Anthony Gignac scammed millions from investors. Photo / Miami Dade police
For decades, this man convinced millionaires he was a playboy royal. But his epic scam came crashing down thanks to one meal.
For almost 30 years, he was known to the world as the highrolling Saudi prince Khalid bin Al-Saud.
In reality, he was Anthony Enrique Gignac, a Colombian orphan and genius conman who managed to scheme his way into a life of luxury for most of his adult life.
But last November, Gignac's racket finally came crashing down when he was dramatically arrested at New York's JFK airport after allegedly scamming 26 wealthy investors out of millions of dollars.
Gignac was born in Colombia in 1970, and the fate of his parents is unknown.
For the first years of his life, he lived on the streets with his younger brother, but things changed in 1977 when the pair were adopted by a middle-class American couple, who moved them to Michigan.
But a recent Vanity Fair investigation revealed Gignac never managed to shake his street kid beginnings.
At age 17, he ran away from home, and almost immediately assumed the identity of Saudi billionaire Prince Adnan Khashoggi.
Soon, he swapped that identity for prince Khalid bin al-Saud, and threw himself into the life of a career criminal.
Over the years, he was hauled before the courts on many occasions, even serving a number of jail terms for various frauds.
But somehow, he always managed to find new victims and keep up the charade.
During his long career, Gignac has managed to dupe ritzy hotels into letting him stay for extended periods.
He's used fake credit cards to swipe countless luxury goods.
And he's also tricked regular people who had the misfortune of crossing his path into handing over thousands for dodgy "investments" that never materialised.
In the mid-90s, facing a 616-day jail term in Florida, Gignac managed to convince a team of lawyers he truly was the Saudi royal.
While out on bail, he fooled American Express into issuing him a $307 million platinum credit card, which he used to rack up a bill of tens of thousands of dollars within days.
He ended up in prison for his efforts — but according to Vanity Fair, from his cell he managed to convince Syracuse University to transfer $24,582 to his bank account to cover taxes for a supposed $69 million donation — which of course never arrived.
His scam continued throughout the noughties, and he was back behind bars yet again between October 2006 and December 2011.
When he was released he returned to his old tricks, now using technology to enhance the con.
He opened an Instagram account, which has since been shut down, which he used to post photos of wads of cash, luxury cars and even real members of the real Saudi royal family — although he was careful to never reveal his own face in the photos.
He also bought fake diplomatic licence plates from eBay which he attached to his car, claiming to have diplomatic immunity.
But when Gignac met suave British asset manager Carl Marden Williamson, he was finally able to "take his con to the next level", Vanity Fair reported.
Together, they set up a new investment company, Marden Williamson International LLC, and before long, 26 wealthy investors had transferred the company almost $US8 million.
On December 14 last year, US agents arrived at Williamson's house, searching the property and interrogating the man for six hours.
According to Vanity Fair, they "collected enough evidence to indict Williamson as a co-conspirator" in the scheme.
That night, Williamson attempted suicide, dying of his injuries two days later.
Meanwhile, Gignac had been working on another scheme on the side — one involving billionaire real estate developer Jeffrey Soffer, the ex-husband of Aussie model Elle Macpherson.
Gignac offered to buy a huge stake in Soffer's Fontainebleau hotel in Miami, and Soffer bought the lie at first, showering him in $230,000 worth of lavish gifts.
But then, Gignac made one huge mistake — one that would finally end his 30-year con.
While enjoying dinner at a hip restaurant with Mr Soffer and his family in Aspen one night, the supposedly strict Muslim ordered prosciutto.