millionaire on yacht

10 of the most impressive superyachts owned by billionaires

From a sailing yacht owned by a russian billionaire industrialist to the luxury launch of the patek philippe ceo, here are the best billionaire-owned boats on the water….

Words: Jonathan Wells

There’s something about billionaires and big boats . Whether they’re superyachts or megayachts, men with money love to splash out on these sizeable sea-going giants. And that all began in 1954 — with the big dreams of Greek shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis.

Onassis, keen to keep his luxury lifestyle afloat when at sea, bought Canadian anti-submarine frigate HMCS Stormont after World War II. He spent millions turning it into an opulent super yacht, named it after his daughter — and the Christina O kicked off a trend among tycoons. To this day, the world’s richest men remain locked in an arms race to build the biggest, fastest, most impressive superyacht of all. Here are 10 of our favourites…

Eclipse, owned by Roman Abramovich

Built by: Blohm+Voss of Hamburg, with interiors and exteriors designed by Terence Disdale. Launched in 2009, it cost $500 million (the equivalent of £623 million today).

Owned by: Russian businessman Roman Abramovich, the owner of private investment company Millhouse LLC and owner of Chelsea Football Club. His current net worth is $17.4 billion.

Key features: 162.5 metres in length / 9 decks / Top speed of 22 knots / Two swimming pools / Disco hall / Mini submarine / 2 helicopter pads / 24 guest cabins

Sailing Yacht A, owned by Andrey Melnichenko

Built by: Nobiskrug, a shipyard on the Eider River in Germany. The original idea came from Jacques Garcia, with interiors designed by Philippe Starck and a reported price tag of over $400 million.

Owned by: Russian billionaire industrialist Andrey Melnichenko, the main beneficiary of both the fertiliser producing EuroChem Group and the coal energy company SUEK. Though his current net worth is $18.7 billion, Sailing Yacht A was seized in Trieste on 12 March 2022 due to the EU’s sanctions on Russian businessmen.

Key features: 119 metres in length / 8 decks / Top speed of 21 knots / Freestanding carbon-fibre rotating masts / Underwater observation pod / 14 guests

Symphony, owned by Bernard Arnault

Built by: Feadship, the fabled shipyard headquartered in Haarlem in The Netherlands. With an exterior designed by Tim Heywood, it reportedly cost around $150 million to construct.

Owned by: French billionaire businessman and art collector Bernard Arnault. Chairman and chief executive of LVMH, the world’s largest luxury goods company, his current net worth is $145.8 billion.

Key features: 101.5 metres in length / 6 decks / Top speed of 22 knots / 6-metre glass-bottom swimming pool / Outdoor cinema / Sundeck Jacuzzi / 8 guest cabins

Faith, owned by Michael Latifi

Built by: Similarly to Symphony above, also Feadship. With exteriors designed by Beaulieu-based RWD, and interiors by Chahan Design, it cost a reported $200 million to construct in 2017.

Owned by: Until recently, Canadian billionaire and part-owner of the Aston Martin Formula 1 Team , Lawrence Stroll. Recently sold to Michael Latifi, father of F1 star Nicholas , a fellow Canadian businessman with a net worth of just under $2 billion.

Key features: 97 metres in length / 9 guest cabins / Glass-bottom swimming pool — with bar / Bell 429 helicopter

Amevi, owned by Lakshmi Mittal

Built by: The Oceanco shipyard, also in The Netherlands. With exterior design by Nuvolari & Lenard and interior design by Alberto Pinto, it launched in 2007 (and cost around $125 million to construct).

Owned by: Indian steel magnate Lakshmi Mittal, chairman and CEO of Arcelor Mittal, the world’s largest steelmaking company. He owns 20% of Queen Park Rangers, and has a net worth of $18 billion.

Key features: 80 metres in length / 6 decks / Top speed of 18.5 knots / On-deck Jacuzzi / Helipad / Swimming Pool / Tender Garage / 8 guest cabins

Odessa II, owned by Len Blavatnik

Built by: Nobiskrug, the same German shipyard that built Sailing Yacht A . Both interior and exterior were created by Focus Yacht Design, and the yacht was launched in 2013 with a cost of $80 million.

Owned by: British businessman Sir Leonard Blavatnik. Founder of Access Industries — a multinational industrial group with current holdings in Warner Music Group, Spotify and the Grand-Hôtel du Cap-Ferrat — he is worth $39.9 billion.

Key features: 74 metres in length / 6 guest cabins / Top speed of 18 knots / Intimate beach club / Baby grand piano / Private master cabhin terrace / Outdoor cinema

Nautilus, owned by Thierry Stern

Built by: Italian shipyard Perini Navi in 2014. With interiors by Rémi Tessier and exterior design by Philippe Briand, Nautilus was estimated to cost around $90 million to construct.

Owned by: Patek Philippe CEO Thierry Stern. Alongside his Gulstream G650 private jet, Nautilus — named for the famous sports watch — is his most costly mode of transport. His current net worth is $3 billion.

Key features: 73 metres in length / 7 guest cabins / Top speed of 16.5 knots / Dedicated wellness deck / 3.5 metre resistance pool / Underfloor heating / Jet Skis

Silver Angel, owned by Richard Caring

Built by: Luxury Italian boatbuilder Benetti. Launched in 2009, the yacht’s interior has been designed by Argent Design and her exterior styling is by Stefano Natucci.

Owned by: Richard Caring, British businessman and multi-millionaire (his wealth peaked at £1.05 billion, so he still makes the cut). Chairman of Caprice Holdings, he owns The Ivy restaurants.

Key features: 64.5 metres in length / Cruising speed of 15 knots / 7 guest cabins / Lalique decor / 5 decks / Oval Jacuzzi pool / Sun deck bar / Aft deck dining table

Lady Beatrice, owned by Frederick Barclay

Built by: Feadship and Royal Van Lent in 1993. Exteriors were created by De Voogt Naval Architects, with interiors by Bannenberg Designs. She cost the equivalent of £63 million to build.

Owned by: Sir David Barclay and his late brother Sir Frederick. The ‘Barclay Brothers’ had joint business pursuits including The Spectator , The Telegraph and delivery company Yodel. Current net worth: £7 billion.

Key features: 60 metres in length / 18 knots maximum speed / Monaco home port / Named for the brothers’ mother, Beatrice Cecelia Taylor / 8 guest cabins

Space, owned by Laurence Graff

Built by: Space was the first in Feadship’s F45 Vantage series , styled by Sinot Exclusive Yacht Design and launched in 2007. She cost a reported $25 million to construct.

Owned by: Laurence Graff, English jeweller and billionaire businessman. As the founder of Graff Diamonds, he has a global business presence and a current net worth of $6.26 billion.

Key features: 45 metres in length / Top speed of 16 knots / Al fresco dining area / Sun deck Jacuzzi / Breakfast bar / Swimming platform / Steam room

Want more yachts? Here’s the handcradfted, homegrown history of Princess…

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MIAMI MILLIONAIRE’S ROW CRUISE

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Miami Millionaire’s Row Cruise  🛥

Get a taste of Miami on a Millionaire’s Row Cruise on our double-decker boat. During the millionaires row cruise, you’ll see the homes of the rich and famous, one-of-a-kind views the dazzling Downtown Miami skyline, and beautiful beachfront properties. Whether you’re a history buff, nature lover, architecture enthusiast or just curious how the rich and famous live, this is the cruise for you.

What You’ll See

Our 90-minute Millionaire’s Row Cruise  journey begins at Downtown Miami’s Outdoor Shopping Mall — Miami’s home for exciting dining and name-brand shopping outlets. After circling around Port Miami, we’ll cruise past Fisher Island’s coconut palms and mangroves. On the opposite shore, the historic architecture of Miami’s Art Deco District basks in the sun.

Next, we pass Star Island, a man-made island home to Miami’s rich and famous, including:

• Shaquille O’Neal
• Gloria Estefan
• Sean “Diddy” Combs
• Jennifer Lopez

If those names don’t entice you, keep an eye out for the former home of underworld legend Al Capone. There’s no better way to feel like you’re in Miami Vice or Scarface than with a Miami Millionaire Row Tour  (there’s no better legal way, anyway).

As the yacht turns back west, we’ll pass world-famous Miami Beach and millionaire mansions dotting the Venetian Islands. To the south,  Hibiscus Island houses even more of the rich and famous and luscious south Florida flora.

A Millionaire’s Row cruise tour in Miami wouldn’t be complete without a peek at Miami’s unofficial mascot: the dolphin. While we can’t guarantee we’ll see dolphins on any given cruise, Biscayne Bay’s crystal blue waters are home to many of these playful aquatic mammals. No matter where you look, Miami is full of surprises.

How You’ll See It

Millionaire’s Row Sightseeing cruises in Miami have to be experienced surrounded in luxury. Our three exclusive yachts have:

• Drinks, cocktails and light snacks available for purchase from the cash bar
• Full bilingual (English and Spanish) narration. While seeing where celebrities call home, you’ll learn about Miami’s exciting history.
• Open-air upper decks so you can feel the breeze and invigorating ocean air.
• Air conditioned lower salon for when the sun gets a little too hot or seasonal showers spring up.

You will also have spectacular views of some of the city’s must-sees:

• Biscayne Bay
• Fisher Island , a unique place with one of the highest per capita income in the United States.
• Downtown Miami
• Star Island , the island of stars, with mansions worth several tens of millions of dollars.
• South Beach
• Brickell District , Miami’s financial district.
• Celebrity Mansions
• Miami Beach
• Flagler Monument Island, is an almost secret hideaway tucked amongst the spectacular small islands located between Miami and Miami Beach.
• Jungle Island
• Downtown Miami skyline
• Millionaire’s Row , where Shaquille O’Neal, Gloria Estefan and Julio Iglesias, among other rich and famous, have their homes.

Book Now With Miami on the Water™

Our Millionaire Row cruise Miami   sells out very quickly. Advance reservations are required. We recommend making reservations 24-48 hours in advance to reserve your spot.

You haven’t seen Miami until you’ve seen it from the water. Whether you choose Millionaire’s Row boat cruise , thrilling speedboat tours or romantic sunset yacht charters, Miami on the Water™ makes it all possible.

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These tickets are non-refundable. However, the tickets are valid any day any time up to a year from the purchase date.

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If you have questions about our  Millionaire’s Row Tour , feel free to check out our Frequently Asked Questions page or give us a call at 305-639-8395 .

Good one. Took an island queen cruises during sunset time. Sat on top deck which gave great day and night views of Downtown and the ocean.

The cruise tour was so perfect around port Miami fisher island Miami Beach, and other private islands. We got to see many sights of Miami from the water. Lasted 90 minutes and it was fully narrated.

Went on one of the modern yachts the island queen. The vessel is well maintain and very spacious. It departed from Bayside marketplace and takes you around to see miami skyline the port and millionaire homes. Pretty nice tour to take if you have just a short of amount of time in town.

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The superyachts owned by tech moguls

Amazon founder Jeff Bezos is set to join the exclusive club of yacht-owning tech tycoons as the rumoured owner of Oceanco's mighty 127m sailing yacht . Though it should come as no surprise - other big names in tech such as the late Steve Jobs, Larry Ellison and Paul Allen have been responsible for some of the biggest and most ground-breaking superyachts in the world...

