On a pair of August mornings in 2025, the Menendez brothers—once synonymous with one of America’s most infamous murder cases—will face the California parole board in what could be the final chapter of a saga that has transfixed, divided, and bewildered the nation for 36 years. Erik Menendez, now 54, will be escorted from his cell at the Richard J. Donovan Correctional Facility outside San Diego on Thursday, August 21. His older brother, Lyle, 57, will follow on Friday. Each will sit before a commissioner and deputy commissioner, questioned under oath about the night in 1989 when they shot their parents, Jose and Kitty Menendez, to death in their Beverly Hills mansion.
The hearings, described by the board as a "conversation," promise to be anything but casual. The brothers are expected to recount the darkest corners of their family history, including allegations of years-long sexual abuse by their father. Their lawyers insist, "No court has ever heard the full story in this case, the depth and depravity of the abuse suffered by Lyle and Erik, and their remarkable journal of personal transformation." For the first time, the parole board will.
Originally sentenced to life without parole, the Menendez brothers took a major step toward freedom in the spring of 2025 when a Los Angeles judge resentenced them, paving the way for these parole hearings. The move came over the vehement objections of prosecutors, who maintain that the brothers executed their parents in cold blood to inherit a multimillion-dollar fortune. The case, once ridiculed by the media and lampooned by comedians, is now being re-examined in a cultural landscape far more attuned to the realities of sexual abuse and trauma.
Indeed, the Menendez story has found new life in the public imagination. Recent dramatizations—an Emmy-nominated Ryan Murphy series and a Netflix documentary—have cast the brothers as tragic figures, victims as well as perpetrators. They have amassed legions of TikTok fans, the support of nearly 30 extended family members, and high-profile advocates such as Kim Kardashian, all arguing passionately for their release. Yet, as NY Magazine points out, parole is no simple matter of good behavior. The board will scrutinize whether Lyle and Erik demonstrate "insight"—an elusive quality involving full accountability, remorse, and a credible explanation for the crime.
For the Menendez brothers, this means revisiting a narrative that has shifted over decades. On August 20, 1989, at 11:47 p.m., Lyle called 911, with Erik sobbing in the background: "Someone killed my parents." Police found Jose and Kitty Menendez dead, their bodies torn apart by shotgun blasts. The brothers claimed to have discovered the scene after returning home, suggesting a Mafia hit linked to their father’s work as a Hollywood executive. For months, they played the roles of grieving survivors—even hiring a bodyguard and spending $650,000 from their parents’ life insurance on luxury goods. Their involvement might have gone undiscovered if not for Erik’s confession to his psychotherapist. In a controversial move, the therapist recorded the brothers admitting to the murders, but at that point, neither mentioned abuse.
The story of sexual abuse surfaced only after their arrest. Lyle claimed that from the age of six, Jose Menendez groomed and raped him, turning to Erik when Lyle was eight. The abuse, they said, continued for a decade, with the last assault just ten days before the murders. They described their mother as unstable, violent, and complicit. During the first trial—an early Court TV sensation—the brothers’ claims of abuse were met with skepticism and derision. Comedians mocked them; the media painted them as spoiled brats inventing abuse to escape justice. Yet some evidence supported their claims: cousin Diane VanderMolen testified that Lyle confided in her about abuse at age eight, and cousin Andy Cano testified similarly about Erik. Multiple experts spoke of the psychological devastation wrought by such trauma.
The first trial ended in a hung jury. The second, beginning just after the O.J. Simpson verdict, was different. Judge Stanley Weisberg excluded much of the abuse evidence, and the jury found both brothers guilty of first-degree murder. Prosecutors argued that the brothers’ story of imminent danger was concocted after their arrest, pointing to their elaborate alibi and spending spree as evidence of premeditation. Los Angeles district attorney Nathan Hochman maintains, "The true mind-set of the Menendez brothers would have gotten them the death penalty, and if they wanted to get off, they had to come up with something a lot better." Still, he concedes, "I never said that" when asked if the abuse claims were lies—he simply sees no connection between the abuse and the murders.
Recent years have brought new developments. A letter Erik wrote to cousin Andy Cano, found after Cano’s death in 2018, described ongoing abuse months before the murders: "It’s still happening, Andy, but it’s worse for me now than before." In 2023, Roy Rosselló, a former member of Menudo, alleged that Jose Menendez drugged and raped him in 1984. The defense argues that this new evidence, had it been available at trial, would have undercut the prosecution’s dismissal of abuse claims.
Legal changes have also shifted the landscape. The California Supreme Court’s 2008 decision in In re Lawrence held that the heinousness of a crime alone can’t justify denying parole. Parole grants for life-sentenced prisoners have soared since, with 10,000 such releases between 2013 and 2021 and a recidivism rate under 3 percent. U.S. Supreme Court rulings now require special consideration for juvenile offenders and, ironically, for elderly prisoners. The board must weigh the "hallmark features of youth" and diminished culpability for those under 26 at the time of their crime—Lyle and Erik were 21 and 18, respectively. Their ages now also entitle them to assessment as elderly inmates, factoring in reduced risk due to age and time served.
Still, demonstrating "insight" remains a major hurdle. The board often denies parole for lack of it, and Governor Gavin Newsom has a record of reversing grants on this basis. As NY Magazine reports, even after decades of "extraordinary conduct," the brothers’ post-murder lies and continued insistence that they acted in self-defense may be used against them. The prosecution points to a "moderate" risk assessment by prison psychologists and to rule violations—Erik’s possession of a cell phone, Lyle’s missed work assignments—as evidence of ongoing issues. Defense attorney Cliff Gardner counters, "Thirty-five years of really extraordinary conduct speaks louder than the lies they told to avoid culpability at the ages of 18 and 21. That is what maturity is." Michael Romano, another member of their defense team, adds, "Somehow, they were able to find some dignity, hope, positivity, and purpose to better themselves. I find that completely remarkable and admirable."
The Menendez case remains a study in contradictions: a brutal double parricide by two privileged brothers, whose claims of victimization are both horrifying and, for many, persuasive. As psychologist Carlos Cuevas notes, "Just because they did this really horrible thing does not mean that they weren’t victims. Many perpetrators are abuse victims—these two things often coexist within a single person." The parole board’s decision—expected to come within weeks—may hinge on whether it accepts this complexity, or clings to an older, black-and-white narrative.
If the board finds the Menendez brothers suitable for release, they could walk free as soon as October 2025. Their fate now rests with a system that, like the brothers themselves, has changed profoundly in the decades since that bloody night in Beverly Hills.
