“Daddy,” Diamond Tiara whines, flopping in front of Filthy Rich’s ornate desk as much as a Rich pony will allow herself to flop, “why are the Apples so poor?”

Filthy Rich, ever so deliberately, returns his quill to its inkwell and straightens the still-drying parchment in front of him. He doesn’t care much for the formal instrument, but the thick, elegant lines look so much better than those of the simple and utilitarian pen. An important distinction when dealing with important ponies, which he finds himself doing more and more frequently as of late.

“The Apples are one of the wealthiest families in Ponyville,” he states, regarding his filly with his full attention. Her spine stiffens at the correction. “In what way are they poor?”

Diamond Tiara huffs, obviously wanting to complain instead of answering questions. Or is she whining? It can be hard to tell. “Their house is small.”

Filthy Rich takes a long, slow look around his spacious and well decorated office. One floor of the Apple’s main house, or their new Carrot House, would fit comfortably inside. “They can hardly be chided for wishing to spend more time working their cherished orchards than staying inside, and devoting their resources accordingly.”

Diamond Tiara sniffs, sharp and quick, disdainful without being overly rude. “Their food is simple.”

“True.” Filthy Rich opens one of the many drawers on his desk and pulls out a plate of apple fritters kept warm by a special heating charm. He slathers a thick layer of apple jam on top. “And yet, more often than not, we eat their fritters and pies when we could be eating something more exotic, such as pineapple or pear.”

“That’s because it’s fresh,” Diamond Tiara argues.

He takes a bite, savoring the explosion of flavor, then dabs at the corners of his mouth with a checkered napkin, which he carefully folds and replaces alongside the remaining fritters. “Fresh, simple, and familiar, with little pretense or pomp.”

“The Apple Way,” Diamond Tiara says with a sneer, though she quickly loses the snide expression. She must realize she is about to hitch herself to their herd and ways, and had best get used to it. Her muzzle sags. He doesn’t care for the overt grimace, wanting more than anything to set it right. Yet what would she learn if he fixed all of her problems? “But, Daddy. They don’t have any bits!”

Filthy Rich steps away from his desk and walks over to his sorrowful filly, laying ponyloaf next to her. “Let me tell you a story about two families,” he starts, staring up at the vaulted ceiling as he recalls the details.

Diamond Tiara looks up at the ceiling, then at him. “About the Apples?”

Filthy Rich chuckles. “Let us call them the Shackles and the Bares.”

Diamond Tiara’s eyes briefly widen. “The b-bears?”

“Unfurnished or spartan,” he reassures with a twinkle in his eye. “Not the animal.”

“Of course.” Seizing the opportunity she scooches closer to her sire, then calmly adjusts a few stray strands of mane back to her wavy ponytail. It’s not her normal style, more suited for the farm he surmises she’ll be going to. She grins up at him, ever so patiently waiting for him to continue.

He loves when she gives her old sire her attention, a rare occurrence these days. So frequently she is out and about, spending time on her studies and her mark. Or, far more likely, with the pledged Apple colt.

“One day, two herds moved into a fledgling town. They were the same in many regards: both were industrious farmers intent on taking a plot of virgin land and turning it into fertile fields. They had identical visions of the life they would like to live: a two story house with four bedrooms, enough to comfortably hold each mare and her foals, and plenty of room to expand.”

Diamond Tiara smirks. “That sounds suspiciously like somepony I know.”

Filthy Rich nods. “And they had their life savings, let’s say twenty thousand bits each, but that wasn’t enough to cover the cost of the land, not to mention the barns they would need to raise, the house to build, or the costs of living until their first harvest came in. Let’s say it would cost the Bares, oh, sixty thousand bits to build the bare minimum, to live in the very barn where they stored their produce.”

“Actually live in a barn?” Diamond Tiara sticks her tongue out in disgust.

Filthy Rich chuckles. “A sacrifice to be sure. Now take the Shackles. It would take one hundred and twenty thousand bits for their dream house.”

“Their house isn’t that grand,” Diamond Tiara interjects.

