The Almighty Convict's Revenge

05

Without skipping a beat, Celeste Vale spun on her designer heels and practically sprinted toward the dusty storage room at the back of the sprawling house. Moments later, she emerged triumphantly clutching the worn, rolled-up parchment that Curry had presented just a short while ago. Neither she nor her husband had believed for a single second that a newly released convict could afford a genuine historical masterpiece. To them, it was undeniably a worthless forgery, which was exactly why it had been unceremoniously tossed into the dark junk room the moment he had handed it over.

Holding both scrolls in her hands, she unfurled them side by side on the massive mahogany coffee table.

Looking down at the two pieces of art, Callum let out a harsh, utterly dismissive laugh. He crossed his arms over his expensive tailored suit, his chin raised in pure arrogance.

"Well, the situation is incredibly obvious now," Callum declared, his voice dripping with condescension. "There are two paintings claiming to be the exact same piece. Therefore, one of them must absolutely be genuine, and the other is undoubtedly a pathetic fake."

He slowly turned his gaze toward Curry, the mockery in his eyes intensifying into a vicious glare. "Would you not agree with that logic?"

Curry did not even bother to look up. Instead, he calmly reached into his worn pocket, pulled out a crumpled pack of cheap, generic cigarettes, and placed one between his lips. A sharp flick of his lighter illuminated his unbothered face as he took a slow, deep drag, choosing to remain entirely silent. Deep down, he knew the absolute truth. There was not a single chance in hell that Nicolas Kalyn would ever dare to gift him a counterfeit painting. Unless that billionaire genuinely had a death wish and wanted his life to end abruptly, the artwork in Curry's bag was the real deal.

"Yes, exactly! Just look at them. Anyone with half a brain can instantly tell that little Callum's gift is the authentic treasure," Celeste chimed in eagerly, her voice shrill with excitement.

She aggressively pointed at the two unrolled canvases, acting as a self-appointed art critic. "Just look at the garbage Curry brought in! The brushwork is incredibly sloppy and rough, and the ink colors are terribly faded. They are not even remotely on the same level!"

To the untrained eye, her assessment seemed somewhat logical. The painting Curry had brought possessed a muted, understated elegance with seemingly coarse strokes, a hallmark of aged antiquity. In stark contrast, the piece Callum had presented was vibrant, with incredibly meticulous detailing and thick, rich ink that practically popped off the paper. Anyone relying solely on surface-level visual appeal would instinctively assume the brighter, newer-looking piece was the priceless artifact.

Sitting quietly on the nearby sofa, Belmont Turner continuously puffed on his own cigarette. He kept his mouth tightly shut, observing the chaotic scene. As a seasoned veteran in the antique world, his mind was already calculating the probabilities, and he had a fairly accurate suspicion of how this would play out.

"You miserable convict, are you really not ashamed of your own hypocrisy?" Callum continued his relentless verbal assault, stepping closer to project his dominance. "You went to prison to be reformed. Now that you are out, you should be keeping your head down, working a grueling, honest job to scrape by. What is the point of bringing these flashy, deceitful, and utterly worthless parlor tricks into a respectable home? I am honestly feeling deeply embarrassed just looking at you."

Curry casually exhaled, sending a thick, swirling ring of gray smoke into the air. He finally met the wealthy heir's gaze with chilling apathy. "What is real cannot be fake, and what is fake can never become real."

"What did you just say?" Callum barked, his face flushing with sudden, explosive anger. "Let me educate you on reality, you street rat. I personally spent fifty million dollars acquiring this masterpiece! Do you possess even the slightest comprehension of what fifty million dollars looks like? You could work yourself to death for ten consecutive lifetimes and still never afford the frame it sits in!"

He aggressively jabbed a finger in the young man's direction. "I strongly advise you to sign the divorce papers and leave Mika immediately. If you cooperate, I will graciously arrange a janitorial position for you at one of my corporate branch offices. At the very least, it will save you from rotting on the streets as a homeless vagrant!"

Curry slowly swept his cold, dark eyes over the furious man. After a brief, heavy silence, two simple words slipped from his lips.

"Absolute moron."

"You little bastard named Pitt, do not reject kindness when it is handed to you!" Before Callum could even register the insult, Celeste erupted in a fit of hysterical rage. "You are already a heavily stained, ruined human being! Little Callum is only offering to take you in out of the sheer goodness of his heart and his lingering respect for Mika. Otherwise, do you honestly believe a creature like you deserves to scrub the toilets in his building?!"

