthouse, insists, “I was the prey, not the predator.” And SOAR? The £3 million war chest for survivors sits frozen, trustees battling to shield it from the fray.

As an interim administrator – a neutral beak-nosed accountant – takes the reins, Perth’s Supreme Court buzzes with sealed envelopes and whispered deals. “This isn’t probate; it’s plunder,” Hollett told reporters post-hearing. “Virginia’s ghost is watching – and she’s furious.” In Neergabby’s empty stables, where her horse still whinnies at dusk, faded Polaroids of a younger Virginia – unscarred, unbroken – flutter in the wind. The Queen’s millions, meant to heal a royal wound, instead festered into a family feud that could drag for years, across oceans and courtrooms.

One truth cuts through: Virginia fought demons – Epstein’s, Andrew’s, her father’s, her husband’s – and won settlements that should’ve set her free. Instead, they vanished into the void, leaving her kids to scrap over crumbs while the wolves howl. Did she squander it on vengeance? Hide it for the innocent? Or was it stolen by the very hands she fled? The docket’s open, but the real verdict? Buried with a princess who never was.