Declan sets his glass down on the side table, the clink of crystal against wood the only sound in the room.
"You fucking joking?" he says and stands. "You're saying he locked the entire family inside their house and set it on fire."
"I'm serious," I say.
"No." He laughs, short and sharp. "No way. No way. That shit sounds crazy, man."
I look at Keira, who sits perfectly still, one hand braced on her knee. She bites her lower lip, a habit she has when she’s trying to stay logical through emotional chaos.
"It would explain it, I guess," she says. "But do we really think our grandfather was capable of that? I mean, him or Dad never said anything about it."
I push off the desk and cross my arms. "Maybe because they didn't want us to know."
"Or maybe because it's bullshit," Declan says.
"It's not." A voice comes from the doorway.
We all turn to see our mother standing there, pale-faced, her hands clasped together in front of her.
"Your grandfather wasn't a hero," she continues and walks into the room. "He was a monster."
Keira stands. "Mom?—"
"No. I've carried this guilt my entire life," she says. "I thought if I prayed enough, if I was good enough, maybe God would forgive us. Forgive me for being part of this family."
Declan's expression shifts from disbelief to something sharper. "Wait. You knew about this?"
Our mother nods, and we all feel the stun.
"About what your grandfather did. He called it the sweep. He murdered so many people. Rival families and anyone who damn near questioned him. And when the news broke about the Donoghues, about the poor boy..." Her voice cracks. "I just?—"
"Wait, so Dad knew about this?" Declan's voice rises.
"Yes," she says, looking at him. "He helped your grandfather with the takeover. But it was your grandfather who burned the house."
Keira's hand flies to her mouth. "Oh my God."
“I knew this day would come,” our mother says, her voice trembling. “I knew eventually the truth would catch up with us. I’ve always..." She pauses and clears her throat. "I've always believed our family was cursed because of what he did.”
Declan looks lost. Actually lost. Like someone has stripped away the ground under his feet and told him it was never there to begin with.
It hits me then, with our own mother confirming it, we all built our identities on the belief that our family, our legacy, was one of honor.
And now?
Now the truth is a wildfire roaring through every memory we ever had.
“But how?” Declan says, sitting. “How the hell did Cormac survive if Grandpa torched the whole damn house?”
"I don't know," our mom says. "Neither your father nor I, no one actually, knew Cormac survived. There was never any mention. Your grandfather got records, proof of everyone's death afterthe fire. I don't know how that boy could have slipped through. I mean, he was ten or twelve. Kids don't just go missing." She looks up at me, her eyes red. "Are you sure it's even him?"
Keira, Declan, and I exchange a glance.
"We're sure, Mom," I say.
Then Keira turns to me. "But, Cal, how did you know all this?"
Fuck.
