It seemed it was Isabella's turn to have dinner with one of the higher ups who was in town for important meetings with her father. There was an informal rotation of sorts between her and a few of her colleagues but she had a suspicion that she got the calendar holds more than her counterparts because of her name.

Jake never minded. He worked until 10pm most days so it hardly made a difference where or with whom she had to eat dinner with.

The man sitting across from her at this dinner was a director in an investment firm, not an employee of Bear Stearns. She didn't remember his exact title and had instantly been put off by his self-serving demeanor. The notes from her assistant had been vague, simply saying that the man, Richard Meyer, had a special relationship with Bear Stearns.

"Could you tell me more about your role? I understand you work both on behalf of Bear Stearns and your investors," she asked, taking a sip of white wine and leveling him an even stare.

"Well, we select the securities that go into the portfolio and monitor the assets."

Isabella fought not to roll her eyes. It didn't seem a day went by without a man explaining to her some basic function of finance.

"On behalf of your investors?"

"Correct," he said.

"Putting together a high quality CDO does not seem like something that would be a full-time position," she said. It was fairly simply. The highest rated investments got bundled together, the lower rated and riskier ones got bundled together, and so forth. Keep the apples with the apples and the oranges with the oranges.

Richard chuckled but did not take the bait.

"It is more complex than it used to be," he said instead, flashing her a decidedly cocky grin. "Say for example you have CDO "A" full of bonds and CDO "B" full of different bonds that each have different parts that then go into CDO "C", suddenly making the process more intricate. There's also synthetic CDOs which are made up of credit default swaps and other derivatives, essentially betting against A, B, and C, again making the process more intricate and more fun. More than a full time job, I promise you."

Isabella frowned.

"That seems…"

"Awesome?"

"I was thinking along the lines of insane, actually," she said after swallowing another sip of her wine.

"So these synthetic CDOs are basically side bets? Assuming that the housing market will only continue to go up and the investment will only continue to be more lucrative? And if you're wrong, you're rich either way?"

Richard nodded.

"Humor me, Mr. Meyer, if you had to guess what the market rate for insuring mortgage bonds versus the rate for actual mortgages…"

"Approximately 20 times larger."

A feeling of dread crept into Isabella's stomach.

"So in a pool of 100 million mortgages, assuming there are subprime ones mixed in, as I am well aware of the current state of the housing market and who is being lent to…you're telling me that there is a synthetic CDO where there's $2 billion betting against that pool of mortgages."

Richard shrugged, "That sounds about right."

"And Bear Stearns is employing you?" she asked, keeping the shock out of her voice.

At that, Richard grinned. "Funding our operations…not employing me."

The waiter came with their food then, putting a lull in the conversation. But Isabella could only push around food with a fork, unable to eat.

These CDOs were on the very perifieral of her work, not something she had any real control over. It seemed that the Jakes of the world were the ones with all of the power when it came to the vehicles of investment…people who had rock solid faith in the housing market and didn't believe it could do anything but go up. But were prepared in case they were wrong...would make billions in case they were wrong.

Default rates were already starting to inch up. It was so small that it had not sounded any alarm bells but she paid attention.

If what he said was true, if the default rates started to increase nationally, as Isabella was certain they would…she stopped the thought, almost throwing up.

The entire economy would collapse.

~O~

The ceilidh had served the purpose of putting Edward into the Christmas spirit. They had woken up shyly that morning, a tangle of warm limbs, each with headaches of their own but matching sleepy smiles. Edward had gallantly left the bed first to look for Advil that Isabella assured him was in her purse, coming back with pills and water. Shortly after that, he had put on clothes and headed downstairs to the kitchen to fetch them both coffee.

Their morning was pleasantly domestic, nestled in their bed, each nursing mugs of coffee and talking about the guests and some of the interactions they had witnessed. In comparing notes, they deemed the evening a success, pleased with the lack of drama or suspicion regarding their marriage.

Eventually, they had made their way out of the Inn and headed back to their house. Given the fact that Edward was humming "The First Noel" during the entire drive, it was not surprising when he went up to the attic and came down with two large cardboard boxes of decorations.

"This garland looks older than me," Isabella commented with a laugh, picking up the dusty fake fine.

"Ach, it cannae be that old," he teased.

"Did you have to tell Jasper I was older than you?" Isabella complained. "If I have to hear one more, 'older woman' comment…"

Edward smirked as he stood up and brushed the glitter off his pants. If Jasper had just noticed her age on his own, Edward was just too chivalrous to say. He bent down near her and said, "Aye, he's just jealous," and then kissed her cheek.

Realization dawned on Bella. "Is that what he meant by the way he kept saying experienced?" she asked, thinking back to the number of times he had said something about all of her experience the previous night.

"Just jealous," Edward repeated, confirming in his own way.

Isabella rolled her eyes. It was very rare that she felt the 5 year age difference between her and Edward, but it would be a lie to say she had never thought about it.

"What is your policy on Christmas presents?" she asked, changing the subject as he opened up the other box. "Do you typically exchange them or just sit around a tree drinking whisky?"

Edward chuckled. "The latter."