The 127-metre Oceanco sailing yacht Koru, formerly Y721, was launched and reportedly delivered to Amazon founder Jeff Bezos in April 2023. This three-masted schooner, meaning “new beginnings” in Maori, with an expected 33000 GT and a steel hull and aluminium superstructure, is the largest in the world and the longest built in the Netherlands at Oceanco. Knocking Lürssen's Eos , owned by Biller and Diane von Furstenburg, off the top spot, Koru harnesses design similarities with her black hull, white superstructure and classic lines. However, the intricate gold paintwork, scarlet bootstrap and elaborate figurehead on the bow particularly set her apart.

Larry Ellison

American business magnate Larry Ellison is the co-founder of the billion-dollar computer tech corporation Oracle. In 2004, he commissioned the 138-metre Lürssen superyacht Rising Sun (pictured), which stands today as the 15th largest yacht in the world. It was also the last yacht that ever came from the drawing boards of legendary designed Jon Bannenberg, sporting a military-esque profile with a lean destroyer-type hull and extensive use of structural glass . Rising Sun boasts 8,000m² of living space including a wine cellar and basketball court, with a crew of 45. One of her tenders, a catamaran, even carries the yacht’s 4x4 vehicle ashore. 

Ellison later sold the yacht to media mogul David Geffen and has since hosted a parade of Hollywood's glitterati on board including Leonardo DiCaprio, Steven Spielberg, Bruce Springsteen and Oprah Winfrey – to name a few. 

In 2011, Ellison appeared to downsize and took delivery of the 88-metre Feadship Musashi . Not unlike Rising Sun in its appearance, structural glass features heavily throughout with a central glass lift, surrounded by a stainless steel and glass staircase that passes through every deck.

More about this yacht

The late Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen is responsible for two of the most iconic superyachts in the world. At 126-metres in length, Octopus is perhaps his most famous. Built by Lürssen in 2003, this ice-classed superyacht was designed for extended cruising to the most remote locations on earth with a range of 12,500 nautical miles. Home to a helicopter garage, drive-in tender garage, six tenders, and a submarine, she packs a serious punch within her 9,932GT – not to mention the cinema, swimming pool, recording studio, basketball court and spa. At the end of 2019, she joined the market for the very first time , having completed an eight-month refit at Blohm+Voss, and remains the benchmark for exploration yachting.

Tatoosh is another honourable mention and was built by German shipyard Nobiskrug in 2000, three years prior to the delivery of Octopus . At 92-metres, she's smaller than her successor, but to describe Tatoosh as "small" would be a severe understatement. Highlights include a six-foot-deep swimming pool, a pair of helipads, a crew of 30, and a custom 12-metre Hinckley powerboat that she carries on her top deck. Tatoosh is also listed for sale following a refit earlier this year. 

Yachts for charter

The 78-metre Feadship Venus was built for the late Apple boss and founder Steve Jobs. Built under the codename Project Aqua, Venus was launched to international fanfare in 2012, heralded for its extensive use of glass and pared-back design courtesy of Philippe Starck . Innovative features include a false top deck that conceals the communication and television receivers from view and a passarelle that, when opened, looks like the charging port of an iPhone. Venus ’s interior details have been closely guarded since its launch. Sadly, Jobs died a year before the yacht was delivered.

Charles Simonyi

Charles Simonyi led the team that built the first edition of the Microsoft Office software suite and was rumoured to have previously owned Lürssen’s iconic 71-metre SKAT .  Nearly two decades after her launch in 2002, she joined the market for the first time and now Simonyi is thought to have upgraded to the 89-metre Lürssen Norn . Both yachts, penned by Espen Onion, share similar design features. Standout features include an alfresco cinema and adapted depth pool floor with dance floor. Norn was delivered in May 2023.

Sergey Brin

Google co-founder Sergey Brin reportedly owns the high-speed SilverYachts superyacht named Dragonfly , after Google’s once-secret project to launch a censored search engine in China. Delivered in 2009, the 73.3-metre Dragonfly was hailed as the fastest, most fuel-efficient long-range cruising superyacht on the water with a transatlantic range at 22 knots and a fuel consumption of only 360 litres per hour at 18 knots, extending her range to 4,500 nautical miles. Dragonfly is said to have a dance floor and open-air movie theatre on board. The vessel was applauded for its contribution to the disaster relief effort in Vanuatu after Hurricane Pam devastated the island in 2015. The crew reportedly moved 62 metric tons of freshwater ashore, treated over 250 patients, facilitated three medical evacuations, and built shelters in multiple villages and cleared numerous helicopter landing zones for ongoing support.

Yachts for sale

Google’s billionaire co-founder Larry Page purchased the 60-metre explorer yacht conversion Senses from a New Zealand businessman Sir Douglas Myers back in 2011. The globe-trotting superyacht features interiors by Philippe Starck and can accommodate a total of 12 guests on board, with primary guests reaping the benefits of the master suite's gyro-stabilised bed. Senses also houses an exceptional toy box with three high-speed tenders, six wave runners, a jet board and a JetLev. According to the New Zealand Herald, Senses is currently undergoing a refit in Whangārei, New Zealand, after being sold to an unknown buyer in 2020. 

Barry Diller

The world’s largest three-masted schooner – also the third largest sailing yacht in the world – is owned by fashion designer Diane von Fürstenberg and her husband Barry Diller, chairman and senior executive of IAC/InterActiveCorp and Expedia Group. The 92.92-metre sailing yacht, named Eos , was built in Germany by Lürssen and delivered in 2006 with a trio of masts that stand 61-metres tall. The sailing yacht has hosted the couple's star-studded group of friends including Andy Cohen, Gayle King, Bradley Cooper, Harry Styles and Karlie Kloss. The interiors were designed by Francois Catroux, who Vanity Fair named as “the super-rich's favourite interior designer" in 2016.

Mark Zuckerburg

The 107-metre Kleven superyacht Andromeda was built for serial superyacht owner Graeme Hart and delivered under the name Ulysses . In 2017, a year after its launch, rumours began circulating that Facebook founder Mark Zuckerburg had purchased the rugged, six-deck explorer (although a Facebook spokesperson was quick to stamp out the rumours and released a statement denying the claims). Andromeda can carry 36 guests and is equipped with an impressive inventory of toys and tenders, including six motorbikes, two ATVs, a helicopter and an amphibious rib. Five years after her launch, Andromeda still ranks among the largest explorer yachts in the world . 

Eric Schmidt

The former Google ceo Eric Schmidt backed out of the purchase of the abandoned 81.3-metre Oceanco Alfa Nero but has been said to have moved onto become the new owner of a 95-metre Lürssen. Kismet was sold in September 2023 to the billionaire as part of one of the biggest brokerage deal of the year. With the details shrouded in secrecy the yacht is now aptly known as Whisper . Espen Onio was responsible for her iconic exterior while inside was thanks to  Reymond Langton , achieving the original brief from the previous commissioning owner Shahid Khan of “caviar and champagne.” Standout details include the hi-tech, art deco saloon, a private observation platform and the Persian-inspired spa area.

The co-founder and former ceo of WhatsApp, Jan Koum, has been rumoured to own the 99.9-metre Feadship , Moonrise. The yacht’s clean and strong lines, penned by Chris Bottoms from Studio de Voogt , won the highly competitive class of best displacement motor yachts above 3,000 GT in the World Superyacht Awards 2021. Features include the helicopter landing deck and modern interiors by Remi Tessier . Accommodation is for up to 16 guests, and there are 32 crew members onboard Moonrise to attend to the guests' every need. The Ukrainian-American mogul is also said to own the accompanying support vessel Nebula.

Evan Speigel

The Silicone Valley ceo, Snapchat founder Evan Spiegel has been reportedly said to own the 94.8-metre Feadship Bliss. Delivered in 2021 the motor yacht penned by Feadship's Studio De Voogt Naval Architects has most recently been spotted cruising Auckland in September 2023. Spiegel is rumoured to be Feadship's younger client. Bliss can accommodate up to 18 guests across nine staterooms; however little else is known about the 2983 GT yacht.

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$125M super yacht reportedly owned by an English billionaire is cruising the Great Lakes

No, your eyes don't deceive you — that is a 217-foot, $125-million super yacht cruising the Great Lakes. 

The Hampshire, reportedly owned by English billionaire Andrew Currie, has been making its way around the Upper Peninsula this month, stopping in various destinations, including Mackinac Island. 

Currie, a biofuel executive who is a director with chemical company Ineos, is worth about $3.5 billion, making him the 504th richest person on Forbes' billionaires 2019 list . 

While Currie is not publicly connected to the ship, MLive and the Mining Gazette   report the multibillionaire owns the Hampshire. Currie is also connected to Hampshire I, another super yacht that appeared at the Cannes Film Festival in May. 

The Dutch-built Hampshire can sleep 12 guests and carries a crew of 17 people, according to Boat International . The boat also features an on-deck pool.

The yacht stopped in Milwaukee on Aug. 7, according to the  Milwaukee Business Journal , then headed toward Traverse City.  TV6 also caught the yacht Aug. 12 in Marquette's Lower Harbor, where the station reported that crew members stopped on shore to support local business.

A Mackinac Island State Harbor employee said the Hampshire docked at the island Monday and was still there Tuesday morning. According to boat tracking site Vessel Finder , the yacht has a set destination of "cruising Great Lakes."

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Inside Story of Billionaire Whose Luck Ran Out on Superyacht

Mike Lynch became one of the very few people to score an acquittal in his recent federal criminal case. But months later, that luck was wiped away.

Michael Daly

Special Correspondent

Henry Nicholls/Reuters

Less than half of 1 percent of federal criminal cases end in an acquittal, so billionaire Mike Lynch and his co-defendant, Stephen Chamberlain, seemed to be the luckiest of unlucky men on June 6 this year, when they were found not guilty of fraud charges that could have landed them in prison for 25 years.

But two months after that ebullient moment on the 17th floor of the federal courthouse in San Francisco, their fortunes took a tragic turn.

On Saturday, Chamberlain suffered fatal injuries when he was struck by a car while out for a run near his home in Cambridgeshire, England.

And then, on Monday, Lynch was among the six declared missing after a tornado-like waterspout sank the 184-foot sailing yacht Bayesian, as it was anchored a half-mile off the coast of Sicily. Lynch’s younger daughter, 18-year-old Hannah, who had recently earned a place at Oxford, was also missing. So was one of the defense attorneys in the case, former federal prosecutor Christopher Morvillo, and his wife.

The bodies of all those missing were recovered following a search by divers that lasted several days. Hannah’s body was brought ashore last, on Friday.

“In the course of 48 hours, I can’t process what has happened, but both of our clients, as well as Chris and his wife, are gone,” law partner Gary Lincenberg told Business Insider .

A paper trail indicates that the ill-fated yacht was owned by Lynch’s wife, Angela Bacares. It is named after the Bayesian inference, an approach to probability that was both the focus of Lynch’s PhD thesis and the underpinning of the software that made him Britain’s first tech billionaire.

The fact that Lynch ever got a doctorate from Cambridge was an improbability in itself. Lynch was the son of Irish immigrants; his mother was an intensive care nurse from County Tipperary, his father a firefighter from County Cork. They advised Lynch not to enter a profession that involved charging into burning buildings. Lynch was bright enough to secure scholarships at an exclusive private school and then a university. His genius was not so much in engineering itself, but in applying it.

