The day the news hit the headlines was the day that all newspapers, from 'Calisota Today' to the 'Eggquisitor', had the highest gross of business in ages- the popularity of internet feeds making traditional means practically obsolete. Despite that, newsstands had to constantly make calls in order to get their hands on copies- their stocks were depleting fast as customers demanded for more, more, more. All had their noses to the page as they read over the top headline in ominous black bold print:

Scrooge McDuck, World's Richest Duck, Dies At Hundred

In South Africa, locked away in the depths of his mansion, Flintheart Glomgold's jaw dropped at what he saw. He read the paper once, twice, put it aside and then read it again just so he could believe what his eyes were telling him. Scrooge McDuck, his long time competitor, had died peacefully in his sleep the night before. Reading on, the paper mentioned briefly of the duck's accomplishments- as well as talking about the fear of what this death would do to the stock market. However, none of that phased Glomgold as little by little a huge grin broke out on his bill at the realization: he had won. The old mallard burst out laughing, doing a dance of joy on his dining room table with energy he hadn't had in years. McDuck, the biggest pain in his backside, that no-good stubborn mule, was DEAD. Gone! No more would that make Flintheart the runner up. No longer would he be the second richest duck. He was number one, the cream of the crop- THE KING OF THE WORLD!

With another hearty chuckle, Glomgold yelled to his butler that had been busy cleaning up the remains of his master's breakfast he had shamelessly kicked onto the floor in his passions.

"Pillay! Get Naidoo on the phone- we're going to Duckburg!"

A flight later, and a few days more of waiting around in his mansion he built for the times he had business in the city, and finally it was the day of the McDuck funeral. Reporters huddled outside the gates, but luckily the police had anticipated them and were standing outside, guarding so the family could have their peace. It didn't take much for Glomgold to find a way inside, a little bribing here and there, as he waited and watched some ways off- hiding amongst the trees. He may have been old, but his vision was as good as ever, as he took in the family mourning over the casket- beautifully adorned with flowers. The old miser couldn't help but scoff at that, no doubt the flowers coming out of the family's pocket- there was no way McDuck would waste even a penny on such nonsense.

Flintheart's eyes trailed over the people gathered around the minister giving his sermon. He didn't know why it caught him off guard to see so many there, Yes, there was his nephew- the one he recognized, though he was getting up there in age himself- standing next to his wife. Donald wrapped his hold around Daisy tighter, as his other hand held his cap against his chest. And then there were the triplets, though they weren't young at all now. A good twenty years had done them much good, as Huey, Dewey, and Louie explored their individuality to the point you could only really see the resemblance in the face. Beside them was that Vanderquack girl that the Scottish duck had adopted into his kin, the lass just as upset as the rest of the family.

The children, however, were huddled up against the main focus of the group, the weeping widow, and Glomgold sneered at the sight of him. Fenton Crackshell-McDuck was silent, far quieter than any moment the old miser could remember just from his rare associations with him. Admittedly it wasn't much, Scrooge had always done a well enough job separating his personal life from his business life… Well, no, he couldn't even say that, he mused, as he realized that by marrying his accountant that was the very definition of mixing both worlds.

Still, ever since he had done an exceptional job exposing their affair to the public, McDuck had done well at making sure Glomgold stayed a good yard away from his boy toy.

But there Crackshell was, lanky and knobby kneed as he remembered him- though he looked a lot more sunken and ragged. Time was catching up with him fast, and where McDuck had looked the same age for half his life, his husband wasn't granted the same luck. Fenton pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and blew, that being the only noise he made otherwise.

The longer he watched the group, the more Glomgold found a mix of unease and anger form in his gut. It took a while to figure out why, and when he did it hit him like a ton of bricks- almost knocking him down in the process. McDuck was loved. Yes, it was simple. YES, he felt like an idiot for being so gobsmacked about the thought, yet there he was. McDuck had been granted many things in his life- luck, intuition, a fortune… All things that the South African duck had himself.

Yet there he stood alone, his family having had abandoned him long ago, at his instructions.

Glomgold watched with a heaviness as his old rival's body was lowered into the ground. Though he couldn't physically see the progress from his spot in the shadows, with every pound of his heart he could feel the inches as his own spirits plummeted six feet under with him. The old miser watched as the family huddled together, walking away and would most likely cheer each other up as they told each other memories of the man they had lost. He waited all the more until the gravediggers had finished filling the hole before progressing onto the spot where he knew his enemy to lay.

Flintheart didn't know why he made sure to stroll up with all the confidence he had mastered a lifetime ago, even if it was nothing but a sham.

"Well, well, well, McDuck, I see you finally kicked it." As if to prove his point he kicked a loose clod of dirt, before stamping it under his foot.

"I'm the richest now, I'm the king of the world! And where are my headlines, hmm? Where are my newspapers listing my accomplishments?" Glomgold stomped on the ground again, hoping even in death Scrooge could feel just how much he hated him. "But no, they're busy talking about YOU. Talking about just how much the world love their precious Scrooge McDuck. But where are you now, I ask. Dead, gone, old news! A has been!"

The old mallard walked closer glaring with all his might as the headstone that stood just as tall as he, almost in challenge.

"BAH, they might be singing your praise now- but mark my words, they'll soon be forgettin' ya. It may not be tomorrow, or the next day, or even weeks after… But you'll fade with time just like any other mortal man."

Glomgold's victorious grin slipped as he thought of the family that his rival was leaving behind.

"... I do suppose you have a point," he admitted aloud, running his fingers through his feathered beard in contemplation. "They'll remember long after the public does, sure, but they are just as mortal as you, ya ol' corpse. Time will snatch them away from ya too, and what will that leave you?"

Still more than what he had.

The realization hit him again, as the duck's hand went for his chest in pain, the world beginning to spin. Here Flintheart had spent his whole life pushing people around just so he could get to the very top, but by doing so it had cut many off from him. It didn't take long before his own sister and nephew had altogether ceased communication, it had been fifteen years since he heard from either. Even his hired help left him every few years, they too unable to stand his bouts of cruelty in word and fists.

Ah, but that left him with all the more time to be with his money, his own riches as he contemplated all the new ways he could make more.

Another paign in his chest, falling to his knees as another thought struck him- is it really winning if the competitor lost by death alone?

Glomgold growled in frustration, as he pounded the dirt under him with his fists.

"You cheaten' bastard, this wasn't how it was supposed t'end!"

He had come to gloat, to put the finishing touches on finally being the top of the world, taking McDuck's place… And in the end here he was at the bottom of defeat. His breath ragged, as his lungs stressed themselves to take in whatever they could, the mallard's body going numb.

The next day the newspapers would hit the stands, and in the place of his rival's name would read:

Flintheart Glomgold, World's Richest Duck, Found Dead.

None would show up to the funeral.

Those who are loved are always the richest. Goodbye Scrooge, you will be missed.