The treasure that had consumed the old priest's thoughts for so long had become even more precious now that it could secure the future of the young man he'd grown to love like a son.
Every day, Father Faria would talk about the massive fortune, thirteen or fourteen million francs, and all the good someone could do with that kind of money. But whenever he spoke of it, Edmond's expression would darken. The priest didn't know about the oath of vengeance burning in the young man's heart, or how much damage someone with that kind of wealth could inflict on their enemies.
Father Faria had never actually seen Monte Cristo Island, but Edmond knew it well. He'd sailed past it many times during his days as a sailor. A desolate rock formation about twenty-five miles from Pianosa, sitting between Corsica and Elba. The island was completely uninhabited, thrust up from the ocean floor by ancient volcanic forces into an almost perfect cone shape. Edmond had even landed there once.