He studied machine learning before it was fashionable, and co-founded a series of start-ups. One was Autonomy, which he sold to Hewlett-Packard for $11.7 billion after a secret meeting with its top executives in 2011. Hewlett-Packard’s then-CEO, Léo Apotheker, had hoped to turn it from a faltering computer hardware clunker into a high-profit software giant. He ended up taking the combined companies towards an $8 billion loss.

The new CEO, Meg Whitman, alleged that Lynch and others at Autonomy had cooked the books before the sale to make it look more profitable than it was. Hewlett-Packard sued Lynch in England in a civil fraud case in 2019, and he spent 20 days testifying. Then, in early 2022 , Justice Robert Hildyard issued a 1,700-page decision finding that Lynch and Autonomy had committed fraud. The Crown sought $4 billion in damages that are still pending.

At the same time, federal authorities in the U.S. sought to extradite Lynch on criminal charges. Lynch fought it for two years before he arrived in San Francisco in chains in May of 2023. He was released on $100 million bail and consigned to house arrest in a rental home with cameras installed in every room, and two armed guards on duty around the clock.

The judge in San Francisco was Charles Breyer, brother of U.S. Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer. Charles had also overseen the trial of Lynch’s right-hand man, Autonomy Chief Financial Officer Sushovan Hussain, on fraud charges, in the same courtroom some months before. Hussain had been convicted. Lynch and Chamberlain seemed all but sure to suffer the same fate as their trial commenced in March of 2024.

British entrepreneur Mike Lynch leaves the High Court in London, Britain March 25, 2019.

The prosecution plodded through seemingly endless exhibits culled from 15 million financial documents and emails obtained for the case. One juror repeatedly dozed off.

“I know it’s not fascinating, but you’ve got to tell me whether you can stay awake for eight more weeks during this testimony,” Breyer said, according to The Times .

“That’s a negative,” the juror replied. “I can’t.”

The juror was replaced and the case crept on, until Lynch took the stand on his own behalf. He testified that his first job had been cleaning floors in the hospital where his mother works.

“I’m still a demon mopper,” he testified.

He also described being Irish in England during the conflict with the IRA.

“You had to learn to run fast,” he said.

When it came to the decision to sell Autonomy, he said Hewlett-Packard was so anxious to make the deal that it had offered double the usual takeover price margin.

“The normal premium on the London market was about 30 percent,” he said. “HP was offering 60 percent. That would be like trying to stop a herd of elephants in terms of shareholders agreeing to it.”

His attorney, Chris Morvillo, asked what the trial had been like for him.

“It’s surreal,” Lynch testified. “I’ve heard comments from people that just don’t paint the picture of the company that I and my colleagues and friends worked at for 15 years.”

Lynch added, “I’ve sat and watched a parade of witnesses that I’ve never met and some that I may have just shaken their hand, and I’ve heard about a series of transactions I have no involvement in.”

At the end of the 11-week trial, the jury acquitted Lynch and Chamberlain of all charges. Morvillo joined in their tearful exultation at being among the lucky very few.

Chamberlain’s luck ran out Saturday with a fatal encounter with a car. Lynch and Morvillo were on the Bayesian at 4:30 a.m. on Monday when the freak storm suddenly struck. An emergency flare went up into the darkness, but the boat had sunk by the time help arrived.

Fifteen of the passengers and crew were rescued, including Lynch’s wife. There was also a 1-year-old child, Sophia, and her mother, Charlotte Golunski, a partner at another Lynch venture, Invoke Capital. The mother recounted her ordeal to the Italian press, saying she had been on deck when the raging storm tore her child from her arms.

“For two seconds I lost my baby in the sea,” the mother told Giornale di Sicilia . “Then I immediately hugged her again amid the fury of the waves.”

She summoned the fury of a mother.

“I held her afloat with all my strength, my arms stretched upwards to keep her from drowning. It was all dark. In the water, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I screamed for help, but all I could hear around me was the screams of the others.”

A man in an inflatable lifeboat pulled her and Sophia to safety. They were joined by the child’s father. They were all lucky to be alive.

Mike Lynch’s remarkable luck, meanwhile, had sadly run out.

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The Haves and the Have-Yachts

In the Victorian era, it was said that the length of a man’s boat, in feet, should match his age, in years. The Victorians would have had some questions at the fortieth annual Palm Beach International Boat Show, which convened this March on Florida’s Gold Coast. A typical offering: a two-hundred-and-three-foot superyacht named Sea Owl, selling secondhand for ninety million dollars. The owner, Robert Mercer, the hedge-fund tycoon and Republican donor, was throwing in furniture and accessories, including several auxiliary boats, a Steinway piano, a variety of frescoes, and a security system that requires fingerprint recognition. Nevertheless, Mercer’s package was a modest one; the largest superyachts are more than five hundred feet, on a scale with naval destroyers, and cost six or seven times what he was asking.

For the small, tight-lipped community around the world’s biggest yachts, the Palm Beach show has the promising air of spring training. On the cusp of the summer season, it affords brokers and builders and owners (or attendants from their family offices) a chance to huddle over the latest merchandise and to gather intelligence: Who’s getting in? Who’s getting out? And, most pressingly, who’s ogling a bigger boat?

On the docks, brokers parse the crowd according to a taxonomy of potential. Guests asking for tours face a gantlet of greeters, trained to distinguish “superrich clients” from “ineligible visitors,” in the words of Emma Spence, a former greeter at the Palm Beach show. Spence looked for promising clues (the right shoes, jewelry, pets) as well as for red flags (cameras, ornate business cards, clothes with pop-culture references). For greeters from elsewhere, Palm Beach is a challenging assignment. Unlike in Europe, where money can still produce some visible tells—Hunter Wellies, a Barbour jacket—the habits of wealth in Florida offer little that’s reliable. One colleague resorted to binoculars, to spot a passerby with a hundred-thousand-dollar watch. According to Spence, people judged to have insufficient buying power are quietly marked for “dissuasion.”

For the uninitiated, a pleasure boat the length of a football field can be bewildering. Andy Cohen, the talk-show host, recalled his first visit to a superyacht owned by the media mogul Barry Diller: “I was like the Beverly Hillbillies.” The boats have grown so vast that some owners place unique works of art outside the elevator on each deck, so that lost guests don’t barge into the wrong stateroom.

At the Palm Beach show, I lingered in front of a gracious vessel called Namasté, until I was dissuaded by a wooden placard: “Private yacht, no boarding, no paparazzi.” In a nearby berth was a two-hundred-and-eighty-foot superyacht called Bold, which was styled like a warship, with its own helicopter hangar, three Sea-Doos, two sailboats, and a color scheme of gunmetal gray. The rugged look is a trend; “explorer” vessels, equipped to handle remote journeys, are the sport-utility vehicles of yachting.

If you hail from the realm of ineligible visitors, you may not be aware that we are living through the “greatest boom in the yacht business that’s ever existed,” as Bob Denison—whose firm, Denison Yachting, is one of the world’s largest brokers—told me. “Every broker, every builder, up and down the docks, is having some of the best years they’ve ever experienced.” In 2021, the industry sold a record eight hundred and eighty-seven superyachts worldwide, nearly twice the previous year’s total. With more than a thousand new superyachts on order, shipyards are so backed up that clients unaccustomed to being told no have been shunted to waiting lists.

One reason for the increased demand for yachts is the pandemic. Some buyers invoke social distancing; others, an existential awakening. John Staluppi, of Palm Beach Gardens, who made a fortune from car dealerships, is looking to upgrade from his current, sixty-million-dollar yacht. “When you’re forty or fifty years old, you say, ‘I’ve got plenty of time,’ ” he told me. But, at seventy-five, he is ready to throw in an extra fifteen million if it will spare him three years of waiting. “Is your life worth five million dollars a year? I think so,” he said. A deeper reason for the demand is the widening imbalance of wealth. Since 1990, the United States’ supply of billionaires has increased from sixty-six to more than seven hundred, even as the median hourly wage has risen only twenty per cent. In that time, the number of truly giant yachts—those longer than two hundred and fifty feet—has climbed from less than ten to more than a hundred and seventy. Raphael Sauleau, the C.E.O. of Fraser Yachts, told me bluntly, “ COVID and wealth—a perfect storm for us.”

And yet the marina in Palm Beach was thrumming with anxiety. Ever since the Russian President, Vladimir Putin, launched his assault on Ukraine, the superyacht world has come under scrutiny. At a port in Spain, a Ukrainian engineer named Taras Ostapchuk, working aboard a ship that he said was owned by a Russian arms dealer, threw open the sea valves and tried to sink it to the bottom of the harbor. Under arrest, he told a judge, “I would do it again.” Then he returned to Ukraine and joined the military. Western allies, in the hope of pressuring Putin to withdraw, have sought to cut off Russian oligarchs from businesses and luxuries abroad. “We are coming for your ill-begotten gains,” President Joe Biden declared, in his State of the Union address.

Nobody can say precisely how many of Putin’s associates own superyachts—known to professionals as “white boats”—because the white-boat world is notoriously opaque. Owners tend to hide behind shell companies, registered in obscure tax havens, attended by private bankers and lawyers. But, with unusual alacrity, authorities have used subpoenas and police powers to freeze boats suspected of having links to the Russian élite. In Spain, the government detained a hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar yacht associated with Sergei Chemezov, the head of the conglomerate Rostec, whose bond with Putin reaches back to their time as K.G.B. officers in East Germany. (As in many cases, the boat is not registered to Chemezov; the official owner is a shell company connected to his stepdaughter, a teacher whose salary is likely about twenty-two hundred dollars a month.) In Germany, authorities impounded the world’s most voluminous yacht, Dilbar, for its ties to the mining-and-telecom tycoon Alisher Usmanov. And in Italy police have grabbed a veritable armada, including a boat owned by one of Russia’s richest men, Alexei Mordashov, and a colossus suspected of belonging to Putin himself, the four-hundred-and-fifty-nine-foot Scheherazade.

In Palm Beach, the yachting community worried that the same scrutiny might be applied to them. “Say your superyacht is in Asia, and there’s some big conflict where China invades Taiwan,” Denison told me. “China could spin it as ‘Look at these American oligarchs!’ ” He wondered if the seizures of superyachts marked a growing political animus toward the very rich. “Whenever things are economically or politically disruptive,” he said, “it’s hard to justify taking an insane amount of money and just putting it into something that costs a lot to maintain, depreciates, and is only used for having a good time.”

Nobody pretends that a superyacht is a productive place to stash your wealth. In a column this spring headlined “ A SUPERYACHT IS A TERRIBLE ASSET ,” the Financial Times observed, “Owning a superyacht is like owning a stack of 10 Van Goghs, only you are holding them over your head as you tread water, trying to keep them dry.”

Not so long ago, status transactions among the élite were denominated in Old Masters and in the sculptures of the Italian Renaissance. Joseph Duveen, the dominant art dealer of the early twentieth century, kept the oligarchs of his day—Andrew Mellon, Jules Bache, J. P. Morgan—jockeying over Donatellos and Van Dycks. “When you pay high for the priceless,” he liked to say, “you’re getting it cheap.”

