One would think it would be a good job being a therapist for the richest duck in the world, but Lawrence learned otherwise when he found Scrooge McDuck walking into his office late one afternoon.

The duck swiftly inquired whether Lawrence’s therapy sessions were as cheap as advertised on the front door. When Lawrence, still dazed at the sight of the richest duck in his office, answered in the affirmative, the feeling of bewilderment was swiftly replaced by an off-putting sense of dread as Scrooge McDuck demanded a free trial session to determine if Lawrence was “fit for the task.”

Lawrence, still enthralled by the idea of being McDuck’s personal therapist, absentmindedly agreed to the request. He soon found himself scrambling to take notes while Scrooge McDuck laid back on the sofa and began quacking on about his heartfelt woes.

Half an hour in, Lawrence decided he may have understood the root of the problem. While Scrooge McDuck was no mere pauper he also wasn’t exactly swimming in cloaca — and the situation terrified the duck.

“I’m a brilliant investor too, you know,” Scrooge waved his cane in the air, then bringing it back down upon Lawrence’s desk with a thud. “Why, there isn’t a single company worth knowing that hasn’t benefited from my esteemed guidance.”

“I certainly hope you aren’t leading off with that when you talk to the hens?” Lawrence peered at the mallard over his notes.

“These henpeckers! To wot daring audacity have they to waste my time and demand money. Why, the other day, I graciously downloaded this dating application Quacker and got quite friendly with this hen, so much that I thought it would be worthwhile to have lunch with her. But then the nerve, ha! When the check came and she didn’t offer to split, I knew she was just another hen after my riches.”

“So did you pay for her?”

“Of course not, charity is for those that don’t learn to dive for their own meals.”

“Perhaps you’re assuming too much?” Lawrence tapped his pen against his lip. “I wouldn’t say that meant she only had eyes for your wealth, but more that she expected the traditional courtship ritual where the, ahem, mallard pays for the first date.”

“A ritual invented for whose benefit, whose?” Scrooge sat up and glared at Lawrence. “I’ll tell you who. Those that don’t deserve it, and none else! Those who can pay for themselves will, and those who cannot shan’t!”

“I mean…that’s to be expected?” Lawrence tried to follow in bewilderment. “If you can’t pay, you…can’t pay.”

“Not if you invent some baseless custom to get society to pressure a helpless mallard into paying for your watercress, no!” The duck threw his cane onto the ground, where it rolled beneath the sofa. After a quick huff, Scrooge bent over the edge and began reaching beneath the sofa in search of his cane. “If she could pay, she would have and she should have. I’ll have no nesting with a hen that cannot even feed herself!”

“I think —” Lawrence began, but then the timer went off with a brrrrrrrrringggggggggggggggg.

“Well then, that concludes your trial session, Mr. McDuck.” Lawrence closed his notebook with a sigh of inward relief. “If you would like to continue these sessions with me in the future, we could —”

“What sort of professional ends a session halfway through a patient’s opening up?” Scrooge demanded, sitting up with his cane holding out menacingly.

“We could continue, of course, but as I was saying, we would need to schedule additional sessions. That being said, I do have the next time slot free if you would like to continue where you left off…but of course, I assume you can pay for my sessions, Mr. McDuck?” Lawrence pulled out the paperwork and slid it towards Scrooge. “Oh silly me, of course you can. ‘Those who can pay for themselves will, and those who cannot shan’t,’ was it?”