Chapter Text
Gyro Gearloose had always been more than an employee to Scrooge McDuck.
He was the son Scrooge never had brilliant, ambitious, and fiercely loyal. For years, Gyro had stood at Scrooge's right hand, his inventions pushing the boundaries of what was possible, his mind a wellspring of innovation that made the McDuck empire untouchable.
The Sultan had his Grand Vizier. The Sultan had his Ibrahim Pasha.
Scrooge would look at Gyro and see his own reflection, a man of humble beginnings who had risen to greatness through sheer force of will. A man who understood that power was not given but taken, that loyalty was the currency of empires, and that those who stood beside the throne shared in its glory.
"He's like a son to me," Scrooge would tell business associates, his voice thick with pride. "The boy can build anything. ANYTHING!"
He would pat Gyro's shoulder with a hand that had clutched more gold than most men would see in a lifetime. "Mark my words. This one will be remembered long after I'm gone."
And Gyro had believed it. He had believed in Scrooge's vision, in the family they had built together. He had believed that his place at the old duck's side was secure, that the bond between them was unbreakable.
He had believed he was Ibrahim to Scrooge's Suleiman.
He had been wrong.