From Damnation to Dominance: Revenge of the Abused Heir

4. Grandfather Morales

The name pierced through Victor’s pain-fogged mind. His mother’s name. Elisa Morales.

The three inmates were shocked to see the brutal warden got chickened, crying like a day old baby. 

Instantly, they got panic-stricken. Their smug faces was replaced by dread. 

The old man, John Morales, ignored the groveling warden. He strode into the cell, his expensive shoes stepping without hesitation in the space the terrified inmates had hastily cleared. He knelt beside Victor, his movements surprisingly fluid and strong for his age.

“Victor?” he said, his voice now soft, layered with a pain that was decades deep. He gently brushed the matted hair from Victor’s forehead. 

“Victor, can you hear me?”

The kindness in that voice, the first genuine kindness he had encountered since his grandmother’s death, was a dam breaking inside him. 

The hatred, the pain, the years of loneliness and the fresh, searing betrayal—it all surged to the surface. 

Victor adjusted himself on the floor and looked up to the man, then demanded. 

“Who are you? Why are you helping me, sir?”

“I'm your grandfather! Your mother, Elisa Morales, was my beloved daughter. I'm happy to finally see you! 

It took me several years to find you! Your mother being the heiress fo the Morales family, got an accident which led to her brain damaged. 

Elisa was suffering from amnesia. She never recognized any of the family members, and that was terrifying. 

She escaped from the hospital, and never since then we've been looking for her. 

We got to understand she got married to Tobias Potter some years after her death. We discovered she bore him a son, and then, the Morales family began to make some research about you. 

Upon this, I got to know how you struggled to live, how they make your life very miserable. 

They treated like garbage, and I promise you now, whatever pain you passed through in the hands of the Potter family shall be reciprocated in tens folds.” 

John Morales’ voice echoed through the cell with authority, his fists were clenched angrily. 

A ragged, broken sob escaped Victor’s lips. Tears, hot and shameful, mixed with the blood on his face. 

He was no longer the defiant young man or the hardened victim they portrayed him to be; he was just a broken boy, weeping in his grandfather’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Victor choked out, the words barely intelligible. “I’m so sorry for your daughter's death…”

“Hush, child,” John murmured, his voice firm yet gentle. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I am the one who is sorry. Sorry it took me so long to find you. 

Getting to meet you is all I have ever hoped for! You're my son, the sole heir to the Morales family.”

He helped Victor to his feet, supporting his weight with an arm that felt as strong as iron. As Victor leaned against him, clutching his grandfather’s suit jacket like a lifeline, he felt a shift in the very foundation of his world. 

Today, he disowned the Potters family, and stripped down the last name while he picked that fo the Morales'. 

Now, he bears the name, Victor Morales. 

John’s gaze then turned from Victor to the three inmates who were now pressed against the far wall, trembling. The tenderness in his face vanished, replaced by an expression of such glacial coldness that the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

“If you really want to keep your job and need my forgiveness. These… creatures,” John said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper meant only for the Warden, though it carried in the dead silence. “They dared to lay hands on the sole heir of the Morales family?”

The Warden, still on his knees, could only nod mutely.

The inmates began to babble, their bravado completely shattered. “We didn’t know! Please, sir, we were just paid! We didn’t know who he was!”

John Morales looked at them as if they were insects scuttling across his path. He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. His words were a pronouncement of fate, delivered with the calm certainty of a king.

“Those who dare to offend the heir of the Morales family,” he stated, his eyes sweeping over each of them, sealing their doom, “must die.”

The finality in that single, cold syllable—die—hung in the air. It wasn’t a threat; it was a statement of fact. The three men collapsed into pleas and sobs, but they were already ghosts. Guards materialized and dragged them away, their cries fading down the corridor.

John turned his attention back to Victor, his expression softening once more. “Come, Victor. I am taking you away from this place. Away from the Potters. Your mother… my Elisa… she would never have wanted this for you. It is time you came home. It is time you learned who you truly are.”

Supported by his grandfather, Victor Potter took his first step out of the cell. But with that step, Victor Potter began to recede, and in his place, a new man was being born—Victor Morales. 

A man with a legacy, with power, and with a burning, singular purpose forged in the fires of betrayal and baptized in the blood of a prison cell.

Revenge was no longer a desperate fantasy. It had just become his inheritance.