Who REALLY Is Vanessa Lucido and What’s Her Role on Oak Island?

The worst case scenario would be to continue here, compromise the integrity here in this general area.

Who’s in?
I’m in.
I’m in.
Got a show. Everybody’s in.

Digging’s at 160. Yeah, it could be the treasure vaults. We’re about to get into totally new territory. My dig is at 160 ft.

Vanessa Lucito was gone right after bringing the biggest drills to Oak Island. Vanessa did not just help. She led the team, the tools, and the deep digging.

For many days, she worked in the dirt, near danger, and made the hard calls. But one day in 2024, her name was taken off the company page with no note at all.

Tune in because the new boss who showed up after her left a trail no one expected. Vanessa drilled deep, then vanished.

Back in season 6, when Oak Island needed to go deeper than ever before, they didn’t just grab shovels and hope for the best. They called in serious hardware, the kind that can chew through rock like a hot knife through butter.

Our Oak Equipment was the name on the machines, and she was the name standing in front of them.

She didn’t come alone, though. She brought an entire crew, massive rigs, and an aura of importance that made fans take notice. Those 8-foot-wide caissons — that was her team’s doing. Without them, the search for buried treasure would have hit a solid wall.

But she was about to make a move that no one saw coming.

When she showed up on screen, it wasn’t some scripted drama. She was there to oversee drilling that could collapse if someone sneezed the wrong way. ROC Equipment wasn’t there to look pretty. It was there to work.

But even with mud on her boots, some people couldn’t stop looking past the gear. They were too busy wondering who she really was beneath the branded jacket.

“It’s concerning enough that I think we’re doing the right thing, but it’s not concerning enough that we’re evacuating. Everyone’s moving out of here right this minute.”

Her last name isn’t just a coincidence. Her father, Lulu Lucido, founded the company. He built it up piece by piece into a respected name in heavy drilling.

After he passed away, she took the lead. On paper, it sounds like a classic story of legacy. In reality, it sparked a lot of side-eye from viewers.

There were whispers. Did she earn that corner office or did she just inherit the key? It’s a fair question, especially in an industry packed with people who spent decades working their way up.

In the eyes of some fans, she was the golden child. Others saw her as a worker who simply kept the machine running after dad stepped away. Both camps had their receipts.

Her leadership during season 6 and 7 suggested she knew what she was doing, but there was always that lingering doubt: how much of this was her expertise, and how much was the script painting her as a behind-the-scenes genius?

Take a stroll through Reddit and you’ll find no shortage of opinions. Threads pop up like mushrooms after rain. Some users praised her calm in chaotic moments. Others weren’t buying the narrative.

Comments like, “She’s just the face, not the force,” weren’t rare.

It wasn’t about bias. It was about skepticism. There’s a difference between running a company and showing up when cameras roll.

But as the seasons marched on, something shifted.

“Uh, it looks like it’s about 18 inches down all the way around and then it’s kind of crawling out, so we got to slow it down.”

She was suddenly out of the frame. The machines kept humming, but her name faded from the call sheet.

And then came the update in 2024. ROC’s official site did a quiet little shuffle. Ed Robinson was now listed as CEO.

No fanfare, no farewell statement, no photos of a goodbye party — just a name swap. Her name vanished from the leadership page.

The mystery deepened.

Naturally, this didn’t go unnoticed. People started poking around asking questions. What happened? Did she leave voluntarily? Was it a board decision? A shakeup, maybe a buyout? The company didn’t say.

And silence has a funny way of inviting speculation. In a world where press releases are handed out like candy, that kind of silence stands out.

That gap in information created a perfect storm. Fans filled the void with their own theories. Some suggested she wanted out. Others claimed she was pushed aside. There were even whispers about internal drama.

The truth might be simple, but the silence made it feel complicated. And where there’s confusion, there’s curiosity.

She went from being a side character to the center of a guessing game.

Beyond the speculation and the company shuffle, there was another conversation brewing.

