For a moment, it was all too easy for Giffen to forget that Tegwen wasn't eight again as he comforted her in the unfamiliar situation. "You don't have to be so wary, here," Giffen reassured her, keeping his voice low. "These are all good people. . ."

He faltered, catching many familiar faces, and feeling guilty for having lied to Tegwen. Many of them weren't good people. In fact, so many of Scrooge's rivals were present that Giffen started to question why he had been invited to the benefit in the first place. Was Scrooge's most prominent lawyer there only to discourage all of these affluent unsavories from pulling anything shifty?

"Why --?" He said, catching himself quickly.

"Why what?" Asked Tegwen.

"Why. . . Why would Scrooge have so many of his rivals here?"

Tegwen raised her eyebrows. "Isn't there some old saying about keeping friends close and enemies closer?"

Giffen smirked, squeezing Tegwen slightly. She was right. He leaned in close to her, motioning to a couple ducks huddled together by the punch bowl. "See them?" She nodded, glancing their way. One of them wore a black jacket and blue tie, mismatching blinding yellow shoes and ridiculously large glasses for his bill. Where are the fashion police when you need them? Tegwen wondered.

"That is John D. Rockerduck. He's the third richest duck in the world. Probably trying to figure out how to swindle Scrooge in a game of golf again. They played once, and apparently a bee stung Scrooge, making his miss that last swing. I think that's where Rockerduck's fortune came from. And now that I think of it, probably why Scrooge detests bees and honey." Giffen shook his head. "It could be a rumor. Anyway, I heard Rockerduck once ate his hat after losing a game. Maybe with someone who wasn't stung by a bee, I'm assuming."

"Oh my God!" Gasped Tegwen.

"And beside Mr. Rockerduck, there, is his right-hand man. They guy's convinced you have to spend money to earn it." Giffen chuckled. "Try convincing Mr. McDuck of that!"

Tegwen smiled, turning her attention to the staircase, where she finally caught a familiar backside as its owner studied one of the paintings on the wall. Probably trying to figure out if the painting was an original, assessing its worth and then plotting to steal it when Mr. McDuck would inevitably refuse to part with it. "Isn't that Flintheart Glomgold?" She asked.

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