THIRD PERSON POV
Killganon Estate – Manhattan, New York
Alec Killganon's pulse thundered so violently he could hear it in his ears. The remote trembled in his hand as he muted the television, though the image of Killian smirking at the podium remained burned into the screen.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Jennifer asked carefully from across the table. Her tone was sharp, but her eyes betrayed unease. "Alec… what the hell is going on?"
Alec didn't answer. He tried to swallow and found his throat bone-dry. His son—no, that bastard—had just declared open war on the family name. On national television.
And then Alec's phone rang.
The sound made Jennifer flinch. It was the old tone, the one Alec never changed, reserved for only one number. A number no one ignored.
Alec stared at the caller ID: "FATHER."
A chill slid down his spine. He accepted the call on speaker, his thumb damp against the screen.
"Alec." The voice on the other end was deep, aged, but razor-sharp. Elias Killganon never raised his voice. He didn't need to.
"Father—" Alec began, but Elias cut him off instantly.
"Turn the television back on. Now."
Jennifer quickly unmuted the broadcast. The replay of Killian's press conference was already running. Elias listened in silence. Even over the phone, his presence filled the room like a vice tightening around Alec's skull.
When the segment ended, there was a long, cold pause.
"Explain," Elias said at last. Not a request. A demand.
Alec's lips parted, racking his patheticbrain for excuses. "He—he's just trying to make noise, Father. The boy's always been unstable. I—"
"You assured me," Elias said softly, but the softness was deadlier than a shout. "You assured me this problem was handled. You told me he was out of the will, out of the records, out of our lives."
"He is! I—" Alec stammered. "This is… just theater. Empty threats."
"Empty threats?" Elias repeated, as though testing the phrase for poison. "He just bought a tower in Manhattan under the Blackwell name. Do you know what that means?"
Alec faltered. He didn't. Not really.
"It means," Elias continued, "that while you were busy celebrating your, what was it, oh right! Yes, your 'performance in bed', your bastard son is now the patriarch one of the oldest families in America, and has now fully positioned himself in our market. You've let a spark land in our powder room."
Alec's mouth went dry. "Father, I—"
"You will come to the estate," Elias ordered. "Right now. Alone. And bring every document, every contract, every record pertaining to Killian. And Trisha."
Jennifer glanced between them, but Alec dared not meet her eyes. Elias continued, voice calm but iron-willed:
"And Alec… pray that this can still be contained. If not, your place in this family will be reevaluated. Do you understand me?"
Alec swallowed hard. "Y-yes, Father."
The line went dead. Elias never wasted time saying goodbye.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the television and Jennifer's shallow breathing.
Kayla, Ryan, Kylie, Jack, Kaylee, Connor, and Laila, exchanged nervous glances. They'd never seen their father rattled—not like this.
Alec rose, chair legs scraping against polished marble. His composure cracked just enough to show sweat beading at his temple.
"Cancel lunch," he muttered to Jennifer, snatching his keys and the leather folder from his briefcase. "Tell the boys to stay home. I have to see Father."
"About Killian?" she pressed, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
Alec didn't answer. The front door closed with a muted slam, leaving the room heavy and tense.
Killganon Ancestral Estate – Upper Manhattan
By the time Alec's black Mercedes rolled up the long, tree-lined drive, the autumn sky had darkened to the color of lead.
The Killganon ancestral home loomed over him like a fortress, all stone and shadow, its windows glowing faintly in the afternoon gloom.
Inside, Elias Killganon waited in the library, a cavernous room lined with mahogany shelves and oil portraits of Killganon men who never smiled, and gazed at them, as if comparing his unsmiling face to theirs.
Elias was seated by the fire, cane resting against his chair, a half-drunk glass of brandy in his hand.
Though age had stooped his frame, his presence was undiminished. He didn't look up when Alec entered.
"Close the door."
The heavy oak door sealed shut, muting the outside world. Alec felt as though he'd just stepped into a courtroom where his life was on trial.
Elias finally turned his gaze toward his son. Sharp. Measured. Predatory.
"Sit," he said. "And tell me exactly how you intend to fix this mess."
To Alec's hypersensitive senses due to extreme stress and his turbulent emotional state, the library, which smelled faintly of old paper, leather, and the smoke from Elias Killganon's cigar, was nauseating.
The crackle of the fire was the only sound as Alec sat opposite his father, leather folder clutched like a shield.
Elias leaned forward slightly in his high-backed chair, cane across his knees, cold eyes fixed on his son.
"Speak."
Alec cleared his throat. "Father, this… this isn't what it looks like. Killian's making noise to get attention. He's still just a kid with no discipline and no backing. I cut him out of everything, just as you ordered—"
"You call that cutting him out?" Elias's voice was low, but it carried more weight than a shout. "He's standing in front of cameras with the Blackwell name carved into steel behind him. Do you even know what the Blackwells represent? No. How could you? Your performance in bed is your priority."
Alec flinches at that.
"I—he must have—"
"Power. Old power. The kind that moves silently while fools like you celebrate your 'bedroomprowess' not even realizing your own wife's infedelity." Elias stood slowly, using the cane for balance.
"Do you think I built this empire by letting personal grudges cloud my judgment? Speak less of women?"
Alec's knuckles whitened on the folder. "Father, I'll handle this—"
"No." Elias's tone snapped like glass. "You had your chance. You've failed me for the last time."
The library door opened, and four people stepped inside: Bennett Killganon, Alec's older brother, crisp in a navy suit his signature smirk in place; Victoria Killganon, their sharp-tongued sister; Jillian, looking bored, but secretly observing everything in a matter of seconds; and Marcus, the youngest of the siblings, quiet and also watchful.
Alec turned in his chair, startled. "What—why are they—"
"I called them," Elias interrupted. "This concerns the entire family. Now let's chat, shall we?"