One that had less to do with drilling and more to do with distractions.

A certain segment of the fan base had their eyes glued to her for reasons that had nothing to do with excavation.

Her appearance became the headline. Not the machines, not the digging, not the technical talk — just her.

It started with small comments buried in threads. Then it snowballed.

Her outfits, her expressions, her onscreen time — everything was analyzed like it mattered more than what she actually brought to the table.

It got uncomfortable. It got ridiculous. And it took away from what she actually did, which was to help move a centuries-old mystery forward with some of the best tools in the business.

Still, that part of the fan base didn’t go away. They were louder than the ones praising her engineering choices.

Some even said they missed her — not for her skills, but for the way she lit up the screen.

That’s the kind of attention that turns professionals into distractions.

And it wasn’t fair. She was out there in the dirt while some folks were treating her like a pinup. It was gross, and it completely missed the point.

Even with all of that, there’s no taking away the impact she had during her time on the show.

When she was on site, things moved. Heavy equipment was used the right way. Complicated digs were handled with a kind of calm confidence.

Whether that was her training, her team, or just experience doesn’t really matter. What matters is that she was effective.

She helped them drill deeper than they had ever gone before. That drilling wasn’t just about making holes. It was about cutting through centuries of hard-packed mystery.

“The dig is at 95 ft. Mhm. Right on. So about 3 feet away from that target area. First of the first of many. Yeah.”

The island isn’t some flat stretch of land. It’s a mess of tunnels, voids, booby traps, and maybe even treasure. Every inch mattered.

One wrong move and the whole dig could turn into a mud bath. She and her team helped keep it from turning into a disaster.

She left the drilling site, but something bigger was coming — and it wasn’t treasure.

The real treasure of Oak Island.

Her presence also gave the show a different texture. It wasn’t just guys in flannel talking theories. It was a modern operation with people from the heavy machinery world stepping in to get real work done.

It showed the audience that Oak Island wasn’t just talk anymore. It was action.

And that action came with hydraulic arms, pressure monitors, and the sound of steel punching into the earth.

But that’s just one side of the story.

Behind the camera, there’s a whole different game.

Companies don’t just hand over multi-ton rigs because they feel generous. There are contracts, costs, risks.

Bringing in ROC Equipment wasn’t a favor. It was business. Big business.

And whenever business mixes with TV, there’s bound to be more going on than what’s visible in the episode recap.

That brings us back to Vanessa — not as a reality TV character, but as someone in the middle of this intersection where family legacy, industry credibility, and televised storytelling all crashed together.

That’s a tough spot to be in. And whether she managed it perfectly or not is almost beside the point.

She got through it without a meltdown, and that alone deserves some credit.

Whether she was a real-life trailblazer or just someone who knew how to work a camera while the drill spun, she left a mark.

It wasn’t all positive. It wasn’t all deserved. But it stuck.

And in the world of unsolved mysteries, that might be the most anyone can hope for.

It was never really about pirate gold or sacred treasures. That was just the bait.

The real engine behind the Oak Island circus — contracts, cash, and big machines that don’t show up for free.

If you thought this whole dog was just a bunch of old guys chasing a fairy tale with shovels, buckle up.

This story’s got invoices, rig rentals, corporate deals, and one woman steering a beast of a machine until she vanished from the scene like a magician’s final trick.

ROC didn’t crash the party for fun. They were signed, sealed, and very much paid.

Those mega rigs they brought — some wider than a car — don’t come cheap. Every twist of the drill, every hard hat on site, every rig rolling off a truck — billable.

ROC was in it for the job, not the folklore.

And the person running that machine, Lucido — now she wasn’t just some executive with a corner office and a social media team.

She knew how to get dirty. She had boots on the ground, hands on the gear, and a front-row seat to the madness.

After her dad, Lulu, passed the torch, she took over ROC and didn’t blink.

“We keep losing the material. I can’t guarantee we’re going to keep advancing.”