Isabella smiled. "Splendid."

In all actuality, sitting around a decorated tree with Edward and his family and some Scottish Christmas music sounded like how she used to spend Christmas with her grandparents when her father was away. And she was glad she didn't have to bother with gifts. They still traipsed around the subject of money more often than not and she was happy to continue traipsing.

"I think there are a few more boxes upstairs, but I'm no sure," he commented, mostly to himself.

"Let's go look," she suggested, standing up and hearing her knees crack with a wince. "I am not that old," she said.

"I dinnae say anything!"

"I'm not."

Edward rolled his eyes as he followed her up to the attic. It was exactly what everyone else's attic looked like: dark, dusty, and only the semblance of organization. There were dozens of cardboard boxes that had been labeled and then crossed out and relabeled, only of which half were likely accurate.

"Do you know where the rest would be?"

Edward winced.

"I'll take that as a no." Isabella rubbed her hands together. "I'm going to go grab a sweater then, be right back."

Edward nodded and pulled out a green tote that looked promising on the basis of its color. The tote was full of books that he knew to have been his mother's. Momentarily forgetting the task of finding Christmas decorations, he picked up one of the books with a fond smile and began to page through it.

In fact, he got so engrossed in the collection that he did not notice that Isabella had not returned.

~O~

Just as Isabella was shrugging into her sweater, there was a knock on the door.

"Always someone knocking…" she muttered to herself incredulously as she went to answer it. The house was in such an isolated location, yet they always seemed to have visitors. Had she been a little less hungover, she probably would have called Edward down before answering.

When she saw who it was, her jaw dropped.

"John. What are you doing here?" she demanded.

In front of her stood a man who had been a staple of her childhood. John had been her father's right hand man at the bank for as long as she could remember. He had never been a pleasant man, as Isabella could count on one hand the number of times she had ever seen the man smile. He looked particularly perturbed to be standing in the cold Scottish highlands in a trench coat that was made more for status than practicality.

"Ms. Swan," he said with a nod.

She made no effort to step aside and let him in.

There was no scenario in which his visit was a social call and the feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to let her treat it as such.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated.

"Your father received a call earlier this week," he said slowly. He had more gray hair than Isabella had remembered. He had been at Jake's funeral, she thought, but she hadn't paid much attention to him.

"He receives a lot of calls, I'm sure," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she came to the realization that her two separate worlds were rapidly colliding. Two worlds that were never meant to ever even get near each other.

"From a Mr. MacLeod," John continued, raising an eyebrow.

Isabella refused to let her face give away any recognition.

"Mr. MacLeod was delighted to offer his congratulations to your father on his new son-in-law."

The thin line of Isabella's mouth did not change.

John seemed frustrated that he was unable to get a reaction from her, yet continued in his storytelling, his words picking up heat as he did so. "Now, having just buried a son-in-law less than two months ago, you can imagine the shock this was to your father."

Isabella met his stare defiantly.

"Even more of a shock considering the fact that MacLeod felt it in his best interest to inform your father that he strongly believes the marriage to be false, making it illegal under Scottish law."

With that, it seemed, John had finished.

"Is that all?" Isabella asked. She was pinching her bicep, trying to control her reaction.

"It's time you come home, Ms. Swan."

"No."

Isabella kept her chin lifted and her arms crossed. She retained all of the bravery of her time in banking but here in Scotland, it was now bravery with conviction, conviction of the life she wanted to live.

"It was not a request."

"I don't care. I am a grown woman and I am staying here."

John didn't seem surprised by this response but his frown deepened considerably.

"MacLeod and your father came to an agreement. If you are in New York by the end of this week, he will not take news of your illegal marriage to the American press."

"It's not illegal!" she protested, knowing in her heart that it was shaky ground.

"Is that the gamble you wish to take with your husband's freedom?"

Finally, he succeeded at getting a reaction from her. Her eyebrows raised and her own surprised frown settled across her face.

"This farce of a marriage would be a thorough embarrassment to your father and the Montgomery family. Their widowed daughter-in-law married a Scottish highlander to save a whiskey factory not one week after the death of her husband? You forget, Ms. Swan, you and your husband's family have enormous influence across the world. It would take one call, maybe two, to put him behind bars."

Isabella swallowed thickly.

It was so unlike her not to have been prepared for this situation. The life she lived in New York put preparation at the heart of all that she did. Yet here, she had not anticipated that this may be a possibility and as such, did not have any previously thought of solutions.

Fortunately or unfortunately, she was saved from responding.

"Who are you?" demanded a Scottish brogue.

Isabella turned to see Edward coming into the entryway, setting down a cardboard box on an end table. He had clearly heard the end of John's last statement, as there was nothing friendly about the way he was staring at the gray haired man.

"My name is John Farrant, I am executive assistant to the CEO of Bear Stearns."

"The bank in America?" he asked with a growl, looking less than impressed.

John nodded.

Isabella grimaced.

Edward along with his highlander friends and relatives had never really tried to disguise his dislike of bankers or the financial industry as a whole. He crossed his arms over his chest and she could see his nostrils flair.

