Disposable Assets- An Irrevocable Trust Outtake

Beta: Stacyo72 and Maxandmo

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended

Villars-sur-Ollon, Switzerland- seven years prior to the beginning of Irrevocable Trust

I may have just turned eighteen, but I already understand that raw power is as intoxicating and powerful as any drug. A thrill runs through me as I press my foot against the accelerator. My Porsche 911 Turbo-S smoothly charges ahead into the approaching twilight,the five hundred and eighty horsepower rear-mounted engine easily handling the increase in power. I repeat my actions, taking advantage of the seven-speed dual-clutch automatic shift and all-wheel-drive as the speedometer steadily rises to one hundred kilometers per hour. I imagine how I'd look from high above, a black blip moving along the ribbon of gray winding through the green and gold fields of the Swiss mountainside.

I can't help smirking as I speed past a sign with a solemn black fifty inside a red circle. It's been two weeks since I bought this car and I'm ready to push the envelope. I accelerate again as I approach the first of a series of turns that will bring me up the mountain to school. I navigate easily, gently coaxing the steering as the car maneuvers sharply right and then back in the opposite direction. Another light touch to the pedal and I'm up to one hundred ten km h. I repeat gentle curve to the right, and then back to the left. My smirk returns as well because there's nothing to it. I don't know why the Swiss won't allow anyone under eighteen to drive. My father wouldn't bend the rules and just import the car under his name so I had to wait two extra years to drive here. It's so stupid. I already have an American driver's license. It's not as though I never passed a test, but spending the majority of my time at boarding school means I've rarely gotten to drive. With my eighteenth birthday in the rearview mirror, I can finally drive here legally, but I'll be leaving in less than two months to start Penn. I need to make up for lost driving time.

I hit a straight section and gun the engine to one hundred thirty km h. The Porsche handles like a dream. The third curve looms ahead. I slow down slightly to one-twenty, about two and a half times the speed limit on this two-lane road. I take the first curve to the west, with the setting sun in my eyes, and then maneuver to the east.

"Shit!"

Simultaneously, I slam on the brakes and jerk the wheel hard left to avoid a huge bull that's just standing in the middle of the damn road. The tires screech as I careen off the road and spin around, but the Porsche still has momentum. So, rather than hit the low stone wall at the edge of the road, I drive over it, coming to a dead stop on top of the rocks.

"Fuck!"

I'm shaking, but I don't think I'm hurt. I take a few deep breaths and check myself: two legs, two arms, no blood, everything intact. The inside of the car looks fine too: no broken windows, no deployed airbags. I look out the front windshield and curse that stupid animal that's now slowly sauntering by, like it didn't just try to kill me.

"Stupid fucking bull!" I scream as the beast ignores me.

I repeat my words in French and German just for good measure. The only reaction I get is an extra swish of its tail as it heads into the field I'm now facing. The bull is an asshole. Meanwhile, the car's massive engine churns away as though it was still taking those turns at high speed. I laugh dryly.

"Okay, Cullen, get yourself together and get the fuck out of here."

I put the car in reverse and try to get down from the wall. The back wheels spin but can't gain any traction. I shift into drive, with the same result, then try the lower gears. Nothing; the wall's too high and I'm going to need a tow. I'm so distracted that I don't notice I've got a serious problem. The acrid smell is my first indication something's wrong. My eyes water, and I start to cough, suddenly unable to take a breath without the stench filling my lungs. I glance in the rear view mirror and see black smoke rising from the engine behind me.

Shit!

I grab my phone and get the hell out. By the time I get across the road, the entire back of the Porsche is engulfed in flames. I stand there in shock, not knowing what to do next. I'm shaking and feel as though I can't stand up for much longer. Is this what it means when people say they're weak in the knees? I plop down on the grass and lie back staring at the colors of evening sky.

I listen to the flames crackle and something, a part of the car, pops. I consider my alternatives. My beautiful 911 is probably unsalvageable. If I call the police, that will really complicate things. If I call the fire department, they'll put out the flames. I should probably do that. It's likely the Porsche will explode once the fire reaches that gas tank. But do they automatically contact the police? I know! I won't tell them there's a car on fire, only that I see smoke in the field. Yes! Then when they get here, I'll convince them it's a bad idea to involve the police in such a minor matter. I sit up and make the call. Now to get a replacement. I glance at the time displayed on my phone and figure it's late morning in Seattle. I could call my father's direct line, but I have a better plan.

"Cullen Conglomerated. This is Bella."

I clear my throat and try to sound calm. The last thing I need is Bella thinking I'm a pussy.

"H-Hey, Bella, it's Edward Cullen. How are you?"

"Oh, Edward, this is a surprise. I'm fine, thanks. Are you calling from school?"

