Isabella paced back and forth in her home office.

She had been scheduled to have dinner with her father. He had attended Tom's funeral a few weeks prior and in a rare show of compassion, had been calling her more frequently to check in on her and Jake. She had just been getting into her car when her Blackberry rang.

Before she could even say hello, Charles was speaking.

"Isabella, cancel our dinner. I have to go down to the Fed."

She stiffened at the strict tone. "What's wrong?"

"Lehman Brothers ran out of money. Merrill Lynch is on the verge of it."

Isabella's mouth had fallen open; no sound came out.

"Paulson and Geithner have called an emergency meeting with all of the CEOs. I'm in the car with the Goldman execs now. I will call you when I know more."

Isabella closed her mouth and swallowed.

"Don't say a word to your husband."

Dial tone.

That call had been two hours ago, and Isabella was getting more and more agitated as the time crawled by. She had even found herself picking at her split ends, a nervous habit she had had when she was a kid. Every time she realized she was doing it, she threw her hair harshly into a ponytail, not noticing a few minutes later when she unconsciously pulled the pony tail out.

It was a Sunday evening; the markets weren't even open.

A situation like this, one of the world's oldest and most venerated financial institutions on the verge of crumbling, had never happened.

It was unprecedented in every way and the consequences would be dire.

Isabella didn't look for Jake. She knew he was home, but she didn't dare leave her office, not even to use the restroom. He had been in a bad state since his brother died, and the news of his employer's demise would only make it worse.

Lehman Brothers declaring bankruptcy would be Armageddon.

It would have dire consequences across the world.

She knew it with utmost certainty.

Twisting her fingers together against her upset stomach, Isabella knew that entire countries economies failing was not out of the realm of possibility.

Finally, the phone rang.

"What's going on?" she asked immediately.

The cool tone in her father's voice remained the same as the first call. "Bank of America has agreed to buy Merrill Lynch."

"And Lehman?"

"Barclays was interested but Paulson wouldn't give the go ahead to provide the financial guarantee that the British regulators are insisting on."

"Bankruptcy then," she accused flatly.

"It's the only thing that will calm the markets and let us move forward."

"Calm the markets?! Dad, the system will collapse! People will lose everything!"

Charles did not respond well to what he considered hysterics. "It will be fine."

"AIG owns all of those credit default swaps – if Lehman goes down, Dad, the largest and oldest insurance agency will go down with them. The economy will collapse!"

"It will be fine. There is going to be a bailout," he said emotionlessly. "Paulson is going to Congress later this week once it becomes clear that AIG will fail."

"What if Congress refuses?" she challenged, feeling her eyes pricked with anger.

Charles was silent for a moment before replying.

"This system works because our fate is tied with the rest of every other American. They can't refuse."

~O~

"Lass, ye look tired."

Isabella looked at Robert and frowned.

"Still bonnie, dinnae be mistaken me," he backtracked. "Just like ye need a good rest."

Considering she had been sleepily rubbing at her face and yawning when he had entered the distillery office, she could not fault his observations.

"You might be onto something," she agreed grudgingly. It was mid-afternoon and she had slept hardly two hours the night before, an upset stomach and a sore throat keeping her up.

"Come on then, I'll take ye home," he said, reaching to grab her coat off the rack by the door. "No use killing yerself over a bit of paperwork that can wait till tomorrow."

Isabella frowned. While she was hardly in the midst of a breakthrough in crafting the business plan, she felt she had a lot to do yet.

"Come on," he insisted, holding her coat out. "I'm going down to the docks, Edward's ho- I mean yer home, is no far."

A thin layer of sweat had recently appeared on the nape of her neck and she shivered from chill.

"Perhaps you're right," she agreed reluctantly, standing up from the office desk.

Robert looked undeniably pleased to be able to be of use. She allowed him to help her into her coat before grabbing her purse from the corner of the table.

"I should tell Edward," she remarked as they left the office.

"My keys are back where he is," Robert volunteered, "I'll tell him. Wait here."

Before she could protest, he was jogging down the hallway. Feeling another wave of cold, she shivered, huddling into her jacket with little reprieve.

~O~

Robert grabbed his keys off the hook where they hung during the day.

Just as he was turning to go find Edward, he remembered the bottle of whisky his father had been asking for weeks.

"Shite," he murmured, completely almost forgetting it. Again.

Determined and not the least bit triumphant, Robert grabbed the 14 year that he had been asking about from the shelf where he kept other belongings he had amassed.

"Yer coming with me," he muttered as he turned and left the still house, feeling there was something he was forgetting.

~O~

At Edward's home on the Trotternish peninsula, Isabella could not get warm.

She was walking around with two pairs of wool socks, two pairs of fleece leggings, a t-shirt, a long-sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, and a giant plaid scarf that could have very well been a blanket. And still, she felt chilled to the bone.

In the midst of a half-hearted attempt at building a fire, she gave up. The kindling would not catch fire and she didn't have the energy to battle it. Edward would be home soon and he was usually able to build a roaring flame within minutes.

Isabella rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

She didn't really have anything warm. The thin layers of cotton were not fighting off the chill. She thought back to one of Edward's remarks that they really ought to get her warmer clothing to which she had replied wryly with her determined reliance on her trusty University of Pennsylvania sweatshirt.

"Might have been right about that one, MacDonald," she muttered in annoyance.

Considering her options for a moment, she then remembered that Alice had, (does currently? It was still unclear), lived there and she had certainly been prepared for Scottish winters.

With a dismissive, internal convincing that they were close enough to the same size, Isabella climbed up the steep stair case that she had never ascended, finding the only room in the house she had not been in.

Isabella let out a long breath, feeling surprisingly exhausted from the 12 stairs. She wiped at the thin layer of sweat on her forehead, feeling dizzy, and considered that perhaps she might be the next victim to the flu.

It seemed that Alice had moved out some of her stuff, but most of her personal decorative items were still lying about. To Isabella's untrained eye, it looked like the typical bedroom of an 18-year-old girl.

Right. Dresser is probably the best place to start.

Isabella walked around to the other side of the bedroom, crossing the bed that seemed to be propped on an absurdly sized box spring. The dresser had tangled necklaces tossed carelessly into a ceramic, undoubtedly homemade pinch pot. There was a stack of notebooks next to the lamp. And a picture of the MacDonald family.

Curious and momentarily forgetting her mission, she picked up the 5x7 frame.

It must have been a 10-year-old picture, at least.

Isabella grinned as she realized that prior to settling into a cooper, chestnut color, Edward's hair had been as ginger could be as a child. Him and a very young Alice bore a striking resemblance to the woman in the picture, the woman who could be no one else than their mother. Emmet, just two years younger than his brother, clearly favored his father with their dark hair and thin build.

The whole lot of them wore identical smiles, the dimples all coming from their mother.

Isabella's heart clenched, feeling happysad as her grandmother used to describe it.

Overcome by a swarm of dizziness, she didn't even have time to set down the photograph before she felt herself fall backwards.

And everything went black.

oh dear.

as I mentioned on twitter, it was not necessarily my intent to have this segment of the story in which the characters are facing the onset of the great recession of 2008 -watching the banks fail and the government grant bailouts while the public gets laid off and left to deal with the aftermath - be posted the same time as we are experiencing such things in 2020. but perhaps the harsh reactions of our scots when it comes to bankers make a wee bit more sense.

sending all my love to all of you. may you stay healthy and hopeful for sunny skies ahead.

more to come soon.