“Compared to an open barn?” Regardless, he waves away her objection, and she settles down. “This left the Shackles in a precarious position: their dream house, the one they wished to live in, was expensive. Not to mention the numerous barns and implements and other infrastructure necessary for the efficient running of a farm. To afford such an expenditure, they would also need to borrow heavily. Say somepony was willing to lend them the bits they needed at a modestly generous six percent annual percentage rate, calculated monthly, and they could afford to repay six hundred bits a month. What would their terms be?”

Filthy Rich watches with a growing sense of pride as her eyes twitch back and forth. Suddenly, she frowns. “They would… they would never pay back that loan. The interest they owe is the same as the payment.” A devious smirk slowly spreads on her muzzle, almost a cackle as she glances at his bitbag-marked flank. “Shackled, indeed.”

And what a terrible place to put anypony. He laments how his filly could be so callous, to see such a situation as beneficial to anypony, even the one profiting. When, where did he go wrong? Has his Mark led him astray? Or has she misunderstood his pursuit?

“Do not forget,” he gently corrects, “their loan was not the full one hundred and twenty thousand; they had their twenty thousand in savings to put down, the standard one sixth.”

“Oh.” Her eyes twitch back and forth again. He’s impressed she has the amortization tables memorized, at least for a standard rate loan. “Thirty years?”

“Very good,” he congratulates with a firm nod. She beams, preening just the appropriate amount. “Now, our other herd, the Bares. They too have six hundred bits a month to put toward their more modest loan.”

“A forty thousand bit loan at the same six percent.” Her frown returns as she concentrates, cute as a button. Pomarbo will be a lucky colt indeed, when that time comes. “Six and a half? No, closer to seven years.”

“Correct. If we include the time to restore their initial twenty thousand in savings, it will take approximately nine years before they have returned to their initial state, richer sixty thousand bits.” He taps his chin, as if the thought has just occurred to him, though it is obvious it has not. “Now, say the Bares sell this plot of land for sixty thousand, and purchase another. They go through the same process as before, though this time they decide to build their dream home. It will again cost them one hundred and twenty thousand bits.”

“But this time they have eighty thousand to put down.” Diamond Tiara’s eyes slowly widen at the realization. “They get a loan for forty thousand that takes them seven years to pay off. Even if we go with nine, that’s still twelve years sooner that they paid off their land! Meanwhile, the Shackles still have sixty thousand bits left on their loan!” She whirls to face her sire, aghast. “Is this why the Apples are poor?”

“It is worse than that,” he confirms with a grim face. “For who bought the Pear’s farm?”

Diamond Tiara’s lower lip quivers. “The Apples.” She firmly shuts her mouth, plainly willing herself to not show her contrition. “But then…”

“The land they purchased did not lie fallow,” Filthy Rich reassures. “They would not, will not stay destitute forever, though the inevitable surprise and setback did occur. For them it was worth it. The Pears labored many long years in their modest arrangement; the Apples got their dream house immediately, fulfilling their mark the entire time. And, after acquiring more land, were able to fulfill it even further.”

Filthy Rich watches as his filly processes this, though the low chuckle she gives at the end reveals she has already figured out the ‘twist’. “But still. You’d have to be an innumerate foal to take that deal. To be shackled for so long!”

“So,” he asks, setting her up to spoil his big reveal, “you would rather be the Bares?”

Diamond Tiara grins. “No. I would be the banker.”

Filthy Rich can’t help but join her. “Ah, yes. To take the profit of one’s labor, and rather than consume it immediately to loan to another. Though it is not a route without risk.”

“If the pony you lend to cannot pay you back,” Diamond Tiara confirms. “Hence the interest rate.”

“I have heard that compound interest is the most powerful force in the world,” he says with a wistful glance at the ceiling. “Perhaps in the universe. And in many ways this is true: you must have money to make money. And the more you have, the more you are able to make. Two bits might glean a third, but ten thousand will double or triple in the same time, from economies of scale to efficient marketing to cornering the market.”

“And you have a lot,” Diamond Tiara praises, though it fails to lift the corners of his mouth.

Filthy Rich pulls his filly close. “Do you know what I cherish more than the great stacks upon stacks of bits in our vault?” In actuality the notes of who owes him what - after all, bits that lie fallow won’t reproduce - but anypony who has deposits with him has their physical gems stored in the same location. He would gladly spend every one of those bits if it would secure her future - and had offered, though thankfully the Apples did not require such a heavy toll.

