We spotted her capsized on the rocks a hundred yards offshore. A beautiful weather-beaten rig, sheets frayed from abuse and sails ripped to pieces. No sign of survivors.

The ship’s log was drenched and unreadable, and for all we know she lost her nameplate off the coast of Bermuda. The salt water had done a number on the cabin interior—Harv said he’d never seen that kind of decay eat up a boat so fast. Every porthole smashed clean through, the openings encrusted with barnacles. Something told me in my gut this ship had been through more than a hurricane.

The duffel bag I found in the galley confirmed my suspicions.