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In the nineteen-fifties, the height of aspirational style was fine French furniture—F.F.F., as it became known in certain precincts of Fifth Avenue and Palm Beach. Before long, more and more money was going airborne. Hugh Hefner, a pioneer in the private-jet era, decked out a plane he called Big Bunny, where he entertained Elvis Presley, Raquel Welch, and James Caan. The oil baron Armand Hammer circled the globe on his Boeing 727, paying bribes and recording evidence on microphones hidden in his cufflinks. But, once it seemed that every plutocrat had a plane, the thrill was gone.

In any case, an airplane is just transportation. A big ship is a floating manse, with a hierarchy written right into the nomenclature. If it has a crew working aboard, it’s a yacht. If it’s more than ninety-eight feet, it’s a superyacht. After that, definitions are debated, but people generally agree that anything more than two hundred and thirty feet is a megayacht, and more than two hundred and ninety-five is a gigayacht. The world contains about fifty-four hundred superyachts, and about a hundred gigayachts.

For the moment, a gigayacht is the most expensive item that our species has figured out how to own. In 2019, the hedge-fund billionaire Ken Griffin bought a quadruplex on Central Park South for two hundred and forty million dollars, the highest price ever paid for a home in America. In May, an unknown buyer spent about a hundred and ninety-five million on an Andy Warhol silk-screen portrait of Marilyn Monroe. In luxury-yacht terms, those are ordinary numbers. “There are a lot of boats in build well over two hundred and fifty million dollars,” Jamie Edmiston, a broker in Monaco and London, told me. His buyers are getting younger and more inclined to spend long stretches at sea. “High-speed Internet, telephony, modern communications have made working easier,” he said. “Plus, people made a lot more money earlier in life.”

A Silicon Valley C.E.O. told me that one appeal of boats is that they can “absorb the most excess capital.” He explained, “Rationally, it would seem to make sense for people to spend half a billion dollars on their house and then fifty million on the boat that they’re on for two weeks a year, right? But it’s gone the other way. People don’t want to live in a hundred-thousand-square-foot house. Optically, it’s weird. But a half-billion-dollar boat, actually, is quite nice.” Staluppi, of Palm Beach Gardens, is content to spend three or four times as much on his yachts as on his homes. Part of the appeal is flexibility. “If you’re on your boat and you don’t like your neighbor, you tell the captain, ‘Let’s go to a different place,’ ” he said. On land, escaping a bad neighbor requires more work: “You got to try and buy him out or make it uncomfortable or something.” The preference for sea-based investment has altered the proportions of taste. Until recently, the Silicon Valley C.E.O. said, “a fifty-metre boat was considered a good-sized boat. Now that would be a little bit embarrassing.” In the past twenty years, the length of the average luxury yacht has grown by a third, to a hundred and sixty feet.

Thorstein Veblen, the economist who published “The Theory of the Leisure Class,” in 1899, argued that the power of “conspicuous consumption” sprang not from artful finery but from sheer needlessness. “In order to be reputable,” he wrote, “it must be wasteful.” In the yachting world, stories circulate about exotic deliveries by helicopter or seaplane: Dom Pérignon, bagels from Zabar’s, sex workers, a rare melon from the island of Hokkaido. The industry excels at selling you things that you didn’t know you needed. When you flip through the yachting press, it’s easy to wonder how you’ve gone this long without a personal submarine, or a cryosauna that “blasts you with cold” down to minus one hundred and ten degrees Celsius, or the full menagerie of “exclusive leathers,” such as eel and stingray.

But these shrines to excess capital exist in a conditional state of visibility: they are meant to be unmistakable to a slender stratum of society—and all but unseen by everyone else. Even before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the yachting community was straining to manage its reputation as a gusher of carbon emissions (one well-stocked diesel yacht is estimated to produce as much greenhouse gas as fifteen hundred passenger cars), not to mention the fact that the world of white boats is overwhelmingly white. In a candid aside to a French documentarian, the American yachtsman Bill Duker said, “If the rest of the world learns what it’s like to live on a yacht like this, they’re gonna bring back the guillotine.” The Dutch press recently reported that Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon, was building a sailing yacht so tall that the city of Rotterdam might temporarily dismantle a bridge that had survived the Nazis in order to let the boat pass to the open sea. Rotterdammers were not pleased. On Facebook, a local man urged people to “take a box of rotten eggs with you and let’s throw them en masse at Jeff’s superyacht when it sails through.” At least thirteen thousand people expressed interest. Amid the uproar, a deputy mayor announced that the dismantling plan had been abandoned “for the time being.” (Bezos modelled his yacht partly on one owned by his friend Barry Diller, who has hosted him many times. The appreciation eventually extended to personnel, and Bezos hired one of Diller’s captains.)

As social media has heightened the scrutiny of extraordinary wealth, some of the very people who created those platforms have sought less observable places to spend it. But they occasionally indulge in some coded provocation. In 2006, when the venture capitalist Tom Perkins unveiled his boat in Istanbul, most passersby saw it adorned in colorful flags, but people who could read semaphore were able to make out a message: “Rarely does one have the privilege to witness vulgar ostentation displayed on such a scale.” As a longtime owner told me, “If you don’t have some guilt about it, you’re a rat.”

Alex Finley, a former C.I.A. officer who has seen yachts proliferate near her home in Barcelona, has weighed the superyacht era and its discontents in writings and on Twitter, using the hashtag #YachtWatch. “To me, the yachts are not just yachts,” she told me. “In Russia’s case, these are the embodiment of oligarchs helping a dictator destabilize our democracy while utilizing our democracy to their benefit.” But, Finley added, it’s a mistake to think the toxic symbolism applies only to Russia. “The yachts tell a whole story about a Faustian capitalism—this idea that we’re ready to sell democracy for short-term profit,” she said. “They’re registered offshore. They use every loophole that we’ve put in place for illicit money and tax havens. So they play a role in this battle, writ large, between autocracy and democracy.”

After a morning on the docks at the Palm Beach show, I headed to a more secluded marina nearby, which had been set aside for what an attendant called “the really big hardware.” It felt less like a trade show than like a boutique resort, with a swimming pool and a terrace restaurant. Kevin Merrigan, a relaxed Californian with horn-rimmed glasses and a high forehead pinked by the sun, was waiting for me at the stern of Unbridled, a superyacht with a brilliant blue hull that gave it the feel of a personal cruise ship. He invited me to the bridge deck, where a giant screen showed silent video of dolphins at play.

Merrigan is the chairman of the brokerage Northrop & Johnson, which has ridden the tide of growing boats and wealth since 1949. Lounging on a sofa mounded with throw pillows, he projected a nearly postcoital level of contentment. He had recently sold the boat we were on, accepted an offer for a behemoth beside us, and begun negotiating the sale of yet another. “This client owns three big yachts,” he said. “It’s a hobby for him. We’re at a hundred and ninety-one feet now, and last night he said, ‘You know, what do you think about getting a two hundred and fifty?’ ” Merrigan laughed. “And I was, like, ‘Can’t you just have dinner?’ ”

Among yacht owners, there are some unwritten rules of stratification: a Dutch-built boat will hold its value better than an Italian; a custom design will likely get more respect than a “series yacht”; and, if you want to disparage another man’s boat, say that it looks like a wedding cake. But, in the end, nothing says as much about a yacht, or its owner, as the delicate matter of L.O.A.—length over all.

The imperative is not usually length for length’s sake (though the longtime owner told me that at times there is an aspect of “phallic sizing”). “L.O.A.” is a byword for grandeur. In most cases, pleasure yachts are permitted to carry no more than twelve passengers, a rule set by the International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea, which was conceived after the sinking of the Titanic. But those limits do not apply to crew. “So, you might have anything between twelve and fifty crew looking after those twelve guests,” Edmiston, the broker, said. “It’s a level of service you cannot really contemplate until you’ve been fortunate enough to experience it.”

As yachts have grown more capacious, and the limits on passengers have not, more and more space on board has been devoted to staff and to novelties. The latest fashions include IMAX theatres, hospital equipment that tests for dozens of pathogens, and ski rooms where guests can suit up for a helicopter trip to a mountaintop. The longtime owner, who had returned the previous day from his yacht, told me, “No one today—except for assholes and ridiculous people—lives on land in what you would call a deep and broad luxe life. Yes, people have nice houses and all of that, but it’s unlikely that the ratio of staff to them is what it is on a boat.” After a moment, he added, “Boats are the last place that I think you can get away with it.”

Even among the truly rich, there is a gap between the haves and the have-yachts. One boating guest told me about a conversation with a famous friend who keeps one of the world’s largest yachts. “He said, ‘The boat is the last vestige of what real wealth can do.’ What he meant is, You have a chef, and I have a chef. You have a driver, and I have a driver. You can fly privately, and I fly privately. So, the one place where I can make clear to the world that I am in a different fucking category than you is the boat.”

After Merrigan and I took a tour of Unbridled, he led me out to a waiting tender, staffed by a crew member with an earpiece on a coil. The tender, Merrigan said, would ferry me back to the busy main dock of the Palm Beach show. We bounced across the waves under a pristine sky, and pulled into the marina, where my fellow-gawkers were still trying to talk their way past the greeters. As I walked back into the scrum, Namasté was still there, but it looked smaller than I remembered.

For owners and their guests, a white boat provides a discreet marketplace for the exchange of trust, patronage, and validation. To diagram the precise workings of that trade—the customs and anxieties, strategies and slights—I talked to Brendan O’Shannassy, a veteran captain who is a curator of white-boat lore. Raised in Western Australia, O’Shannassy joined the Navy as a young man, and eventually found his way to skippering some of the world’s biggest yachts. He has worked for Paul Allen, the late co-founder of Microsoft, along with a few other billionaires he declines to name. Now in his early fifties, with patient green eyes and tufts of curly brown hair, O’Shannassy has had a vantage from which to monitor the social traffic. “It’s all gracious, and everyone’s kiss-kiss,” he said. “But there’s a lot going on in the background.”

O’Shannassy once worked for an owner who limited the number of newspapers on board, so that he could watch his guests wait and squirm. “It was a mind game amongst the billionaires. There were six couples, and three newspapers,” he said, adding, “They were ranking themselves constantly.” On some boats, O’Shannassy has found himself playing host in the awkward minutes after guests arrive. “A lot of them are savants, but some are very un-socially aware,” he said. “They need someone to be social and charming for them.” Once everyone settles in, O’Shannassy has learned, there is often a subtle shift, when a mogul or a politician or a pop star starts to loosen up in ways that are rarely possible on land. “Your security is relaxed—they’re not on your hip,” he said. “You’re not worried about paparazzi. So you’ve got all this extra space, both mental and physical.”

O’Shannassy has come to see big boats as a space where powerful “solar systems” converge and combine. “It is implicit in every interaction that their sharing of information will benefit both parties; it is an obsession with billionaires to do favours for each other. A referral, an introduction, an insight—it all matters,” he wrote in “Superyacht Captain,” a new memoir. A guest told O’Shannassy that, after a lavish display of hospitality, he finally understood the business case for buying a boat. “One deal secured on board will pay it all back many times over,” the guest said, “and it is pretty hard to say no after your kids have been hosted so well for a week.”

Take the case of David Geffen, the former music and film executive. He is long retired, but he hosts friends (and potential friends) on the four-hundred-and-fifty-four-foot Rising Sun, which has a double-height cinema, a spa and salon, and a staff of fifty-seven. In 2017, shortly after Barack and Michelle Obama departed the White House, they were photographed on Geffen’s boat in French Polynesia, accompanied by Bruce Springsteen, Oprah Winfrey, Tom Hanks, and Rita Wilson. For Geffen, the boat keeps him connected to the upper echelons of power. There are wealthier Americans, but not many of them have a boat so delectable that it can induce both a Democratic President and the workingman’s crooner to risk the aroma of hypocrisy.