Diamond Tiara rolls her eyes. “Me.”

“True.” Filthy Rich leans back just slightly and enjoys how she presses forward to stay next to him; she is just like her dam, able to read the body language of a pony to an astonishing degree. “There is a saying,” he continues, “that one should not lend bits to friends or family.”

Her features mash together in a frown. He can hear the unspoken objection quite clearly.

“If I held to that,” he says, poking her in the chest and eliciting a giggle, “then I would have nopony at all to lend to. For there is a force far more powerful than that of compound interest.”

“The power of friendship.”

Filthy Rich might have been mad that she has again preempted his lesson, but there is no sarcasm in her voice or dismay that she has been pursuing the wrong path.

“Precisely. A pony’s wealth is not measured merely by how many bits they have at hoof. The power is not in the bits themselves, but in what they allow you to do. And if a lack of funds is a barrier for a pony to do what their mark desires?” He offers his most sincere smile. “Then what better use of your bits than to help them achieve their goal?”

“But,” Diamond Tiara challenges, “if the goal is to enable others, then why charge at all, why not give them the bits they need? Surely you could assist more ponies that way.”

“For a time,” Filthy Rich concedes. “But will their imprudent pursuits allow them to fulfill their mark in a sustainable way, in a way that does not require the constant infusion of capital from other sources? Surely there must be such a way, though it may not be immediately obvious, or Harmony would not have given them their marks. We are not meant to be leeches on society, or even on our friends.”

“That,” Diamond Tiara points out, “and you wouldn’t be able to fulfill your mark.”

Filthy Rich chuckles as his filly’s tail flicks him in the flank. She’s grown so much since she got her mark, and not just in size. That she would consider another’s perspective! Even if that is part of her mark. “Do you still believe the Apples to be poor?”

She squirms uncomfortably. It can be hard to break one’s preconceived notions, but she certainly seems to be making a valiant attempt. “...They could use better marketing.”

His chuckles turn to full-bellied laughs. “I have been saying the same thing for as long as I have known them. If she had joined…” He shakes his head, dispelling any wistful thoughts of what might have been. “But no matter. They wish their products to be enjoyed far and wide, not solely by those already able to afford any luxury.”

“Like their Zap Apples. If they farmed only those?” Diamond Tiara sighs; and Filthy Rich knows exactly why: jars of the coveted commodity would easily sell for ten times the current rate, if not higher, as nobles and nouveau-riche bid each other up. She gains a hopeful grin. “Speaking of…”

With a conspiratorial grin Filthy Rich opens a second compartment of his desk and pulls out a rainbow colored jar.

His precious filly eagerly grabs it, and the offered fritters, doling a dollop so thick it makes his eyes water. It smells delicious, so sharp and tangy that it makes the plain (if any Apple product can be called plain) apple jam taste like dirt, and he unconsciously licks his lips in anticipation. She smirks. “It’s good to be a Rich pony.” She takes a huge bite, smearing some on her top lip. “Thanks, daddy,” she says through the mouthful.

“Any time, my little gem,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of her tied-back mane. His eyes cross, focusing on the offending stain on her lip. “Except my diamond looks a little rough.” He takes advantage of her temporary confusion to lick off a good bit of the mouth-watering jam, just like when she was a foal, though it doesn’t taste as good as her reaction.

“Daddy!” she squeals, playfully trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “That’s mine!” She twists her head this way and that but to no avail as he lands a second lick. “Fine,” she huffs, allowing him to finish cleaning her muzzle of the delicious jam, and using his distraction to spoon a second heaping helping onto her fritters. “I’m spending the night at the Apple’s again.”

“Mm,” he says, nuzzling her again. “Have fun.” He gives her a sly wink. “But not too much fun.” She rolls her eyes as he chuckles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, daddy,” his precious filly returns, giving him a quick kiss that turns into a yelp as he steals a bite of her zap apple-smothered fritters.

Next Chapter: Ch. 179 - Omen on the Winds, Part One Estimated time remaining: 3 Hours, 53 Minutes