Buck Tolliver sold boats in Fort Pierce, Florida, his whole life. He wanted to go out the way he lived: on somebody else's boat, with the whole family finally paying attention.

So Buck is riding to the Red Sea in a brass diving helmet, on the shelf above the coffee machine of a dive boat called the Bahiya. Twenty-two relatives and hangers-on are riding with him. There's a third wife who vlogs, a son-in-law with eleven hundred dives who will tell you about every one of them, a grandson who owes a man in Tampa, and a son who got seasick at the dock.

The plan is to pour Buck into the water at Daedalus Reef at sunset on Friday the 13th. Then the executor, who gets paid on completion, reads the will.

Leave the boat before it gets back to port, and your share goes to whoever's still aboard.

Five million dollars. Fourteen heirs. Before the coffee's cold, Rick, the eldest son, has wiped the dive briefing off the whiteboard and written RESIDUE ÷ 14. Do the math. They all do.

What nobody mentions is October. A man from the tour company stood on this same swim platform and fed a shark fish heads three nights running, and filmed it. On the third night, she fed back.

She's still down there. She remembers the boat. She's about to meet the Tollivers, and frankly, she's the one who should be worried.

By Friday, the family has stopped asking who's missing. They're asking what each one was worth.