The binding effect pays dividends for guests, too. Once people reach a certain level of fame, they tend to conclude that its greatest advantage is access. Spend a week at sea together, lingering over meals, observing one another floundering on a paddleboard, and you have something of value for years to come. Call to ask for an investment, an introduction, an internship for a wayward nephew, and you’ll at least get the call returned. It’s a mutually reinforcing circle of validation: she’s here, I’m here, we’re here.

But, if you want to get invited back, you are wise to remember your part of the bargain. If you work with movie stars, bring fresh gossip. If you’re on Wall Street, bring an insight or two. Don’t make the transaction obvious, but don’t forget why you’re there. “When I see the guest list,” O’Shannassy wrote, “I am aware, even if not all names are familiar, that all have been chosen for a purpose.”

For O’Shannassy, there is something comforting about the status anxieties of people who have everything. He recalled a visit to the Italian island of Sardinia, where his employer asked him for a tour of the boats nearby. Riding together on a tender, they passed one colossus after another, some twice the size of the owner’s superyacht. Eventually, the man cut the excursion short. “Take me back to my yacht, please,” he said. They motored in silence for a while. “There was a time when my yacht was the most beautiful in the bay,” he said at last. “How do I keep up with this new money?”

The summer season in the Mediterranean cranks up in May, when the really big hardware heads east from Florida and the Caribbean to escape the coming hurricanes, and reconvenes along the coasts of France, Italy, and Spain. At the center is the Principality of Monaco, the sun-washed tax haven that calls itself the “world’s capital of advanced yachting.” In Monaco, which is among the richest countries on earth, superyachts bob in the marina like bath toys.

The nearest hotel room at a price that would not get me fired was an Airbnb over the border with France. But an acquaintance put me on the phone with the Yacht Club de Monaco, a members-only establishment created by the late monarch His Serene Highness Prince Rainier III, whom the Web site describes as “a true visionary in every respect.” The club occasionally rents rooms—“cabins,” as they’re called—to visitors in town on yacht-related matters. Claudia Batthyany, the elegant director of special projects, showed me to my cabin and later explained that the club does not aspire to be a hotel. “We are an association ,” she said. “Otherwise, it becomes”—she gave a gentle wince—“not that exclusive.”

Inside my cabin, I quickly came to understand that I would never be fully satisfied anywhere else again. The space was silent and aromatically upscale, bathed in soft sunlight that swept through a wall of glass overlooking the water. If I was getting a sudden rush of the onboard experience, that was no accident. The clubhouse was designed by the British architect Lord Norman Foster to evoke the opulent indulgence of ocean liners of the interwar years, like the Queen Mary. I found a handwritten welcome note, on embossed club stationery, set alongside an orchid and an assemblage of chocolate truffles: “The whole team remains at your entire disposal to make your stay a wonderful experience. Yours sincerely, Service Members.” I saluted the nameless Service Members, toiling for the comfort of their guests. Looking out at the water, I thought, intrusively, of a line from Santiago, Hemingway’s old man of the sea. “Do not think about sin,” he told himself. “It is much too late for that and there are people who are paid to do it.”

I had been assured that the Service Members would cheerfully bring dinner, as they might on board, but I was eager to see more of my surroundings. I consulted the club’s summer dress code. It called for white trousers and a blue blazer, and it discouraged improvisation: “No pocket handkerchief is to be worn above the top breast-pocket bearing the Club’s coat of arms.” The handkerchief rule seemed navigable, but I did not possess white trousers, so I skirted the lobby and took refuge in the bar. At a table behind me, a man with flushed cheeks and a British accent had a head start. “You’re a shitty negotiator,” he told another man, with a laugh. “Maybe sales is not your game.” A few seats away, an American woman was explaining to a foreign friend how to talk with conservatives: “If they say, ‘The earth is flat,’ you say, ‘Well, I’ve sailed around it, so I’m not so sure about that.’ ”

In the morning, I had an appointment for coffee with Gaëlle Tallarida, the managing director of the Monaco Yacht Show, which the Daily Mail has called the “most shamelessly ostentatious display of yachts in the world.” Tallarida was not born to that milieu; she grew up on the French side of the border, swimming at public beaches with a view of boats sailing from the marina. But she had a knack for highly organized spectacle. While getting a business degree, she worked on a student theatre festival and found it thrilling. Afterward, she got a job in corporate events, and in 1998 she was hired at the yacht show as a trainee.

With this year’s show five months off, Tallarida was already getting calls about what she described as “the most complex part of my work”: deciding which owners get the most desirable spots in the marina. “As you can imagine, they’ve got very big egos,” she said. “On top of that, I’m a woman. They are sometimes arriving and saying”—she pointed into the distance, pantomiming a decree—“ ‘O.K., I want that!  ’ ”

Just about everyone wants his superyacht to be viewed from the side, so that its full splendor is visible. Most harbors, however, have a limited number of berths with a side view; in Monaco, there are only twelve, with prime spots arrayed along a concrete dike across from the club. “We reserve the dike for the biggest yachts,” Tallarida said. But try telling that to a man who blew his fortune on a small superyacht.

Whenever possible, Tallarida presents her verdicts as a matter of safety: the layout must insure that “in case of an emergency, any boat can go out.” If owners insist on preferential placement, she encourages a yachting version of the Golden Rule: “What if, next year, I do that to you? Against you?”

Does that work? I asked. She shrugged. “They say, ‘Eh.’ ” Some would gladly risk being a victim next year in order to be a victor now. In the most awful moment of her career, she said, a man who was unhappy with his berth berated her face to face. “I was in the office, feeling like a little girl, with my daddy shouting at me. I said, ‘O.K., O.K., I’m going to give you the spot.’ ”

Securing just the right place, it must be said, carries value. Back at the yacht club, I was on my terrace, enjoying the latest delivery by the Service Members—an airy French omelette and a glass of preternaturally fresh orange juice. I thought guiltily of my wife, at home with our kids, who had sent a text overnight alerting me to a maintenance issue that she described as “a toilet debacle.”

Then I was distracted by the sight of a man on a yacht in the marina below. He was staring up at me. I went back to my brunch, but, when I looked again, there he was—a middle-aged man, on a mid-tier yacht, juiceless, on a greige banquette, staring up at my perfect terrace. A surprising sensation started in my chest and moved outward like a warm glow: the unmistakable pang of superiority.

That afternoon, I made my way to the bar, to meet the yacht club’s general secretary, Bernard d’Alessandri, for a history lesson. The general secretary was up to code: white trousers, blue blazer, club crest over the heart. He has silver hair, black eyebrows, and a tan that evokes high-end leather. “I was a sailing teacher before this,” he said, and gestured toward the marina. “It was not like this. It was a village.”

Before there were yacht clubs, there were jachten , from the Dutch word for “hunt.” In the seventeenth century, wealthy residents of Amsterdam created fast-moving boats to meet incoming cargo ships before they hit port, in order to check out the merchandise. Soon, the Dutch owners were racing one another, and yachting spread across Europe. After a visit to Holland in 1697, Peter the Great returned to Russia with a zeal for pleasure craft, and he later opened Nevsky Flot, one of the world’s first yacht clubs, in St. Petersburg.

For a while, many of the biggest yachts were symbols of state power. In 1863, the viceroy of Egypt, Isma’il Pasha, ordered up a steel leviathan called El Mahrousa, which was the world’s longest yacht for a remarkable hundred and nineteen years, until the title was claimed by King Fahd of Saudi Arabia. In the United States, Franklin Delano Roosevelt received guests aboard the U.S.S. Potomac, which had a false smokestack containing a hidden elevator, so that the President could move by wheelchair between decks.

But yachts were finding new patrons outside politics. In 1954, the Greek shipping baron Aristotle Onassis bought a Canadian Navy frigate and spent four million dollars turning it into Christina O, which served as his home for months on end—and, at various times, as a home to his companions Maria Callas, Greta Garbo, and Jacqueline Kennedy. Christina O had its flourishes—a Renoir in the master suite, a swimming pool with a mosaic bottom that rose to become a dance floor—but none were more distinctive than the appointments in the bar, which included whales’ teeth carved into pornographic scenes from the Odyssey and stools upholstered in whale foreskins.

For Onassis, the extraordinary investments in Christina O were part of an epic tit for tat with his archrival, Stavros Niarchos, a fellow shipping tycoon, which was so entrenched that it continued even after Onassis’s death, in 1975. Six years later, Niarchos launched a yacht fifty-five feet longer than Christina O: Atlantis II, which featured a swimming pool on a gyroscope so that the water would not slosh in heavy seas. Atlantis II, now moored in Monaco, sat before the general secretary and me as we talked.

Over the years, d’Alessandri had watched waves of new buyers arrive from one industry after another. “First, it was the oil. After, it was the telecommunications. Now, they are making money with crypto,” he said. “And, each time, it’s another size of the boat, another design.” What began as symbols of state power had come to represent more diffuse aristocracies—the fortunes built on carbon, capital, and data that migrated across borders. As early as 1908, the English writer G. K. Chesterton wondered what the big boats foretold of a nation’s fabric. “The poor man really has a stake in the country,” he wrote. “The rich man hasn’t; he can go away to New Guinea in a yacht.”

Each iteration of fortune left its imprint on the industry. Sheikhs, who tend to cruise in the world’s hottest places, wanted baroque indoor spaces and were uninterested in sundecks. Silicon Valley favored acres of beige, more Sonoma than Saudi. And buyers from Eastern Europe became so abundant that shipyards perfected the onboard banya , a traditional Russian sauna stocked with birch and eucalyptus. The collapse of the Soviet Union, in 1991, had minted a generation of new billionaires, whose approach to money inspired a popular Russian joke: One oligarch brags to another, “Look at this new tie. It cost me two hundred bucks!” To which the other replies, “You moron. You could’ve bought the same one for a thousand!”

In 1998, around the time that the Russian economy imploded, the young tycoon Roman Abramovich reportedly bought a secondhand yacht called Sussurro—Italian for “whisper”—which had been so carefully engineered for speed that each individual screw was weighed before installation. Soon, Russians were competing to own the costliest ships. “If the most expensive yacht in the world was small, they would still want it,” Maria Pevchikh, a Russian investigator who helps lead the Anti-Corruption Foundation, told me.

In 2008, a thirty-six-year-old industrialist named Andrey Melnichenko spent some three hundred million dollars on Motor Yacht A, a radical experiment conceived by the French designer Philippe Starck, with a dagger-shaped hull and a bulbous tower topped by a master bedroom set on a turntable that pivots to capture the best view. The shape was ridiculed as “a giant finger pointing at you” and “one of the most hideous vessels ever to sail,” but it marked a new prominence for Russian money at sea. Today, post-Soviet élites are thought to own a fifth of the world’s gigayachts.

Even Putin has signalled his appreciation, being photographed on yachts in the Black Sea resort of Sochi. In an explosive report in 2012, Boris Nemtsov, a former Deputy Prime Minister, accused Putin of amassing a storehouse of outrageous luxuries, including four yachts, twenty homes, and dozens of private aircraft. Less than three years later, Nemtsov was fatally shot while crossing a bridge near the Kremlin. The Russian government, which officially reports that Putin collects a salary of about a hundred and forty thousand dollars and possesses a modest apartment in Moscow, denied any involvement.