I can hear the concern in her voice. I never call. I should though. Her voice is like a siren's, soft, low, and slightly husky, not shrill like so many of the girls my age. Bella is a woman, not a girl. I close my eyes and picture the way her hair falls over her shoulders when she sits at her computers, analyzing spreadsheets. Maybe she gets up and reaches for a report, leaning over her desk . . .

"So hot. . . " Fuck, I didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Uh, yes, yes, I mean I'm in Switzerland, but I'm not on the school grounds at the moment."

In the distance, I can hear the sounds of actual sirens rising from the valley below. I've got about three minutes before the fire department arrives. I need to handle them just right.

"Okay, well, do you need to speak to Carlisle? He's here somewhere, I can have Shelley find him—"

"No! I mean, no, actually, that's fine, you don't need to disturb him," I say as my voice cracks again.

"Edward? What's wrong?"

Shit, Bella doesn't sound sexy now. She sounds like my mom when she's sure I'm up to no good.

"Nothing, I'm fine. Really, I'm fine.

It's just— there was this bull—"

I pause, trying to think of how to say it without her freaking out.

"Bull? You mean like a male cow?"

Male Cow? Who says that? She's sexy and adorable.

"Yeah, um, yes. A bull in the middle of the road, Bella, right in the middle of the road, as I was driving back to school. The bull is fine and I'm fine, but the Porsche isn't so fine?"

I end with a question, which wasn't what I meant to do. It's just how the words came out.

"So, let me get this straight. Edward, are you telling me you had to swerve to avoid a bull in the road and there was a car accident? Are you sure you're fine? How do you know? Edward, were you speeding? Were you on your phone? What happened?"

Bella's voice and the sirens get louder in synchronicity.

"No, no. I was definitely not speeding, I'm very cautious when I drive. It was just on the curve. I couldn't see the bull until I was right in front of it, so I swerved and the car went off the road and stopped." I avoid mentioning the stone wall.

"Okay, so the Porsche is damaged and needs to get towed? Edward, I can help guide you through what to do but you'll need to make the calls yourself. Let me see if I can locate a towing company in Villars sur Olan."

"Uh, well, I think we're all set with that. I already contacted the fire department."

"That's good, Edward! Wait, you contacted the fire department? Why do you need the fire department if you're not hurt?"

"Well, I'm not hurt, but the Porsche is sort of burning?" My voice cracks a third time.

Damn it, why do I keep asking instead of stating? I'm better than this. I'm on the goddamn debate team. Bella always makes me feel like a neophyte.

"Burning!"

"Bella, please don't yell. . ."

"Edward, are you near the car?"

Bella is worried about me? This is is nice. This feels good. It makes me feel like a man. Confidence surges through me.

"Bella, don't worry, I'm safe. I'm across the road and the fire department is coming up the hill now. I didn't get hurt at all. I can assure you, every part of me is in working order."

I grin. I wonder if she thinks about my parts the way I think about hers.

BPOV

Seriously? I thought Edward was the good one. Rosalie's a bitch and Alice is completely self-absorbed. Edward seemed so bright. He showed an interest in his future, interning here at just fifteen, and despite being spoiled, he's always been so sweet. Now, he's lying to me and acting as though everything's fine when he just totaled his very expensive Porsche. The ink isn't even dry on the damn paperwork. It took me weeks to get all the documentation straight- insurance, registration, motorway sticker, not to mention I was still in the process of compiling the documents needed to import it to the U.S. when he starts college in the fall. What a nightmare! I sigh, my mind doing it's own version of the Grand Prix as I prep a list of the calls and emails I'll need to make. So much for getting a jump on the month-end reconciliations. That will have to wait. I can hear Edward rapidly speaking in French to someone. I have no idea what he's saying, but I recognize the tone. It's the same annoyingly pleasant tone all the Cullens have when they really want something from you.

"Bella? Are you still there?"

"Yes, Edward. What do you need right now?"

"Like I said, I'm perfectly fine. I just wasn't prepared for a bull to be there. The firemen have already put out the fire and luckily, since I was abiding all the traffic laws they don't need to contact the police."

Abiding the traffic laws? Wasn't speeding? Please, he's a Cullen. Even before I got this job, I knew about Carlisle's love for fast cars. All three of his kids take after him. Alice is about to turn sixteen and has been babbling non-stop about what type of sports car she'll get for her birthday.

"Edward, I'm going to have to inform the insurance company."

"Oh, yes, of course."

