“We should all be so lucky.”

“And like all the nouveau riche, he went on a giddy splurge. He promptly bought a big house in the Hamptons, a bigger yacht, a fleet of Mercedes, all the trappings of long-denied wealth.” Charles paused for a moment then chuckled. “Two months later, an aneurysm struck, and he was dead.”

“The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away,” Morgan couldn’t resist saying.

“But he doesn’t really look after fools and idiots. See, poor old Edith didn’t understand squat about money. The hubby had handled everything. A controlling bastard, he kept her on a leash, gave her a stingy budget and watched how she spent every penny. Now suddenly the hubbie’s dead and she’s rolling in dough, three hundred million without a clue how to handle it, and along comes Jack. Smiling, confident Jack. Don’t worry, he tells her, he’ll take care of everything. Edith, naturally, succumbed to his charms and turned over her whole fortune to him.”

“Spell Warbinger,” was all Morgan said.

Charles did, then picked up where he left off. “So Jack sets up the standard arrangement in such cases, a paying trust. Jack oversaw the investments and handled the monthly disbursements. Edith got a monthly allowance of three hundred thou to do whatever her heart desired. The rest of the earnings, which were considerable, were plowed into more investments. Even that proved too much for her to handle. Turns out poor Edith had Parkinson’s and it was progressing fast. Soon all her bills and fiduciary responsibilities were transferred to Jack.”

“She handed him the keys to the kingdom.”

“That’s right, Morgan. There was no lawyer, no executor, no skeptical husband or greedy children worried about their inheritances watching over his shoulder.” Charles paused for a long moment. “Only Jack.”

“How much did he take?” Morgan asked.

“Wrong question,” Charles replied, chuckling.

“Then what’s the right one?” He was taking notes as fast as his hand could scribble. The dates and names were written down in his pinched style. He was relying on his memory for the larger narrative.

“You have to understand, Morgan, a firm like Primo has airtight controls and unrelenting oversight. The firm was known for large partner paychecks, but the associates made dirt. The temptations were unbelievable and the firm knew it. Take Jack. By then he was making two hundred grand a year, a pittance in Manhattan. And he’s managing several large fortunes that each number in the hundreds of millions. He drives out to their gaudy mansions in the Hamptons and Greenwich, plays golf with their brazenly spoiled kids, ogles their toys, then drives back into the city, back to his rotten little one-bedroom apartment.”

Charles paused for a moment, then remarked, “Imagine how that feels, Morgan. Can you picture it?”

“Must be tough.”

“And of course, he knows firsthand that they are too stupid and incompetent to manage their own fortunes.”

“I got it. It was irresistible. Now tell me how much he stole.”

Charles ignored his query and said, “Now here’s the sweet part. All her life, Edith dreamed of a worldwide cruise. Through all those miserable decades, married to a penny-pinching prick, she dreamed of getting away, of climbing onto a boat and seeing the world. Life had passed her by. Now she was eighty-three and degrading fast. There wouldn’t be another chance.”

“So Jack tells her to go for it.”

“Of course he does. He puts her house and cars and the yacht up for sale. He finds this lavish cruise ship, a floating barge overflowing with luxuries and extravagances. It’s a great bargain, Jack tells her, but you have to buy a stateroom. For five million, it’s all yours. Yours to live in, yours to enjoy, yours to sell after you’re bored with the seven seas. A stately topside birth, all the gourmet meals you can eat, three years bouncing through exotic ports from Asia to South America. Know the best part? It was a Greek shipping line. It never touches a U.S. port. Can you see it now, Morgan?”

“Sure, but keep going.” No, he didn’t see it.

“Only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Edith’s Parkinson’s. At the rate she was deteriorating, odds are she’d be a total loon long before the end of the cruise. And by law, of course they have to disclose any serious health concerns to the shipping line. The ship has a doctor but he’s not inclined to spend all his time administering to some drooling old broad with the shakes who can’t remember to take her meds.” Charles paused to allow Morgan to think about the ravages of such a cruel disease, then said, “Still, the shipping line wants Edith’s millions, Edith wants to hit the high seas, and eventually a solution is found.”

“Money cures all ills.”

“Not a cure, it offers a manageable solution, though. A private nurse is found. For another million bucks, Edith can rent a small, less expensive room for her far belowdecks.”

“Go on.”

“So on April 2, 1995, Edith begins her new life. She flies to Copenhagen and checks into the Hotel d’ Angleterre. Presumably she spends the next five days roaming the city, tiptoeing into her adventures as a wanderer. On April 7 she checks out, signs onto the ship, and a few hours later she embarks on the dream of her life. This much was confirmed later,” Charles explained.

“Mind if I get up and stretch? My ass is falling asleep.”

“If I’m boring you, we can stop now.”

“My ass, not my ears. I want the full fifty thousand treatment, pal.”

Charles chuckled, then continued. “Jack and Edith decided beforehand to forgo the complications of credit cards. The ship has a bank so every month Jack wires half a million into her account. It’s so much easier. And every few days, like clockwork, money is withdrawn. Sometimes small amounts, sometimes large. With port calls every three or four days, this raises no suspicions. Presumably Edith is going ashore, indulging her every wish and passion. Perhaps the spending was lavish, even wildly excessive, but it was hers to waste, right?”

The door opened again. The conversation stopped until they heard the sound of it closing again. “What then?” Morgan asked, clearly engrossed in the story.

“Then, Morgan, is three long years later.”

“End of the cruise, right?”

“And the beginning of the mystery. Here’s what’s known. On April 18, 1998, the ship docked in Piraeus. After three years at sea, it needed a dose of maintenance and refitting. Also, if Edith wished to continue playing Sinbad, she needed to ante up another two million, the nautical equivalent of a condo fee. On the evening of the eighteenth, she disembarked from the ship-just hobbled down the plank into town and jumped into a cab. That’s the last they saw of her. When, two days later, she failed to return, the shipping line contacted Jack.”

“And what did Jack do?” Morgan asked, collapsing back onto the toilet.

“Booted it upstairs.”

“She just disappeared?” It was getting chilly in the bathroom, and he began rubbing his arms. He desperately wanted to ask Charles for his clothes, but he already knew the answer.

Charles continued. “And by now, her fortune had grown to 450 million. The stock market was roaring. You could throw darts at it and double your money, and Jack had managed her investments brilliantly.”

“And it was all there, in her account?”

“All but the money Edith had gotten from the ship’s bank. No suspicion of foul play at this point. An old lady afflicted by Parkinson’s walked off a ship and vanished. She was eighty-six, probably half brainless, and who knows what other health issues she had. The possibilities were endless. A heart attack or stroke couldn’t be ruled out. A mugging or kidnapping were both possibilities. Or maybe she was out there, in a Parkinson’s haze, wandering around Greece, unable to remember how she got there, or even her own name.”