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Getting into the vault wasn’t so bad, it was the getting out I was most worried about.

Money will make people do a lot of things, but stealing back one’s own money will make people do anything.

That’s why I find myself here, in the two-story personal vault slash swimming pool of my personal arch enemy, Scrooge McDuck. McDuck has his fingers in almost every Duckburg industry and almost every pocket of Duckburg politicians. It’s widely understood that he’s been siphoning off public funds and shady business contracts for years, and many even wonder how he built such an impressive 1930’s European art collection, if you get my drift.

Most are afraid to speak up and face his legendary and dastardly retribution tactics. Everyone knows that McDuck couldn’t be shook… I mean the guy isn’t even trying to hide it, going for luxurious daily swims in his—I mean our coffers.

Let’s just say life isn’t a hurricane for everyone in Duckburg.

But I’ve had enough, seeing that ducking prick keep winning while our businesses and fortunes keep suffering. Playing us for quacks.

Turns out, his famous grandnephews are a little too “public” in their private hobbies. And when you treat the strippers at Duck Tails the way Huey and Dewey do, people barely have to be encouraged to share stories, and better yet, videos. And if, hypothetically, you obtain some of these videos, it could be very easy to convince one of those grandnephews, to share some intel about the security shortcomings of McDuck Manor and another to give you McDuck’s travel itineraries. Hypothetically. 

Fittingly, racecars, lasers, and aeroplanes were all part of the operation, but once I got into the vault, everything became a duck-blur.

You are probably wondering, and no, I didn’t use the diving board. This is a business trip, not a pleasure mission, and I have a schedule to keep. Plus, I didn’t understand or trust the physics.

Speaking of the physics, gold is heavier than I anticipated, which is why this exit mission seems so treacherous, now. Climbing the rope back up to the diving board and breezing past some of the checkpoints is a lot more complicated with sixty pounds of heavy coins stuffed down your pants. You could say, even though I didn’t dive in, poetically, that I am in a bit over my head, right now.

I imagine that in every daring gambit, there is a moment where it feels like the only way out is in cuffs, or worse. At this point, the only d-d-danger lurks ahead of me. But I still have enough breadcrumbs to distract the guards, and one more charge to short circuit the aforementioned lasers. But without full mobility it may not be enough.

And that’s the Scrooge McDuck way, luring you in with adventure and intrigue and then cleaning you out behind the scenes. Not me. Not today. Duckburg needs me.

Josh Bard

Josh Bard is a guy. A sports guy, an ideas guy, a wise guy, a funny guy, a Boston guy, and sometimes THAT guy. Never been a Guy Fieri guy, though.

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