Many of the largest, most flamboyant gigayachts are designed in Monaco, at a sleek waterfront studio occupied by the naval architect Espen Øino. At sixty, Øino has a boyish mop and the mild countenance of a country parson. He grew up in a small town in Norway, the heir to a humble maritime tradition. “My forefathers built wooden rowing boats for four generations,” he told me. In the late eighties, he was designing sailboats when his firm won a commission to design a megayacht for Emilio Azcárraga, the autocratic Mexican who built Televisa into the world’s largest Spanish-language broadcaster. Azcárraga was nicknamed El Tigre, for his streak of white hair and his comfort with confrontation; he kept a chair in his office that was unusually high off the ground, so that visitors’ feet dangled like children’s.

In early meetings, Øino recalled, Azcárraga grew frustrated that the ideas were not dazzling enough. “You must understand,” he said. “I don’t go to port very often with my boats, but, when I do, I want my presence to be felt.”

The final design was suitably arresting; after the boat was completed, Øino had no shortage of commissions. In 1998, he was approached by Paul Allen, of Microsoft, to build a yacht that opened the way for the Goliaths that followed. The result, called Octopus, was so large that it contained a submarine marina in its belly, as well as a helicopter hangar that could be converted into an outdoor performance space. Mick Jagger and Bono played on occasion. I asked Øino why owners obsessed with secrecy seem determined to build the world’s most conspicuous machines. He compared it to a luxury car with tinted windows. “People can’t see you, but you’re still in that expensive, impressive thing,” he said. “We all need to feel that we’re important in one way or another.”

In recent months, Øino has seen some of his creations detained by governments in the sanctions campaign. When we spoke, he condemned the news coverage. “Yacht equals Russian equals evil equals money,” he said disdainfully. “It’s a bit tragic, because the yachts have become synonymous with the bad guys in a James Bond movie.”

What about Scheherazade, the giant yacht that U.S. officials have alleged is held by a Russian businessman for Putin’s use? Øino, who designed the ship, rejected the idea. “We have designed two yachts for heads of state, and I can tell you that they’re completely different, in terms of the layout and everything, from Scheherazade.” He meant that the details said plutocrat, not autocrat.

For the time being, Scheherazade and other Øino creations under detention across Europe have entered a strange legal purgatory. As lawyers for the owners battle to keep the ships from being permanently confiscated, local governments are duty-bound to maintain them until a resolution is reached. In a comment recorded by a hot mike in June, Jake Sullivan, the U.S. national-security adviser, marvelled that “people are basically being paid to maintain Russian superyachts on behalf of the United States government.” (It usually costs about ten per cent of a yacht’s construction price to keep it afloat each year. In May, officials in Fiji complained that a detained yacht was costing them more than a hundred and seventy-one thousand dollars a day.)

Stranger still are the Russian yachts on the lam. Among them is Melnichenko’s much maligned Motor Yacht A. On March 9th, Melnichenko was sanctioned by the European Union, and although he denied having close ties to Russia’s leadership, Italy seized one of his yachts—a six-hundred-million-dollar sailboat. But Motor Yacht A slipped away before anyone could grab it. Then the boat turned off the transponder required by international maritime rules, so that its location could no longer be tracked. The last ping was somewhere near the Maldives, before it went dark on the high seas.

The very largest yachts come from Dutch and German shipyards, which have experience in naval vessels, known as “gray boats.” But the majority of superyachts are built in Italy, partly because owners prefer to visit the Mediterranean during construction. (A British designer advises those who are weighing their choices to take the geography seriously, “unless you like schnitzel.”)

In the past twenty-two years, nobody has built more superyachts than the Vitellis, an Italian family whose patriarch, Paolo Vitelli, got his start in the seventies, manufacturing smaller boats near a lake in the mountains. By 1985, their company, Azimut, had grown large enough to buy the Benetti shipyards, which had been building enormous yachts since the nineteenth century. Today, the combined company builds its largest boats near the sea, but the family still works in the hill town of Avigliana, where a medieval monastery towers above a valley. When I visited in April, Giovanna Vitelli, the vice-president and the founder’s daughter, led me through the experience of customizing a yacht.

“We’re using more and more virtual reality,” she said, and a staffer fitted me with a headset. When the screen blinked on, I was inside a 3-D mockup of a yacht that is not yet on the market. I wandered around my suite for a while, checking out swivel chairs, a modish sideboard, blond wood panelling on the walls. It was convincing enough that I collided with a real-life desk.

After we finished with the headset, it was time to pick the décor. The industry encourages an introspective evaluation: What do you want your yacht to say about you? I was handed a vibrant selection of wood, marble, leather, and carpet. The choices felt suddenly grave. Was I cut out for the chiselled look of Cream Vesuvio, or should I accept that I’m a gray Cardoso Stone? For carpets, I liked the idea of Chablis Corn White—Paris and the prairie, together at last. But, for extra seating, was it worth splurging for the V.I.P. Vanity Pouf?

Some designs revolve around a single piece of art. The most expensive painting ever sold, Leonardo da Vinci’s “Salvator Mundi,” reportedly was hung on the Saudi crown prince Mohammed bin Salman’s four-hundred-and-thirty-nine-foot yacht Serene, after the Louvre rejected a Saudi demand that it hang next to the “Mona Lisa.” Art conservators blanched at the risks that excess humidity and fluctuating temperatures could pose to a five-hundred-year-old painting. Often, collectors who want to display masterpieces at sea commission replicas.

If you’ve just put half a billion dollars into a boat, you may have qualms about the truism that material things bring less happiness than experiences do. But this, too, can be finessed. Andrew Grant Super, a co-founder of the “experiential yachting” firm Berkeley Rand, told me that he served a uniquely overstimulated clientele: “We call them the bored billionaires.” He outlined a few of his experience products. “We can plot half of the Pacific Ocean with coördinates, to map out the Battle of Midway,” he said. “We re-create the full-blown battles of the giant ships from America and Japan. The kids have haptic guns and haptic vests. We put the smell of cordite and cannon fire on board, pumping around them.” For those who aren’t soothed by the scent of cordite, Super offered an alternative. “We fly 3-D-printed, architectural freestanding restaurants into the middle of the Maldives, on a sand shelf that can only last another eight hours before it disappears.”

For some, the thrill lies in the engineering. Staluppi, born in Brooklyn, was an auto mechanic who had no experience with the sea until his boss asked him to soup up a boat. “I took the six-cylinder engines out and put V-8 engines in,” he recalled. Once he started commissioning boats of his own, he built scale models to conduct tests in water tanks. “I knew I could never have the biggest boat in the world, so I says, ‘You know what? I want to build the fastest yacht in the world.’ The Aga Khan had the fastest yacht, and we just blew right by him.”

In Italy, after decking out my notional yacht, I headed south along the coast, to Tuscan shipyards that have evolved with each turn in the country’s history. Close to the Carrara quarries, which yielded the marble that Michelangelo turned into David, ships were constructed in the nineteenth century, to transport giant blocks of stone. Down the coast, the yards in Livorno made warships under the Fascists, until they were bombed by the Allies. Later, they began making and refitting luxury yachts. Inside the front gate of a Benetti shipyard in Livorno, a set of models depicted the firm’s famous modern creations. Most notable was the megayacht Nabila, built in 1980 for the high-living arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi, with a hundred rooms and a disco that was the site of legendary decadence. (Khashoggi’s budget for prostitution was so extravagant that a French prosecutor later estimated he paid at least half a million dollars to a single madam in a single year.)

In 1987, shortly before Khashoggi was indicted for mail fraud and obstruction of justice (he was eventually acquitted), the yacht was sold to the real-estate developer Donald Trump, who renamed it Trump Princess. Trump was never comfortable on a boat—“Couldn’t get off fast enough,” he once said—but he liked to impress people with his yacht’s splendor. In 1991, while three billion dollars in debt, Trump ceded the vessel to creditors. Later in life, though, he discovered enthusiastic support among what he called “our beautiful boaters,” and he came to see quality watercraft as a mark of virtue—a way of beating the so-called élite. “We got better houses, apartments, we got nicer boats, we’re smarter than they are,” he told a crowd in Fargo, North Dakota. “Let’s call ourselves, from now on, the super-élite.”

In the age of oversharing, yachts are a final sanctum of secrecy, even for some of the world’s most inveterate talkers. Oprah, after returning from her sojourn with the Obamas, rebuffed questions from reporters. “What happens on the boat stays on the boat,” she said. “We talked, and everybody else did a lot of paddleboarding.”

I interviewed six American superyacht owners at length, and almost all insisted on anonymity or held forth with stupefying blandness. “Great family time,” one said. Another confessed, “It’s really hard to talk about it without being ridiculed.” None needed to be reminded of David Geffen’s misadventure during the early weeks of the pandemic, when he Instagrammed a photo of his yacht in the Grenadines and posted that he was “avoiding the virus” and “hoping everybody is staying safe.” It drew thousands of responses, many marked #EatTheRich, others summoning a range of nautical menaces: “At least the pirates have his location now.”

The yachts extend a tradition of seclusion as the ultimate luxury. The Medici, in sixteenth-century Florence, built elevated passageways, or corridoi , high over the city to escape what a scholar called the “clash of classes, the randomness, the smells and confusions” of pedestrian life below. More recently, owners of prized town houses in London have headed in the other direction, building three-story basements so vast that their construction can require mining engineers—a trend that researchers in the United Kingdom named “luxified troglodytism.”

Water conveys a particular autonomy, whether it’s ringing the foot of a castle or separating a private island from the mainland. Peter Thiel, the billionaire venture capitalist, gave startup funding to the Seasteading Institute, a nonprofit group co-founded by Milton Friedman’s grandson, which seeks to create floating mini-states—an endeavor that Thiel considered part of his libertarian project to “escape from politics in all its forms.” Until that fantasy is realized, a white boat can provide a start. A recent feature in Boat International , a glossy trade magazine, noted that the new hundred-and-twenty-five-million-dollar megayacht Victorious has four generators and “six months’ autonomy” at sea. The builder, Vural Ak, explained, “In case of emergency, god forbid, you can live in open water without going to shore and keep your food stored, make your water from the sea.”

Much of the time, superyachts dwell beyond the reach of ordinary law enforcement. They cruise in international waters, and, when they dock, local cops tend to give them a wide berth; the boats often have private security, and their owners may well be friends with the Prime Minister. According to leaked documents known as the Paradise Papers, handlers proposed that the Saudi crown prince take delivery of a four-hundred-and-twenty-million-dollar yacht in “international waters in the western Mediterranean,” where the sale could avoid taxes.

Builders and designers rarely advertise beyond the trade press, and they scrupulously avoid leaks. At Lürssen, a German shipbuilding firm, projects are described internally strictly by reference number and code name. “We are not in the business for the glory,” Peter Lürssen, the C.E.O., told a reporter. The closest thing to an encyclopedia of yacht ownership is a site called SuperYachtFan, run by a longtime researcher who identifies himself only as Peter, with a disclaimer that he relies partly on “rumors” but makes efforts to confirm them. In an e-mail, he told me that he studies shell companies, navigation routes, paparazzi photos, and local media in various languages to maintain a database with more than thirteen hundred supposed owners. Some ask him to remove their names, but he thinks that members of that economic echelon should regard the attention as a “fact of life.”

