From Damnation to Dominance: Revenge of the Abused Heir

9. Disrespect

The aura felt in the room was unmatched, everybody stared at the young man in displeased awe. It was unnerving, and for people who thrived on drama and manipulation, it was utterly infuriating.

“Can you imagine an ex-convict? Talking to the Potter family like that? Such a disrespect!” 

“A murderer being so bold! What a nonchalant fellow.” 

“He is a boy from the countryside, what do you expect from him? Always worthless!” 

“He might affect the status of the Potter family in the country if they aren't careful!

A member from the Potter family is a murderer and an ex-convict!” 

Whispers could be heard across the room, as everyone turned to gossip about the incident. 

Tobias’s face flushed red in embarrassment, he never expected today would turn like this. He had totally forgotten about Victor, and didn't care about his release. 

If not he would have done something to delay his return, and not ruin today's celebration. 

Quickly, he took a heavy step forward, his finger jabbing in Victor’s direction.

“Stop right there!” He yelled, his tone hinted with rage. 

Victor, after taking three steps, stopped and turned his gaze to his father. 

“You see?” he boomed, his voice echoing in the hushed room. “This is what I mean! Three years in that… that place, and you come back with even less respect than you left with! What did they teach you in there, boy? How to be even more of an ungrateful wretch? Where are your manners?”

He continued, “You should be glad will welcome you back to the family after such disgrace and humiliation! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?” 

The question was meant to shame him, to put him back in his place, to make the Potter family seem right in the onlookers’ eyes. 

Victor didn’t flinch. He didn’t even raise his voice. He simply turned his head, his gaze sweeping over Tobias.

“What did I learn?” Victor repeated, his tone flat,“It’s a fair question though. And anyone who had bothered to visit me, even once, in the last three years would know the answer. Isn't that right?”

The effect was instantaneous. It was as if he had thrown a switch that drained all the sound and color from the room. The accusation was not loud, but it was absolute. It wasn’t an emotional plea; it was a simple statement of fact, and its truth was a spotlight swung directly onto their collective guilt.

Tobias’s bluster vanished, his mouth snapping shut. He looked away, suddenly finding a spot on the Persian rug fascinating. Catherine’s lips, previously pressed into a thin line of disapproval, now twitched with a flicker of unease. She smoothed her already-perfect dress, a nervous, pointless gesture.

But it was Sandra who broke under the weight of it. The tears she had been fighting now spilled over, tracing silent paths through her makeup. She took a stumbling step forward, her hands fluttering helplessly.

“Victor, please,” she whispered, her voice thick with genuine remorse. “You have to believe me, I wanted to. I thought about it every single day. But every time I made plans… something would happen with Frank.”

She glanced at Frank, who immediately adopted a pained, vulnerable expression, lowering his eyes as if burdened by a great sorrow.

“He… he felt so guilty about what happened to you,” Sandra continued, her words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “He developed psychological issues. His therapist said it was a profound survivor’s guilt. The mere mention of your name, the thought of you in that place because of him, it would trigger a complete breakdown. Someone had to stay with him, to calm him down. To protect him. We all had to.”

She gestured weakly to Tobias and Catherine, who nodded in solemn, grim agreement. It was a perfect, pathetic tapestry of excuses, woven from threads of Frank’s manipulation and their own willful neglect. 

They had chosen to protect the fragile golden child from the consequences of his own actions, and in doing so, had abandoned the son and brother they had condemned.

Victor listened to the entire explanation and scoffed inwardly. When Sandra finished, her body trembling with the force of her sobs, he simply looked at her with no iota of emotion.

“I see,” he said, the two words devoid of any meaning. 

He glanced at Frank, and saw his triumphant smile crept up on his face. Victor commended hom for putting on an act. 

He then turned his back on them all and started walking toward the grand staircase that led to the upper floors.

The spell of his presence broken, the family scrambled after him, a confused and agitated entourage. He moved with a purpose they didn’t understand, his footsteps silent on the plush runner. He pushed the door open.

The space that greeted him was unrecognizable. The simple bed where he’d slept was gone. The small desk where he’d tried to do his homework was gone. The faint scent of his grandmother’s lavender, which he’d kept in a sachet, was long gone. 

In its place was a garish, state-of-the-art game room. A massive neon-lit racing simulator sat where his bed had been. A foosball table occupied the center of the room. Shelves lined with action figures and collectibles stood against the wall where a single photograph of his mother had once hung.

There was an awkward shuffle behind him.

“Well,” Catherine said, her voice tight, breaking the silence. “It’s not as if you were living here anyway. We thought it was a waste of space. Frank gets so much use out of it now.”

Frank managed to look both sheepish and smug. “Yeah, brother. Since you're not living here anymore, I decided to turn it into a game room!”

Victor didn’t look at the room for more than a few seconds. He had known, on some level, that this would be the case. 

Victor's expression changed drastically, and glanced at them. “My documents,” he stated coldly. “My birth certificate. My belongings! My passport, where are they?”

A fresh wave of awkwardness passed between Tobias, Catherine, and Frank. They looked at each other, a silent conversation of shared negligence.

Catherine cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing with a faint pink of irritation. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Mrs. Henderson!” she called out, her voice sharp.

The elderly housekeeper, who had been hovering at the periphery of the family drama, hurried over, wringing her hands on her apron.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“The bumpkin’s things,” Catherine said, gesturing vaguely at Victor. “The boxes from his room. Where did they go?”

Mrs. Henderson’s eyes darted nervously from Catherine to Victor and back again. She lowered her voice, but in the quiet hallway, everyone heard her. “Well, ma’am, as per your standing orders… anything left behind by… well, by him… was to be cleared out. We… We put it all down in the basement. I did warn that some of it might be important, but—”

“The basement is fine,” Victor interrupted, his voice cutting off her flustered explanation. He didn’t wait for further direction. He turned and walked back towards the main staircase, this time heading for the door that led down to the sub-level.

The basement of the Potter mansion was everything the upstairs was not. It was unfinished, cold, and smelled of damp concrete and dust. A single, bare bulb hung from a wire, casting a weak, jaundiced light. 

A broken treadmill, old holiday decorations, stacks of yellowed newspapers, and, shoved into a far corner under a grimy, cobweb-festooned window, were three cardboard boxes.

The boxes were slumped and damp at the edges, the writing on the side faded. They looked like forgotten graves.

Looking at the state of his belongings, Victor's eyes clouded in rage. He clenched his fists furiously as he tried suppressing his anger. 

“It's just a matter of time! Every member of the Potter family, and I won't spare anyone when the time comes.” Victor said to himself.