"You must be joking!"
The real estate broker sitting across the desk from Preston Northwest sighed. This was the third time the two of them had met following the… unpleasantness. 'Never mind all that' was the word on everyone's lips, but in the case of the Northwest patriarch, haunting memories of the Weirdmageddon were the last thing on his mind.
"I'm sorry Mr. Northwest…"
"Call me Sir," Preston insisted absurdly.
"I'm sorry…Sir, but there aren't any smaller estates in Gravity Falls for you to downsize into." The broker pushed aside papers and ledgers on his desk to reveal an illustrated map of the valley. The houses and buildings were rendered in whimsical detail, which only further annoyed the serious and increasingly desperate Northwest. "The last hope was Old Mayor Befufftlefumpter's estate, but he left it in his will to the Gravity Falls Historical Society, and they're in the process of converting it into the Trembley Presidential Library."
Preston chortled. "An estate being turned into a library? For the common rabble? Doesn't the aristocracy mean anything in this country anymore?" Preston did his best to hide his disappointment with his exaggerated caricature of wealth, but his stomach churned with feelings of immense shame. For over one hundred years, generations of Northwest had built upon the successes of their ancestors to build a better life for their children. Against that record, Preston stood alone as the failure. He failed to defend his home from the ancient curse against his ancestors, he failed to protect their wealth from the weirdness bonds of Weirdmageddon. And now, he was failing to even stop the hemorrhaging as his family rapidly fell from grace.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to look for a more modern home. And quickly too, McGucket's offer to bail you out might not be around forever."
"I can't live in a modern home like some… some… nouveau riche. The Northwest family deserves an estate. There must be something else on this frustratingly charming map." Pouring over the town, glancing over the lake, even into the valley, Preston came up empty.
However, as his eyes drifted up toward the rolling hills, he noticed a log cabin style structure nestled at the top of a tall peak. It was nowhere near as grandiose and sprawling as the mansion he was in the process of surrendering, but it had potential. Good bones, and what Preston imagined would be an enviable view.
"What's that building there? On the hill?" The broker, somewhat surprised at the positive response from Preston, peered over to the mysterious building.
"Oh, that? That's been empty forever. Someone tried to open a ski resort there fifty years ago. Spared no expense, got what was once state of the art snow machines and chairlifts installed and everything, but it never opened."
"Who owns the land now?" asked Preston, gears spinning in his mind. The broker pulled open a desk drawer, thumbing through the manilla dividers until he reached an old, dog-eared document. After a moment of reading he replied: "Gravity Falls Bank and Trust, it's been foreclosed longer than I've been alive."
"And I would imagine," Preston continued, "that the cost for this property would be far, far less than the worth of Northwest Manor?"
"Absolutely. I mean, absolutely, Sir," the broker quickly corrected himself. "There'd be some back taxes, naturally."
"Naturally," dismissed Preston, "and once I owned the property, I'd need to develop a business plan in order to get the capital necessary to re-clear the trees and repair the infrastructure. I love that word, capital."
Preston continued to stare at the map, muttering to himself about wealth and luxury, and tracing what he imagined were ski runs through the hills with his finger. Perhaps all was not lost after all. Perhaps, Preston reasoned, their family could come out stronger and better positioned to survive. Maybe Pacifica's future hadn't been ruined. After a moment, he looked up.
"Tell the hillbilly that he has himself a deal, and get the bank on the phone."