Scrooge McDuck came running -- at least, walking as fast as he could. Businessmen and royalty alike trembled in the miser's presence. The mere wealthy with their pretentious Billionaires Club knew better than to interrupt Scrooge McDuck when he was counting his latest earnings. Yet this concept was lost on those who should respect him the most -- his family and employees.

Most relatives were waiting for the aging drake to drop dead so they could get their grubby hands on his well-earned fortune. Perhaps they would fight over how to divvy it up, but that was their problem. This bunch was easy to deal with anyway; mostly because Scrooge had no intention of dying anytime soon. There was simply too much work to do, too many business to acquire, and too many treasures left to discover. For this reason alone, Scrooge had never written a will. It would require excessive work to keep updating it, let alone even trying to remember all of his assets. Things would be forgotten -- he knew that much. The thought came to him in dreams to hire an accountant to deal with that mess, but he knew to do such a thing would open a can of worms all on its own.

His current employees were a different story. Sure, he could always fire them. But those he dealt with on a daily basis were at least trustworthy. His butler/chauffeur, maid, secretary and pilot seemed to do exactly what he asked of them without question. They had proven themselves to be honest, and never once had shown the slightest bit of interest in his money. Outside of their paychecks, and the occasional request for a cost-of-living increase, that is.

Then there were the three great-nephews he had been saddled with when their no-account uncle joined the Navy . . . again. For the Nth time. It was generally frowned upon to dismiss or fire family, as much as Scrooge had wanted to within their first weeks at the mansion. But the boys had proven themselves quite useful to have around during his adventures. And they never seemed interested in obtaining his wealth -- outside of the occasional quarter for ice cream, mindless video game or raise in allowance. Seldom ever deserved, of course, he noted to himself.

Finally, there was the latest addition to Scrooge McDuck's payroll: the fourteen-year-old baby-sitter who was currently being tied to a chair by his mischievous nephews while the maid's granddaughter, Webbigail Vanderquack anxiously looked on, clutching her look-a-like doll.

"What's going on here?!" The quadbillionaire yelled angrily in a thick Scottish accent.