Young, sharp, and not one to play second fiddle, she took that old-school drilling outfit and gave it prime time.

But here’s the twist — she wasn’t just drilling dirt. She was drilling through contracts, negotiating exposure, making sure every angle of those rigs showed up on TV in the right light.

ROC wasn’t there to be wallpaper. They wanted their name seen, their gear recognized, and Oak Island gave them that — a spotlight.

That screen time, it wasn’t a fluke. It was part of the deal. Every branded crane, every logo close-up was probably buried in the fine print.

ROC traded muscle for fame, and it worked.

Their rigs weren’t just digging holes. They were stars.

And then — poof.

One day in 2024, she was gone. Not a word, just a new name on the ROC leadership page.

Ed Robinson. No goodbye, no post, just silence.

Fans noticed. They always do.

Theories popped up like weeds. Was it a buyout? A meltdown? A PR escape? No one’s talking.

What’s clear is this — ROC started fading. Less screen time, less presence.

The machines were still there, but the vibe changed.

She had been the face, the anchor, the human link between a company of steel and a show about myths.

Without her, something went cold.

And make no mistake, Oak Island is a business — a real humming, cash-churning machine.

TV rights, merch, tours, ad money — it all flows through the same system that powers any other show.

The treasure, that’s just the plot.

The gold already flowing in different forms.

Every dig has a dollar sign. Every shaft a spreadsheet.

ROC was deep in that system.

And she — she rode the line between grit and glam until her name got scrubbed from the credits.

It’s easy to get wrapped up in the drama of ancient traps and pirate codes.

But the real game, it’s played in boardrooms with contracts, with branding deals, with someone like her making sure every bolt that gets turned comes with a receipt.

Because if there’s one thing Oak Island has taught us, it’s that digging for treasure isn’t just about what’s buried underground.

It’s about what’s buried in plain sight.

And sometimes the people who build the road to the treasure vanish before anyone realizes they were the key all along.

She didn’t just show up with a résumé and a handshake.

She grew up with dirt in her boots and diesel in her lungs.

Her dad didn’t raise a princess. He raised someone who could swing a wrench, read a blueprint, and tell a crane operator to move an inch left with more authority than most site bosses twice her age.

She wasn’t playing dress-up in a man’s world. She owned the room the minute she walked in.

“Okay. All right. So, we got one more shot at this area, right? You can’t give up. You just can’t.”
“I’m not giving up.”

When she took the lead at ROC, she didn’t just inherit a job. She inherited a legacy — and she made it her own.

The contracts that got ROC onto Oak Island weren’t handed over in a gift basket. They were fought for, negotiated, crafted line by line.

She didn’t just sign on the dotted line — she made sure the ink had her fingerprints on it.

She knew how to make a company visible in a place where visibility was currency.

Oak Island was more than a job site. It was a global stage — millions of eyes, countless theories, a TV audience itching for drama.

She turned those cameras into an advantage. She made sure ROC wasn’t just a supplier — they were a character in the show.

The rigs told one story, but she was the real power behind them.

The empire was hers.

The rigs didn’t just dig holes. They held secrets.

Each one was custom-fitted to a task — caissons that could chew through mud and stone, bits built for the unknown, backup systems for when the island fought back with water collapses or the ghost of bad planning.

She knew every bolt.

Being a woman in that role — that wasn’t just rare, it was almost unheard of.

And yet, there she was, standing beside machines that roared louder than the crew.

She didn’t need to prove she belonged. Her work said it for her.

But make no mistake — she was watched, judged, measured by a different yardstick. And she still made it look easy.

Reality TV loves drama, but it also loves clean narratives.

Maybe her exit didn’t fit the arc. Maybe it was too complicated to explain in a voiceover. Or maybe, just maybe, someone didn’t want to share the real story.

The industry is like that — silent deals, shifting loyalties.

One day you’re a star, the next you’re wiped from the credits.

The bigger picture — Oak Island is just one example of how entertainment and business blur.