Edward's voice cracks again and I can't help but smile. He may have the Cullen charm in spades, but he's not nearly as smooth as he thinks he is. I assure him that we'll handle the insurance claim as I grab the file with all of the pertinent information on the Porsche and pull up the insurance company's website to start the process. Rich people, ultra-rich people, are never uninsurable. There's no high risk pool for them. After all, they don't need auto insurance for the same reasons the rest of us do. Carlisle can replace the Porsche in minutes and any medical bills are covered by his health insurance. He has auto insurance because the law requires it, and to protect his assets if someone sues him for millions over a fender-bender. There's always someone trying to scam them for something. According to Carlisle, his father's favorite saying was "No good deed goes unpunished." How's that for a family legacy?

"Edward, are you with anyone?"

"Am I… Um, well, not really, I went to the year-end formal with Bree Daniels and she took me to hers, but we aren't a couple."

"What do you—"

"Are you and your husband still together?"

What's the matter with him? He's usually smarter than this. I hope he didn't hit his head.

"Edward! Were you alone in the car or were you with someone?"

"Oh... sorry, alone."

"Are you sure you're not injured? Did you hit your head?"

"No, definitely not."

"Okay, think for a minute. What possessions did you have with you that were destroyed in the fire? Obviously, your phone is fine. What about your wallet? Credit cards? Your black Amex? Perhaps a backpack or a jacket?"

I wait while he takes inventory. One by one, he affirms that he has his identification and credit cards. Luckily, his passport is in his dorm room.

"Shit."

Edward turns away from his phone and begins rapidly speaking French. Someone replies and I can tell by his huffing that Edward isn't pleased with the response.

"What is it?" I ask, already anticipating the myriad of phone calls and emails I'll need to make.

"My fencing bag was on the back seat. The fire is out but it won't be salvageable. I lost my best sabre and most of my gear."

I immediately start googling fencing sabres and fire damage as Edward starts rattling off unfamiliar words like "maraging" and "pommel" until I finally realize we're better off just getting him all new equipment and working out a settlement with the insurance later. I manage to convince him to talk to Carlisle and at least let him know he's okay. Edward promises he'll text me a list of what he needs later. I transfer the call to his father and get back to my actual job. I place my hand on the small but growing belly bump and wonder if this bump will cause me as much stress when he or she is a teenager.

EPOV

I lean back against against the wall, my body sprawled sideways across my bed, as I reflect on the day's events. The charred remains of the Porsche and all its contents are now in a junkyard outside the village. I wonder if my dad really meant it when he refused to get me another. I'd thought I argued my points well, after all, it really wasn't my fault the bull was just standing in the middle of the road, but in the end, my dad just doesn't think I'm ready to handle that much horsepower. It's humiliating because I know Alice is getting a yellow Porsche 911 Turbo for her birthday. My little sister will have one and I won't? So now I'm stuck at boarding school for another two months with no car and no fencing equipment to bring to Penn. At least, my weapons and gear are fairly easy to replace and Bella will ensure everything is at Penn waiting for me.

I nearly lost it when she asked me what kind of grip I liked, until I realized she was googling fencing equipment. Luckily, I didn't say something idiotic. She has no idea how I feel about her and if she did she'd dismiss it as a teenage infatuation even though I know it's not. Of course, even if she were to get past the age difference, there's still the fact that she's married to that guy with the huge muscles.

I sigh, looking down at my own lanky build. I need to work out and get bigger. Sabre is a much faster-paced competition than the other styles of fencing so I'm in great shape, but it's not going to add mass to my skinny frame. I'm sick of looking like a kid. I want to be seen as sophisticated and mature; a real adult. I flip on the tv as a distraction. There's a James Bond movie playing. He's dressed impeccably as he steps out of an Aston Martin, surrounded by admiring women. That's the car I need! I grab my phone and text my father.

Okay, I won't get another Porsche. I think an Aston Martin Vanquish would be a great replacement.

About twenty minutes later my phone buzzes. I glance down and groan in frustration as I read my father's text.

"Your mother and I decided to get you something safe and practical. I had Bella order a Volvo for you. It's silver. Bella will let you know when it's ready but it shouldn't take more than forty-eight hours."

A silver Volvo? They must really be mad at me. This is the worst punishment I've ever received.

A/N Okay, so what's going on with my life? Why can't I get this story finished when I keep telling you there are only a few chapters left? When I first started this WIP, my job was much less demanding but times have changed dramatically. So far, it's not bad for me (I hope it stays that way), it's just a royal pain. It's taking up TONS of time to where work and personal time are so blurred, I feel like I'm always working. That makes it hard to 1.) find time to write 2.) find enough time where I'm back in the flow of the story. What's important is eventually things should resume some semblance of normalcy and then if there's no posts you can blame it on procrastination rather than other factors. As always, neither this story or Tangled Up in the Mainline are abandoned, I will finish both eventually. Thanks again to my betas, Stacy and Tracy for making sure I keep my grammar up to snuff. Happy holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and let's hope 2018 will be a better year for all than this one.