Chapter 13
Declan
The white envelope sits on my desk like a ticking bomb. I’ve been staring at it for twenty minutes, running my finger along the sealed edge without actually breaking it. The words “CONFIDENTIAL: DNA ANALYSIS” are stamped across the front in bold red letters.
“What the hell are you doing?” Connor had demanded, his voice echoing in the study.
I hadn’t bothered lying. “Testing a theory,” I’d said, fingers coated in gray ash as I sifted through the remains. “I don’t think he’s dead.”
Rory had looked horrified. “Jesus Christ, Declan. That’s... that’s your father.”
“Is it?” I’d challenged, holding up a pinch of the ashes. “Because I’m not convinced.”
They thought I was paranoid, of course, Grief-stricken, and suspicious to the point of desecration. But I knew Tomas—knew his games, his manipulations. Faking his death wouldn’t even make my top ten list of his most outrageous deceptions.
Now the truth sits before me in sealed laboratory results.
I take a long sip of Scotch, savoring the burn. Part of me doesn’t want to know. If I’m right—if these aren’t Tomas’s ashes—it means he’s still out there somewhere, watching us dance to his tune. If I’m wrong... then I’ve violated his remains for nothing.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, grabbing the letter opener from my desk drawer. With one quick movement, I slice through the envelope and pull out the crisp pages inside.
My eyes scan the document, medical terminology blurring until I conclude:
“DNA analysis confirms the submitted sample matches reference sample ‘MacGallan, Tomas’ with 99.97% probability.”
I read it three times to be sure. The ashes are his. Tomas MacGallan, my father, is truly dead.
I should feel vindicated, or at least relieved to have an answer.
Instead, a hollow feeling spreads through my chest. For weeks, I’ve clung to this conspiracy theory, convinced he was orchestrating events from the shadows.
The truth is more mundane: he’s gone, and we’re left to make sense of the mess he created.
My phone buzzes with a text from Kane: “Tree is up. Lodge looks like Christmas threw up everywhere. When are you coming back?”
I smile despite myself, picturing Kane surrounded by tinsel and blinking lights, pretending to hate every minute while secretly enjoying having a family to celebrate with.
I text back: “Soon. Wrapping things up here. How’s Ella?”
His response comes quickly: “Good. Jumpy. Something spooked her at the tree lighting. Staying at the lodge with Nora.”
That catches my attention. Ella doesn’t spook easily, not after everything she’s been through. I make a mental note to ask more when I return.
I gather the DNA report and slide it into my desk drawer, locking it with a key. No need for the others to know I went this far. Let them believe I accepted Tomas’s death without question.
Standing at the window, I look out over the estate grounds, snow-covered and peaceful in the moonlight. So different from the mountains of Alberta, yet both places bear Tomas’s imprint—properties acquired, fortified, and filled with secrets.
The irony doesn’t escape me. I spent years trying to prove myself to a man who never intended to acknowledge me as his heir, and now that he’s gone, I’ve inherited not just his business empire but his scattered children. A family cobbled together from his various affairs and deceptions.
My phone buzzes again. Kane: “Nora asks when Uncle Declan is coming back. Says you promised to teach her chess.”
I smile, feeling the weight on my shoulders lighten somewhat. “Tell her three days. And to practice her opening moves.”
I drain my glass and set it down with finality. Tomas is dead. The DNA proves it. Whatever game we’re playing now, it’s ours—not his. And the stakes are higher than any corporate takeover or business merger. We’re building something he never valued: a family.
Time to focus on the living, not the dead.
I pick up the folder containing the estate paperwork that Connor and I have been sorting through. Tomas left properties scattered across four continents, some under shell companies, others through proxies. Untangling the web has been a full-time job.
One document catches my eye—the deed to a small cabin in northern Quebec. Nothing special about it on the surface, but the purchase date stands out: just three months before Tomas’s death. Why acquire a remote property when he was supposedly battling cancer? It doesn’t fit.
I set it aside to investigate later. Maybe my suspicions aren’t entirely unfounded after all. Even with the DNA confirmation, there are too many loose ends, too many coincidences.
My phone rings, startling me from my thoughts. The caller ID shows an unfamiliar number with a Russian country code.
I hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen. It’s nearly 3 AM—no legitimate business call comes at this hour, especially not from Russia. Yet something compels me to answer.
“MacGallan,” I say, my voice deliberately neutral.
Silence greets me, then a soft exhale. The connection is poor, with a faint crackle of static.
“Who is this?” I demand, unease crawling up my spine.
“A friend,” comes the reply, the voice male, heavily accented. “A friend who knows the truth about your sister.”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Which sister would that be?”
A low chuckle. “The one hiding in the mountains with Tomas’s granddaughter. The one who thinks she’s safe.”
Ice floods my veins. “What do you want?”
“To warn you,” the voice continues. “She is not what she seems. Ask her about St. Petersburg. Ask her what really happened the night she ran.”
The line goes dead before I can respond.
I stand frozen, phone still pressed to my ear, mind racing through implications. Ella’s paranoia suddenly seems less irrational. If someone from her past has found her—found all of us—the danger could be very real.
I dial Kane immediately, cursing when it goes straight to voicemail. Reception at the ranch is spotty at best, nonexistent at worst. I fire off a text instead: “Call ASAP. Important.”
Next, I call Connor, not caring that it’s the middle of the night. He answers on the fourth ring, voice thick with sleep.
“Wha—? Declan? It’s three in the morning.”
“Pack your bags,” I tell him, already moving to my own room to do the same. “We’re leaving for Alberta first thing. Something’s wrong.”
“What happened?” He sounds fully awake now, alert.
“I just got a call. Someone knows about Ella and Nora, knows where they are.” I grab my suitcase from the closet and throw in clothes without bothering to fold them. “I think they’re in danger.”
“Jesus,” Connor breathes. “I’ll wake Rory. We can be ready in twenty.”
“Good. I’ll book the jet.” I hang up and immediately dial our pilot, offering a substantial bonus for an immediate departure.
As I pack, I can’t help but think about the DNA results sitting in my desk drawer. Tomas may truly be dead, but his secrets are very much alive—and threatening everything we’ve only just begun to build.
Whatever Ella is running from, whatever happened in St. Petersburg, she’s not facing it alone anymore. The MacGallans may be a dysfunctional, fractured family, but we protect our own.
Even if we’re still learning what that means.