Behind every shot of mud flying and gears grinding, there’s a boardroom, a pitch deck, a team negotiating exposure versus cost.

She played that game — and played it well.

Picture this: a blonde powerhouse with a megawatt smile, strutting around in steel-toed boots, running things in a world where most women barely get a foot in the door.

That’s Vanessa Lucido.

She didn’t just break the rules — she rewrote them while operating heavy machinery.

But she’s not your feel-good poster child. She’s something far trickier to define.

She’s the one behind the curtain and in front of the camera — always a few moves ahead.

And if you think her role on The Curse of Oak Island is all there is to her, think again.

Her story runs deeper than any hole her drills ever carved.

Back in October of 2024, something big shifted.

She stepped down from her position as CEO of ROC Equipment. Just like that, she passed the crown to Ed Robinson.

Now, Ed’s the kind of guy who probably smells like cologne and spreadsheets — not diesel and steel.

He’s not the worst choice, but let’s not pretend the vibe didn’t shift.

The swagger, the sharp edge, the let’s shake up the old boys’ club energy — gone, or at least diluted.

Still, she didn’t disappear into thin air. She slid into a new position — Head of Industry Relations.

Sounds corporate and harmless, but don’t be fooled.

That role means influence. It means handshakes behind closed doors and deals made over dinners.

It’s public image, private power — and it gave her more time for family.

But don’t assume she’s baking cupcakes. She’s still building empires.

Under new leadership, ROC Equipment kept grinding forward.

They stayed on the big jobs, including their cameo-packed run on The Curse of Oak Island.

The rigs kept humming. The casings kept spinning. And viewers kept watching the machines chew through ancient soil.

The brand didn’t vanish. The hardware stayed hot. ROC clung to its roots — innovation, safety, and looking cooler than any of their dusty rivals.

Their flashy casing oscillators, the ever-present rotators, and the custom-built tools — they didn’t pause.

The company kept marching.

But whether Robinson was driving that momentum or just following the trail she paved — that’s up for debate.

Lucido might’ve left the big chair, but she didn’t lose her voice.

Her fingerprints are still all over ROC’s DNA — from the way they handle contracts to the tone of their public posts.

She may not be CEO, but she’s still part of the brand’s heartbeat.

And that says a lot about her staying power.

Let’s be honest — the Oak Island gig wasn’t just about drilling.

It was a marketing masterstroke.

ROC got airtime in front of millions. Their logo became a character. Their rigs became legends.

That kind of exposure is worth more than gold.

Lucido knew it. She didn’t just play the game — she mastered it.

Every time a drill turned on screen, her brand got stronger. Every “cut to ROC Equipment” moment was another silent ad.

That’s not luck. That’s strategy.

It’s easy to overlook that side of things when the show’s cutting between theories about Templar knights and mysterious tunnels.

But for her, the real treasure wasn’t buried beneath Oak Island.

It was being broadcast to living rooms around the world.

And now, with her having stepped back, you can’t help but wonder — was that her endgame all along?

Build the name, lock in the legacy, and then bow out before the noise gets too loud.

Some say she was pushed. Others say she cashed out.

The truth? Maybe it’s somewhere in between.

Corporate transitions don’t happen overnight, and they don’t happen without reason.

Whatever the reason, it’s clear she left on her terms — or at least close to them.

ROC Equipment continues to make headlines, landing major contracts across industries.

The Oak Island chapter might be over for her, but the book’s still open.

She’s the kind of person who doesn’t fade.

She evolves.

Some people chase fame. She turned it into a tool.

Some chase treasure. She built the machines that make finding it possible.

In an industry full of noise, she left a mark you can still feel under the surface.

Whether you saw her as a legacy hire, a powerhouse CEO, or a reality TV enigma — one thing’s for sure:

She dug deeper than most ever dared.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real curse of Oak Island — not that the treasure’s impossible to find, but that the people who get closest to it always seem to vanish before the digging’s done.