To work in the industry, staff must adhere to the culture of secrecy, often enforced by N.D.A.s. On one yacht, O’Shannassy, the captain, learned to communicate in code with the helicopter pilot who regularly flew the owner from Switzerland to the Mediterranean. Before takeoff, the pilot would call with a cryptic report on whether the party included the presence of a Pomeranian. If any guest happened to overhear, their cover story was that a customs declaration required details about pets. In fact, the lapdog was a constant companion of the owner’s wife; if the Pomeranian was in the helicopter, so was she. “If no dog was in the helicopter,” O’Shannassy recalled, the owner was bringing “somebody else.” It was the captain’s duty to rebroadcast the news across the yacht’s internal radio: “Helicopter launched, no dog, I repeat no dog today”—the signal for the crew to ready the main cabin for the mistress, instead of the wife. They swapped out dresses, family photos, bathroom supplies, favored drinks in the fridge. On one occasion, the code got garbled, and the helicopter landed with an unanticipated Pomeranian. Afterward, the owner summoned O’Shannassy and said, “Brendan, I hope you never have such a situation, but if you do I recommend making sure the correct dresses are hanging when your wife comes into your room.”

In the hierarchy on board a yacht, the most delicate duties tend to trickle down to the least powerful. Yacht crew—yachties, as they’re known—trade manual labor and obedience for cash and adventure. On a well-staffed boat, the “interior team” operates at a forensic level of detail: they’ll use Q-tips to polish the rim of your toilet, tweezers to lift your fried-chicken crumbs from the teak, a toothbrush to clean the treads of your staircase.

Many are English-speaking twentysomethings, who find work by doing the “dock walk,” passing out résumés at marinas. The deals can be alluring: thirty-five hundred dollars a month for deckhands; fifty thousand dollars in tips for a decent summer in the Med. For captains, the size of the boat matters—they tend to earn about a thousand dollars per foot per year.

Yachties are an attractive lot, a community of the toned and chipper, which does not happen by chance; their résumés circulate with head shots. Before Andy Cohen was a talk-show host, he was the head of production and development at Bravo, where he green-lighted a reality show about a yacht crew: “It’s a total pressure cooker, and they’re actually living together while they’re working. Oh, and by the way, half of them are having sex with each other. What’s not going to be a hit about that?” The result, the gleefully seamy “Below Deck,” has been among the network’s top-rated shows for nearly a decade.

To stay in the business, captains and crew must absorb varying degrees of petty tyranny. An owner once gave O’Shannassy “a verbal beating” for failing to negotiate a lower price on champagne flutes etched with the yacht’s logo. In such moments, the captain responds with a deferential mantra: “There is no excuse. Your instruction was clear. I can only endeavor to make it better for next time.”

The job comes with perilously little protection. A big yacht is effectively a corporation with a rigid hierarchy and no H.R. department. In recent years, the industry has fielded increasingly outspoken complaints about sexual abuse, toxic impunity, and a disregard for mental health. A 2018 survey by the International Seafarers’ Welfare and Assistance Network found that more than half of the women who work as yacht crew had experienced harassment, discrimination, or bullying on board. More than four-fifths of the men and women surveyed reported low morale.

Karine Rayson worked on yachts for four years, rising to the position of “chief stew,” or stewardess. Eventually, she found herself “thinking of business ideas while vacuuming,” and tiring of the culture of entitlement. She recalled an episode in the Maldives when “a guest took a Jet Ski and smashed into a marine reserve. That damaged the coral, and broke his Jet Ski, so he had to clamber over the rocks and find his way to the shore. It was a private hotel, and the security got him and said, ‘Look, there’s a large fine, you have to pay.’ He said, ‘Don’t worry, the boat will pay for it.’ ” Rayson went back to school and became a psychotherapist. After a period of counselling inmates in maximum-security prisons, she now works with yacht crew, who meet with her online from around the world.

Rayson’s clients report a range of scenarios beyond the boundaries of ordinary employment: guests who did so much cocaine that they had no appetite for a chef’s meals; armed men who raided a boat offshore and threatened to take crew members to another country; owners who vowed that if a young stew told anyone about abuse she suffered on board they’d call in the Mafia and “skin me alive.” Bound by N.D.A.s, crew at sea have little recourse.“We were paranoid that our e-mails were being reviewed, or we were getting bugged,” Rayson said.

She runs an “exit strategy” course to help crew find jobs when they’re back on land. The adjustment isn’t easy, she said: “You’re getting paid good money to clean a toilet. So, when you take your C.V. to land-based employers, they might question your skill set.” Despite the stresses of yachting work, Rayson said, “a lot of them struggle with integration into land-based life, because they have all their bills paid for them, so they don’t pay for food. They don’t pay for rent. It’s a huge shock.”

It doesn’t take long at sea to learn that nothing is too rich to rust. The ocean air tarnishes metal ten times as fast as on land; saltwater infiltrates from below. Left untouched, a single corroding ulcer will puncture tanks, seize a motor, even collapse a hull. There are tricks, of course—shield sensitive parts with resin, have your staff buff away blemishes—but you can insulate a machine from its surroundings for only so long.

Hang around the superyacht world for a while and you see the metaphor everywhere. Four months after Putin’s invasion of Ukraine, the war had eaten a hole in his myths of competence. The Western campaign to isolate him and his oligarchs was proving more durable than most had predicted. Even if the seizures of yachts were mired in legal disputes, Finley, the former C.I.A. officer, saw them as a vital “pressure point.” She said, “The oligarchs supported Putin because he provided stable authoritarianism, and he can no longer guarantee that stability. And that’s when you start to have cracks.”

For all its profits from Russian clients, the yachting industry was unsentimental. Brokers stripped photos of Russian yachts from their Web sites; Lürssen, the German builder, sent questionnaires to clients asking who, exactly, they were. Business was roaring, and, if some Russians were cast out of the have-yachts, other buyers would replace them.

On a cloudless morning in Viareggio, a Tuscan town that builds almost a fifth of the world’s superyachts, a family of first-time owners from Tel Aviv made the final, fraught preparations. Down by the docks, their new boat was suspended above the water on slings, ready to be lowered for its official launch. The scene was set for a ceremony: white flags in the wind, a plexiglass lectern. It felt like the obverse of the dockside scrum at the Palm Beach show; by this point in the buying process, nobody was getting vetted through binoculars. Waitresses handed out glasses of wine. The yacht venders were in suits, but the new owners were in upscale Euro casual: untucked linen, tight jeans, twelve-hundred-dollar Prada sneakers. The family declined to speak to me (and the company declined to identify them). They had come asking for a smaller boat, but the sales staff had talked them up to a hundred and eleven feet. The Victorians would have been impressed.

The C.E.O. of Azimut Benetti, Marco Valle, was in a buoyant mood. “Sun. Breeze. Perfect day to launch a boat, right?” he told the owners. He applauded them for taking the “first step up the big staircase.” The selling of the next vessel had already begun.

Hanging aloft, their yacht looked like an artifact in the making; it was easy to imagine a future civilization sifting the sediment and discovering that an earlier society had engaged in a building spree of sumptuous arks, with accommodations for dozens of servants but only a few lucky passengers, plus the occasional Pomeranian.

We approached the hull, where a bottle of spumante hung from a ribbon in Italian colors. Two members of the family pulled back the bottle and slung it against the yacht. It bounced off and failed to shatter. “Oh, that’s bad luck,” a woman murmured beside me. Tales of that unhappy omen abound. In one memorable case, the bottle failed to break on Zaca, a schooner that belonged to Errol Flynn. In the years that followed, the crew mutinied and the boat sank; after being re-floated, it became the setting for Flynn’s descent into cocaine, alcohol, orgies, and drug smuggling. When Flynn died, new owners brought in an archdeacon for an onboard exorcism.

In the present case, the bottle broke on the second hit, and confetti rained down. As the family crowded around their yacht for photos, I asked Valle, the C.E.O., about the shortage of new boats. “Twenty-six years I’ve been in the nautical business—never been like this,” he said. He couldn’t hire enough welders and carpenters. “I don’t know for how long it will last, but we’ll try to get the profits right now.”

Whatever comes, the white-boat world is preparing to insure future profits, too. In recent years, big builders and brokers have sponsored a rebranding campaign dedicated to “improving the perception of superyachting.” (Among its recommendations: fewer ads with girls in bikinis and high heels.) The goal is partly to defuse #EatTheRich, but mostly it is to soothe skittish buyers. Even the dramatic increase in yacht ownership has not kept up with forecasts of the global growth in billionaires—a disparity that represents the “one dark cloud we can see on the horizon,” as Øino, the naval architect, said during an industry talk in Norway. He warned his colleagues that they needed to reach those “potential yacht owners who, for some reason, have decided not to step up to the plate.”

But, to a certain kind of yacht buyer, even aggressive scrutiny can feel like an advertisement—a reminder that, with enough access and cash, you can ride out almost any storm. In April, weeks after the fugitive Motor Yacht A went silent, it was rediscovered in physical form, buffed to a shine and moored along a creek in the United Arab Emirates. The owner, Melnichenko, had been sanctioned by the E.U., Switzerland, Australia, and the U.K. Yet the Emirates had rejected requests to join those sanctions and had become a favored wartime haven for Russian money. Motor Yacht A was once again arrayed in almost plain sight, like semaphore flags in the wind. ♦

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A $15.6 million federal grant will help get second boat for the St. Johns River Ferry

The St. Johns River Ferry will get a second boat , but it won't be your grandfather's vessel.

JTA landed a $15.6 million federal grant for the purchase of a ferry that will operate on a hybrid mix of diesel and battery power when it starts taking vehicles across the river sometime in 2028 or 2029.

The St. Johns River Ferry provides daily service between Mayport and Ft. George Island, but its scenic trip across the St. Johns River gets put on hold for weeks when the current boat is undergoing required maintenance and upgrades. JTA still must order the second boat and it will take some time to manufacture it, but the grant will help foot the bill for getting the long-sought vessel that will reduce or eliminate downtime for ferry service.

The hybrid diesel-electric power also will curb air pollution.

“We pride ourselves on the service the St. Johns River Ferry provides, as well as the experience it offers to passengers,” JTA Board Chair Debbie Buckland said in the announcement of the grant. “Adding a second ferry to the fleet will be valuable to area residents and visitors.”

The ferry faced threats of total shutdown over the years but those have not resurfaced since JTA took over its operation in 2016. JTA has won $35 million in competitive grants for the ferry and when those grants are combined with the local matches, it totals $55 million of improvements for the ferry since 2016, according to the agency.

In the case of the second ferry, the federal grant will pay the estimated cost of buying the vessel. JTA will draw from its share of local gas tax revenue to pay for adding landside infrastructure that supports the second boat, bringing the total expense to around $30 million.

JTA CEO Nat Ford called the St. Johns River Ferry "an iconic mode of transportation for Northeast Florida.

"This investment by the U.S. Department of Transportation toward an additional, environmentally sustainable vessel means we can provide more reliable and efficient mobility to our community," he said.

JTA's grant application drew bipartisan backing. Mayor Donna Deegan pointed to the alliance between Jacksonville and the administration of President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris.

