Chapter Six

Screw the truth, the Northwests have money!

An alternate chapter title is, Filthy lucre can make you filthy rich.

The Northwest patriarch was the spitting image of his grandfather, except that instead of a beard he had a neatly clipped mustache and a pair of enormously bushy eyebrows. Every time he looked at them, Ford was hard-pressed not to see them as giant caterpillars crawling on his forehead. Just like his son, he was wearing a tailor-made suit, with a dark green necktie and a blue pin that closer examination made him suspect was actually a full-fledged diamond. He was standing in front of a sleek black car, arms folded in blatant disapproval.

"Preston, what have I told you about consorting with riffraff?" he demanded as the group approached.

"I wasn't consorting with them! I overheard-"

"It looks very much like consorting to me." The caterpillars mashed themselves together.

"But-"

And then out of the blue a bell appeared in his hand; the sound of it ringing instantly silenced the boy, who sullenly padded through the gates to stand at his father's side. It made something uncomfortable twist in Ford's gut.

"That's better." Mr. Northwest turned to the rest of them: Stan, Ford, Dan, the unconscious hoodlums, and Sir Quentin, who was for some reason trying to climb up the side of a tall gravestone that had some stone birds on top. His bright eyes narrowed as he looked at the Pineses.

"I know you, Stanford, but I haven't had the...pleasure of meeting your twin."

"Stan Pines." Stan readjusted his grip on his new sword, and made no attempt at offering to shake hands.

Mr. Northwest rolled with it, giving him a slight nod that was the facade of politeness. "Auldman Northwest."

Stan blinked. "You call yourself Old Man?"

It was Mr. Northwest's turn to blink. "No, that's my name. Auldman."

"...Your parents literally named you Old Man? I mean, I guess that's an optimistic view of your life expectancy, but-"

"It's Auldman! You're not pronouncing it right!" The irritation in the old man's voice (great, now that Stan had pointed the similarity out Ford couldn't unhear it) was immensely satisfying. And Ford would have continued to think that Stan was making the mistake in all innocence if he hadn't seen the mischievous twitch that kept rising to his brother's lips. As entertaining as it was, however, he didn't want to push it.

"...Can we help you with something?" Ford asked, subtly elbowing Stan in the ribs as a hint to knock it off.

Mr. Northwest recomposed himself with a sniff. "I came looking for my son." He gave Preston a disapproving frown. "You left that fox of yours unattended again, and he got in a fight with a few alley cats and destroyed some merchandise at the market. Remember, if you can't control him, you can't keep him."

"Yes, Father," Preston murmured. Then, head jerking back up, he said all in a rush, "But I had a good reason! They found out that that man is the-the real founder of Gravity Falls!" He pointed to Sir Quentin (who had finally reached the top of the gravestone, and was staring off into the distance with one hand shading his eyes, in a pose that on some people might have looked somewhat distinguished).

Mr. Northwest's eyebrow rose. "...You mean the one who's not wearing pants?"

"Yeah, he-" Preston visibly realized that telling his old man he'd kept himself alive inside a block of peanut brittle for a hundred years would not help his case, and said quickly, "It's complicated, but they said they were gonna tell the newspapers about Great-Grandfather not being the founder-" his voice quivered for a moment- "so I hired some bodyguards to help me stop them!"

One of the aforesaid bodyguards, the one called Ghost Eyes, groaned and stirred a little; Dan subtly put his boot on top of his kneecap until he was still again.

Mr. Northwest went stock still for a moment, but at last made an exasperated sound and straightened. "Clearly, Preston, you've forgotten everything I've taught you about dealing with problems like this." He stepped through the gates, and with a motion he must have performed hundreds of times he whipped out a checkbook, scribbled in it for a moment, and pressed a check into Ford's hand with a bored sigh. "This should cover any desire the three of you might have to spread such silly rumors."

Ford spluttered with rage; Dan made a similar sound, and if he'd had an axe in his hand Ford wouldn't have bet two cents on the Northwest's patriarch's life expectancy lasting much longer.

"You-you think that you can just bribe us into supporting your lies?!" Ford demanded. "There's not enough money in the world for us to-"

Stan tilted his head until he could see the figure scrawled on the check-and let out a startled whistle. "Wow."

Despite his fury, Ford couldn't help glancing down at it. And when he saw what they were being offered, he couldn't help being a little in awe himself. It was a sum that would definitely have come in handy while he was in college, and even moreso when he was growing up, and here it was being offered to them on a silver platter.

But his awe only lasted for a moment; he gave Mr. Northwest a contemptuous stare. "You must be very insecure about your family's status if you're willing to throw money around like this."

The old man looked a little taken aback...before his brows settled together again in a glare. "This town needs someone they can look up to with respect. Otherwise they would have absolutely nothing to be proud of."

Dan growled again, and Ford could tell that it was all he could do to reign in his temper. Mr. Northwest just gave him an impassive stare, and turned back to Ford. "We have a reputation to uphold, and I will prevent you from spoiling that with either a carrot, like this…" his tone frosted over, "...or a stick. It's your choice, young man."

Ford turned to his companions for backup-and saw a small degree of hesitancy in Stan's eyes.

For a moment he was angry that his own twin could actually be considering accepting such an offer-but then he put some rapid-fire thought into why he would.

On the one hand, it was dirty money from a pretentious, crooked old man who it appeared was just as horrible of a father as Filbrick Pines.

On the other hand, it was money. A really, really large sum of money. To someone who'd been homeless for five years and spent most of that time trying to make money, that had to be extremely tempting, especially when it required so little in return.

Turning his back on the Northwests, Ford lightly touched his brother's arm. "We don't need it, Stanley."

Stan's eyes met his, and after another hesitant moment, he gave a decisive nod. He snatched the check from Ford's hand...and sank his teeth into it, ripping the paper in half.

"This is quality stuff," he said with his mouth full, looking over at Mr. Northwest. "You've got good paper, Old Man."

Not even Stan is completely incorruptible. And yes, I realize they already have lots of money from the unicorns and other supernatural critters, but I still think there's a part of Stan's subconscious that'll take any opportunity to make money, y'know?