"I read an interesting article the other day…there's been a lot since that bailout, ye ken?" he said with faux friendliness. "An article about something called DCO's, or CDO's, or whatever ye branded them as, and how ye folk used them and bet that they would fail to defraud the millions people. Bear Stearns included. Yet sounds like yer CEO is sitting just fine with that bailout money, is he no?"

And then, for only the sixth time in her life, Isabella saw John Farrant smile. It was not a friendly smile. In fact, it was borderline cruel looking as he turned to stare at her.

"You didn't tell him?" he smirked.

Isabella was silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Tell me what?" Edward demanded, addressing John.

"Mrs. Montgomery did not tell you that her father is the CEO of Bear Stearns."

Isabella couldn't look over in her husband's direction.

She glared fiercely at John; he had never called her Mrs. Montgomery, even when Jake was alive.

"Nor does it appear that she told you that up until very recently, she was a vice president at Bear Stearns."

Isabella stopped breathing.

John was not content to leave it there. In fact, his smile got all the more malicious as he continued, "I can assure you that your wife," he said, lips curling in disgust around the title, "knew about all of those CDOs and all that went into them. I'm sure I can find papers that she signed that approve of the purchasing of the AAA ratings and I can tell you she profited from the bailout just as much as the rest of the bankers you clearly have a tremendous amount of disdain for."

Isabella felt Edward turn his stare to her, no longer angry. "Bella…that can't be true."

"My work…it didn't directly involve the CDOs, no."

"But ye knew?" he pressed, asking it before she even finished talking.

Her silence was deafening.

"Ah, it seems I finally have your attention, Mr. MacDonald."

"Whit de ye want?" he growled.

Isabella could hear the hurt in his voice.

"The conditions Mr. MacLeod and Mr. Swan agreed on is that you return the $300,000 and she returns to New York. No story, no jail time. We will take care of the appropriate divorce paperwork and expunge the marriage from the records."

Giving the money back would bankrupt him.

"Edward, don't."

He ignored her and addressed John.

"Give me one moment to fetch my checkbook."

Isabella followed him, hot on his heels as he swiftly departed the room. "Edward, please stop! Just listen for a moment!"

He ignored her, going into the small corner bedroom he had moved into upon her arrival.

"Edward we can figure this out," she said, hearing the threat of tears in her own voice.

"How could ye keep that from me, Bella?" he demanded, finally whirling on her.

She could hear the betrayal in his voice.

"How did ye ken about that banking shite and no say anything? Christ, ye could have said something! Ye could have stopped it!"

Isabella had thought that to herself before.

"I wasn't positive…"

"That's shite! Ye are the smartest person I've ever met."

"They wouldn't have listened to me," she pleaded.

"Oh yer father would no have?" he demanded in a harsh voice.

Without waiting for her to reply, he grabbed a pen and started to write in the checkbook, a fierce and angry scribble that she entirely doubted was actually legible.

"Do I make this out to him?" he hissed, "Yer father? Yer late husband? Was his da a CEO on Wall Street too?"

She didn't say anything but he saw her eyes widen slightly.

"Unbelievable!"

"Look-"

He interrupted her. "Who am I in debt to?"

Isabella shook her head. "It was my money, Edward, no one else's. They can't tell you or I what to do with it."

Edward ignored her, scratching out the last of the symbols onto the check.

"Don't give the money back," Isabella pleaded, "I'll figure something else out. Keep it. Keep Sleat open."

Edward snatched a piece of paper from his armoire and held it out to her wordlessly.

It was a contract for the sale of Sleat.

"Diageo?" she asked, shocked.

"I would have been a fool no to keep my options open," he replied.

Now it was Isabella who felt betrayed. She had believed him when it had seemed like the two of them would grow Sleat on their own, without the help or the ownership of the drink conglomerate.

All of the fight left her.

They could do it without her.

She wasn't really needed.

He took the paper back from her and set it on the armoire. She looked at him, feeling the tears start to well up at the realization that she had really, truly, made a mess out of everything.

For a brief moment, the anger seemed to slip from his eyes. He leaned down and put a soft kiss on her forehead.

"For what it's worth, ye can always be Bella."

And with that, he walked out of the bedroom door and back to John.

"Cheers mate," she could hear him say with a growl before she heard the front door slam.

Isabella took a few deep breaths, trying to prevent the tears from falling.

All of her life and all of her career, powerful men had waited to see her cry.

She had never once given them the satisfaction and today with John Farrant would be no different. Instead of processing the fact that Edward really had just walked out the door, she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth until she was sure she had the tears under control.

John Farrant hadn't bothered to put the crumpled check in his pocket. Instead, he kept it out in his hand, visible to her.

At least it was not the 7th time in her life to see him smile.

"I have two flights booked for this evening. Gather your things."

Isabella didn't move.

"There is nothing left for you here," he snapped, finally growing impatient. "If you stay, we will make good on our promise to put him behind bars."

When she still didn't move, he said the thing that would break her.

"It is apparent you are not wanted here, Ms. Swan."

ah the time old tradition of sharing an update on my birthday. can't resist as it turns out.

fear not, this wee story is not over yet.

all the love.