“This is another exciting grant win that is a result of our fantastic collaboration with the JTA, relationships we’ve built with the Biden-Harris Administration, and the dedicated work of the grant writing teams,” said Mayor Donna Deegan. “The new hybrid-fuel ferry vessel will increase connectivity, sustainability, and economic competitiveness for the historic communities of Mayport Village and Fort George.”

U.S. Reps. John Rutherford and Aaron Bean, Republicans representing Northeast Florida districts, joined JTA in the announcement of the grant. They advocated for the U.S. Department of Transportation grant.

Ferry downtime: The suspension of St. Johns River Ferry service is reminder of need for two-boat service

Rutherford, whose district contains Mayport, said the ferry "serves as an indispensable connector" for Florida A1A and losing that service during repairs to the one ferry vessel "means unnecessary delays and closures for Northeast Floridians who rely on this service daily."

JTA says the ferry has carried about 391,000 riders so far in the 2024 fiscal year that goes through the end of September.

This article originally appeared on Florida Times-Union: A $15.6 million federal grant will help get second boat for the St. Johns River Ferry

DeLand power boat builder indicted in Ohio, sued for $270K by New York man for fraud

Terrance Weber wanted to repower his 30-foot Spectre performance boat so he reached out to a DeLand company that builds the "go-fast" water vessels. But three years later he's still in "paradise without his boat" and out more than $270,000, according to a lawsuit.

It doesn't look like he will be getting any relief anytime soon, either. In July, owners of the boat-making company, Todd Allen Lamb, 50, and his wife Karen Nicole Lamb, 42, were each indicted in Ohio on nine counts, including felony charges of grand theft.

And in a bizarre twist, Weber is also in trouble with the law. On December 24, 2022, he allegedly paid a man to steal a boat from Lamb's DeLand shop and faces charges of burglary and grand theft of more than $100,000, according to court records.

It is a complex tale that is playing itself out in courtrooms in Bellefontaine, Ohio, and Volusia County, Florida, with no obvious takeaways other than to "let the buyer beware" when it comes to high-speed boats and that it doesn't pay to take the law into your own hands, even if you feel like you've been stiffed.

Who is Todd Lamb?

Todd Lamb and his family got a warm welcome when he relocated his high-performance boat company, Spectre Powerboats , to a 26,000-square-foot space at DeLand Municipal Airport from central Ohio, according to a December 2021 press release.

“We are very happy to be in Florida, closer to 85 percent of our customers,” he said in the Team Volusia Economic Development Corp. release. “And we are especially glad to have landed in the DeLand area of ​​Volusia County. The area offers an exceptional quality of life and an excellent business climate. “

The release says Lamb is a veteran of boat building and racing, starting in 1992 at the age of 18 when he built small racing boats out of crashed boat parts.

“I couldn’t afford to build new ones, so I built new boats from recycled and discarded boats. In a way I sneaked into the industry," he said.

Government officials welcomed Lamb and his wife Karen, who worked at the company, as well as their teenage daughter.

“The addition of Spectre Powerboats to our corporate roster. . . underscores DeLand’s role in hosting sports-related activities," said Nick Conte, DeLand's economic development manager at the time.

“We welcome Spectre Powerboats to our community and our growing list of marine manufacturers,” echoed Volusia County Manager George Recktenwald. “Spectre’s move to Volusia County is another indication that this is a great place to do business.”

Lamb said Team Volusia was instrumental in the site search process and made presentations to local partners who could provide services and support to Spectre. “Your advice and assistance helped us make many important decisions in a timely manner, keeping our relocation on time,” he said.

The locals may not have been so helpful if they had done a Google search on the new resident.

Prior to moving to DeLand, the Lambs were living in Bellefontaine, Ohio, a small town northeast of Dayton. According to the FBI, in October 2013, Todd Lamb pleaded guilty in the U.S. Southern District Court of Ohio to selling a Mack dump truck to more than one buyer.

Selling the same truck twice

After he delivered the truck to the first buyer, he falsely told the second buyer that the truck had been stolen from the seaport in Jacksonville. He told the second buyer, who was from Wyoming, that he would refund the purchase price but did not, FBI investigators said.

The Wyoming buyer got part of his money eight years later when Lamb pleaded guilty to one count of unlawful interstate transportation of stolen motor vehicles, and one count of wire fraud.

Investigators said Lamb and his wife, Karen, conducted consignment sales and auctions of vehicles, equipment, and other goods and merchandise under the companies Almite Services and Almite Auctions. He also stole and sold vehicles through his businesses, including a Caterpillar backhoe to the Wyoming buyer.

The Columbus News Dispatch reported in 2014 that Todd Lamb was sentenced to a year in prison.

According to the FBI, Karen Lamb pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor charge of making false statements relating to the transfer of a vehicle title and was sentenced to six months’ probation in October 2012.

In the Ohio indictment, announced last summer, the couple was charged with three counts of fourth-degree felony grand theft, third-degree felony aggravated theft, theft from an elderly person, third-degree felony grand theft, fourth-degree felony defrauding creditors, second-degree felony telecommunications fraud, and engaging in a pattern of corrupt activity.

The indictment, provided to the Daytona Beach News-Journal by the Logan County Clerk of Courts, shows the Lambs engaged in the alleged criminal activity starting in 2017.

Between Dec. 19, 2017, and June 19, 2020, the Lambs "deprived an Ohio man of property and services" and stole $143,650 along with two Mercury boat engines, the document states.

From Feb. 9, 2018, through Oct. 10, 2018, the Lambs reportedly stole $209,339 from another Ohio man.

An elderly man from the state lost $300,462 to the Lambs who never delivered property or services to him, the court document outlined.

All the funds taken from the Ohio residents were paid to the Lambs to build boats, said Eric Stewart, the Logan County prosecutor handling the Lambs' case.

"They never got their boats and they did not get their money back," Stewart said.

The Lambs also deprived Caterpillar, a heavy equipment company, of two hydraulic excavators in March and December 2020. And, the couple also defrauded Caterpillar as creditors of more than $7,500 but less than $150,000, the Ohio prosecutor said.

"He signed a lease putting little money down, and then he sells the machines and never paid the lease," Stewart said.

Stewart said Todd was released by the Ohio court but a GPS ankle monitor was placed on him until his trial next year. Karen Lamb was released on her own recognizance, the Logan County prosecutor said.

Reached at Spectre Powerboats business telephone number, and asked about the allegations, Todd Lamb said that he had no idea what a News-Journal reporter was asking him about and that the reporter had the wrong number and hung up.

But Lamb did reach out to his alleged victims after he was arrested in Volusia County on Ohio warrants and released on $10,000 bail.

Weber provided the News-Journal with a voicemail he claims Todd Lamb left him. In that voicemail, Lamb identifies himself and says he wants to make things right with Weber and the Ohio victims.

"I'm sure you guys are very upset with me, but I'd like to see if there's a way we can work all this out," he said in the voicemail recording.

Failure to deliver

In November 2021 Weber, of New York, agreed to have Todd Lamb build him a new 32-foot Spectre performance catamaran for $340,000, including a trade-in, he said.

"When he dropped in an amazing manufacturer's discount, I was sold," Weber recalled in a telephone interview of the deal he made with Lamb.

As part of the agreement, Weber traded in his used Spectre boat for $80,000 putting down a $10,000 deposit on Nov. 1, 2021. According to a lawsuit filed by Weber, he has paid Lamb, including the trade-in value, $271,787.50.

For the first four months, everything appeared normal but then Lamb stopped giving Weber updates on the boat. The New York businessman then hired another boating company in Florida to handle the boat building.

"He (Todd Lamb) started becoming adversarial and I wondered why he was giving us such an attitude for simple questions he was being asked," Weber said. "Then I Googled him and found that he had served time for scamming people, that he was under investigation for fraud, and I knew I was screwed."

When Weber continuously asked Lamb to provide status reports, he eventually asked the man for his trade-in back. Then Lamb called the police on him, Weber said,

An October 2022 DeLand police report shows Lamb reported Weber's constant contact and asked the police to tell Weber to stop calling him and his employees.

Weber said he tried reaching an agreement with Lamb to get his boat "as is" but Lamb refused. In the end, Lamb did not deliver the new boat and did not return the trade-in, Weber said.

Weber, a small businessman, said the theft has had an emotional impact on him.

"I've laughed, I've cried. I've been through every emotional gamut you could go through," Weber said. "I mean, look at the amount of money they are stealing. It's like taking a house from someone."

Weber said he created a social media page denouncing the Lambs' activities and was contacted by victims in Ohio and Georgia, who have had similar experiences with Lamb.

Weber is suing the Lambs hoping to recoup what he said he paid the couple between November 2021 and July 2022 - $271.787.50 - for the boat they did not deliver, documents detail.

Victim becomes a thief?

Weber said his frustration grew even more when he tried to report Lamb's criminal activity to the DeLand Police Department. He said he made special trips to DeLand to visit the police station to file a complaint but that if "he got more than 30 seconds at the plexi glass," the front lobby's window, it was too much.

Weber said he sent DeLand police a document drafted by his New York lawyer, Mark Seidenfeld, on Dec. 25, 2022, outlining what Lamb did but police did not act on it.

"They told me that Todd Lamb was a legitimate businessman and that my issue was a civil case," Weber said. "But the police readily arrested me over my very own boat."

According to a DeLand police arrest report, on Dec. 24, they responded to an alarm at Lamb's shop. Lamb told them a boat had been taken. He told police that he had an ongoing civil issue with Weber and that Weber had said he would be taking a boat from his business, the report said.

DeLand police spokeswoman Vicki Karr said there is no record of Weber contacting the police prior to the Dec. 24 grand theft arrest.

Police noted that a bay door had been cut open. State police in South Carolina later spotted the 32-foot boat being towed north on Interstate 95 and stopped the vehicle. They arrested Ronnie Dominguez, of Pennsylvania, who said Weber had paid him to tow the boat to New York, an arrest report states.

Weber told investigators that he had paid a sum of money for the boat and that he and Lamb had reached an agreement where he could pick it up. This was outlined in a letter to DeLand police from Weber's New York attorney dated Dec. 25, 2022.

Another lawsuit filed

Weber sued Spectre Marine LLC in April. He alleges in the last five years, the Lambs have opened different boat manufacturing companies under the Spectre name and that they started Spectre Marine, LLC., doing business as Spectre Powerboats at the Summerhill Drive location in DeLand.

"They were not conducting business at that location. It was a criminal enterprise," Weber said.

Lambs depend on ill-gotten proceeds

The lawsuit filed by Weber argues that the Lambs depend on ill-gotten proceeds as their income and have engaged in racketeering activities related to custom powerboat manufacturing.

The Lambs built the boat for Weber but kept increasing the value and then claimed Weber owed them $55,000. The Lambs then sold the boat to a third party, the suit states.

"I am hoping the court will make a judgment against Todd Lamb and his Spectre company," Weber said. "I got robbed, dude. I got straight robbed."

In a statement, DeLand officials said they had a minimal role in getting the Lambs to locate in the city.

"Like any business that relocates to our community, we expect customers to be treated fairly and ethically," they said. "If the allegations are indeed true, we hope justice is served and that those wronged are able to pursue remedies available through our court system,” the statement read.

Recktenwald did not respond to an inquiry from the News-Journal asking for comment. Three Team Volusia executives also did not respond to emails from the News-Journal seeking comment.

Weber awaits his fate in criminal court.