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“Easy for you to say. You didn’t get ‘lucky.’”

Austin took a big swallow from the drink he had just refreshed. Grosse saw that Austin’s hand shook, and that, in addition to the deep bruising, he saw there was real anguish in his face.

“Johnny, you want to tell me about the money?”

“What money?”

“C’mon, man. First, the Morgan investments. And then that hundred-grand payoff that Payne said.”

“I don’t know.”

“Damn you! I have to know. It involves Camilla Rose, and I’m here to start settling her affairs. Tell me now or I’ll find out later.”

Austin took a deep breath, slowly exhaling. Grosse could tell that he was considering what all he should share.

“In my private equity company,” Austin began, his voice strained and uneven, “I set up funds that were venture capital vehicles for investing in real estate development, mostly high-rise buildings, and in start-up companies. I get investors to buy in. Camilla Rose was one of many—”

“I knew that,” Grosse said, impatient.

“Including other private equity firms eager to place money in solid performing funds. What you may not know is that, over the years, Camilla Rose would oversee the investment of the Morgan International money, from which she would make her charity contributions. Morgan International moved money—the majority of it coming in cash, the rest stock in the Morgan parent company—into the philanthropy’s accounts. Those funds were invested, and the dividends, the interest, et cetera, earned from those investments was what got distributed to charities.”

“Okay.”

“For the last five years, she has put tens of millions of the Morgan International philanthropy’s money into my funds—like the recent Morgan Partners Florida Capital Fund III that funded the high-rise condo project on Biscayne Bay that’s already sold out—which have been paying returns of fifteen to twenty percent—”

“Twenty percent!”

“And also gave some of the philanthropy’s money to her own pet projects, such as Camilla’s Kids and the cancer hospital. And then those charities had to have somewhere to park that money from the Morgan philanthropy, as well as the other monies that they raised.”

“And so she also invested that in your funds.”

“Not all of it, b

ut enough. Because they were paying fifteen to twenty percent returns.”

“She did not share this with me,” Grosse said, sounding surprised, if not annoyed.

Austin took another gulp of his drink, and shrugged. “She didn’t share it with anyone. Why would she? It was all really performing.”

“I wonder what Mason Morgan thought of that.”

“As far as I know, he thought nothing. Like I said, the funds were flush. The company accountants auditing her books were happy. So, he never said a word. But Camilla Rose knew it would piss Mason off no end if he knew that I was handling the money.”

“Could he have overridden that?”

“If he wanted to push it. But I think he decided that it was a battle he didn’t want to fight. She had already raised all kinds of hell about his hand in Old Man Morgan redoing the will. He left Camilla Rose alone.”

“Until now,” Grosse said. “He must have gone right to the books after she died, saw that she’d invested in your funds, and told the accountants to demand it back.”

“Yeah, looks that way.”

Austin met his eyes, then tensed up his bruised face and shook his head.

“But it’s impossible to just pull out the money he wants,” Austin said. “It’s tied up.”

“There’s probably a huge early-withdrawal penalty . . .”

“Yeah, there is.”