A Week later:

~Anakin's POV~

Anakin had, in the three weeks on Courascant, fixed the oven, reinstalled the kitchen cabinets, ousted the rat from the toilet, mended the creaking stairs, acquired new windows (the junkyard had everything on Courascant) torn out the fraying rug, and now, he was almost finished repairing their fried plumbing system too. Force, he already hated Courascant.

Using every ounce of his Jedi strength, he squeezed the wrench and attempted to turn the bolt back into place on the facet in the bathroom. Downstairs, Padme served the twins a meal of quickly prepared and slightly expired oatmeal.

"Time for breakfast!" Padme called up; intentionally not using his name, until they knew their neighbors; no one could suspect them of anything. Already, Padme had died her hair golden blonde and Anakin his a starch black.

The twins, for some reason, had wanted stark, shining orange hair, and their wish had been reluctantly granted.

"I'll be… Down in a…Minute!" Anakin called back hoarsely, still wrestling with the device for control over the sink. This wretched thing had a personal agenda against him, he could swear. And it was blasted…Not…Letting him…win! Not even Dooku had been this hard to handle!

The great Hero with No fear, he thought hotly. Defeated by a sink facet! Oh, over my dead body! He doubled his efforts, stubborn against the onslaught of immaterial strength.

"Your oatmeal will get cold!" Padme admonished. Anakin huffed and let go, panting. Almost seven years of war, and he could not even fix a stupid sink. "Let it then!" He yelled back, frustrated.

"Motha!" Leia's voice, carried and heard only by keen Jedi ears, said excitedly. "Someone robbed th' bank of Courascant!" Anakin bolted upright so quickly he banged his head against the interior of the cabinet where the under-proceedings of the facet took place. "What!?" he cried, at the same time as Padme gasped out the same word.

"The money's all gone!" Leia repeated. "Ouch!" Anakin rubbed the bruised place of his temple, all the more enraged now. "Goodness!" he heard Padme exclaim. "She's right! Come down here! Someone robbed the National Bank of Courascant!" Padme gasped. Anakin stood and ran downstairs to hear the news.

~Another unknown POV~

Lael Thoth's great-great-great-great-great grandparents had fought and died for this wealth. They had struggled and fought, risking lives and liberty against their enemies. He had been told the story many times as a boy, and had admired his ancestor's skill, bravery and resourcefulness. Now, their long-fought for treasure was his.

And he loved to waste it on nothing.

Granted, his five times great grandparents had probably been very strong, integral and honorable people, deserving of the wealth they had accumulated. Never the matter they had accumulated it through the slave market. They had earned it.

He had just inherited it.

And as such, also inherited his third great grandparents industry. Thoth Co, already more than fifty years old. Specializing mostly in trade and marketing, Thoth Co gave everyone that which they needed at all times.

It had flourished during The Clone Wars, and was one of the largest companies on market now. He had been, once upon a time, number two on the richest men in the trade business list, second only to Tyrion Alwari. He had once owned more than twenty-five star cruisers and more than two thirds of all marketing businesses around.

He had been on top of the galaxy.

Until he had sold his business.

Sold it, for no more than two thousand credits, to a complete stranger. Lael was starting to believe that maybe, just perhaps, it had been a tremendously bad idea to arrive at this meeting with this silver-tongued stranger drunk past all reason.

He had done it before of course, but those wimps had feared him, respected and bowed down before his wealth. This stranger, he could not even describe if asked. He had been too drunk.

All he knew was that Thoth Co, handed down to him from five generations, had been sold to this person.

He could not even recall whether or not they had been male or female. Maybe both. He had heard both tones of voice. Maybe. He had also been very drunk, overly drunk to, in actuality; recall anything.

Could it have been a Sith trick? He pondered bitterly, the haziness of his alcohol draining now to leave him with this reality, the fickle thing of his nightmares. He had just given away his livelihood, his future and family fortune to a complete and utter stranger.

It had to have been a Sith trick. He had heard of it often enough. Or had he? Blast, he was still drunk! Blast! Blast! Blast it all!

"Where would you like to go, sir?" His driver, who mysteriously had eight tentacles, asked him as they zoomed down the highways. Lael huffed impatiently and glanced out the window. His reputation, surely, would be ruined by now. Word had probably already spread; such was the wonders of media hype and journalists.

A businessman; revered in every holo-article and having been interviewed by every talk show host on the holo-vision and net had given his company up for not even twenty-five percent of what it had been worth? And without the council of his elected committees? And without notice, letters, and to a complete stranger?

All because he had been drunk.

"Take me to my private landing pad, driver," he slurred out, hoping the message got across. If not, he would not only speak but upchuck his deluxe dinner he had eaten the night before all over the leather seats of this vehicle. "I will go to my summer house on Naboo," he coughed out, making that decision. Naboo was very nice all year round.

Then again, how would he continue to pay for the summer-house he held so dear?

Blasted Sith tricked me out of everything, he cursed, though not overly worried. People like him would always survive. Indeed, he had no more time to worry over the newest development. Ten seconds later; he solved one problem by readmitting his entire dinner plate and desert unto the floor.