She was desperate to ruthlessly defend the wealthy heir. In her calculating mind, she absolutely had to secure Callum's favor immediately. Once he successfully married Mika, their entire family's status in Bayhaven City would experience an astronomical, unprecedented leap. With such a powerful, wealthy alliance, nobody in their extended family would ever dare to look down on them again.

"Forget it, Auntie, please let it go," Callum suddenly interjected, waving his hand as he forced his features to relax into a mask of magnanimous composure. He understood deeply that engaging in a screaming match with a lowly convict beneath Belmont Turner's roof was beneath him and would only damage his refined, educated image. Besides, Curry was nothing more than a powerless, penniless ex-convict who had just crawled out of a cell. The Domingo family had a thousand different, silent methods to absolutely destroy a man like that once he stepped outside these walls.

"There is truly no need to waste our precious energy getting angry over him," Callum smiled smoothly, adjusting his expensive cuffs. "I actually have some pressing corporate matters to attend to this afternoon, so I must take my leave. I will come back to visit you properly another day."

He then reached into his sleek leather bag and pulled out a beautifully embossed, gold-plated card, sliding it gently across the glass table. "Since I arrived in such a rush today, I did not have the time to pick out a proper gift for you, Auntie. This is an exclusive, supreme VIP membership card for the Floral Kiss beauty spa. I have already loaded one million dollars onto the account for you to enjoy."

"Oh, marvelous, simply marvelous! Thank you so much, my dear little Callum!" Celeste shrieked with absolute delight, her greedy hands snatching the gold card with lightning speed. Her ecstatic smile was so incredibly wide it threatened to split her face in half.

"I will be taking my leave now." Callum turned sharply, taking a deliberate step toward the sofa where the young man was sitting. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a terrifying, icy whisper meant only for him. "Listen to me very carefully, convict. I strongly advise you not to play games with me. Otherwise, I will make sure you disappear from this world without ever knowing how it happened."

Having delivered his venomous threat, Callum straightened his posture and marched out of the grand villa with long, confident strides. Celeste practically tripped over her own feet as she rushed closely behind to obediently escort him out.

Left behind in the living room, Belmont's expression turned incredibly awkward and heavy. He looked at his new son-in-law with deep, genuine apology. "Curry, please do not take her harsh words to heart. Your Auntie has always had this terrible, explosive temperament. But you have my absolute guarantee: as long as I am still breathing, absolutely no one will ever force you and Mika apart."

He sighed, rubbing his tired temples. "Mika has been quite spoiled since she was a little girl. I truly hope you can be patient and bear with her temper. Deep down, she really is a good person."

Curry gave a slight, unbothered nod, maintaining his calm demeanor. "It is fine. I am not offended."

"However, Curry, we do need to be realistic. You genuinely need to find a stable job to support yourself," Belmont advised gently, taking on a fatherly tone. "How about this? You can come work at Mika's company. I will sit down and have a serious talk with her tonight. I will make her arrange a suitable entry-level position for you. It completely does not matter if you have no prior experience; you can slowly learn the ropes step by step."

"Thank you, but there is no need. I already have a company to go to," Curry replied plainly. He initially considered mentioning the staggering five-million-dollar executive salary package Nicolas Kalyn had just offered him. However, realizing how utterly absurd it would sound to Belmont, he decided it was better to save his breath and avoid sounding like a bragging lunatic.

Belmont simply nodded, choosing not to press the issue further, assuming the young man was just trying to protect his fragile pride.

"Belmont, you are far too unauthentic as a friend! We explicitly agreed you were going to pick me up today!"

Suddenly, the heavy front doors swung open again. A well-dressed, distinguished older man walked into the foyer alongside Celeste, shooting Belmont a deeply reproachful glare.

Realizing his massive oversight, Belmont slapped his forehead hard and hurriedly stood up with an incredibly apologetic smile. "Oh my goodness, Alfred! I am so incredibly sorry, I was completely overwhelmed today and it slipped my mind. Please, come in and take a seat immediately!"

"And who might this young man be?" Alfred Parsons asked politely, his sharp eyes landing on the unfamiliar figure sitting on the sofa.

"Allow me to introduce you," Belmont said, gesturing warmly. "This is my son-in-law, Curry. And Curry, this is Alfred Parsons. He is one of the most widely respected and famous antique authentication experts in all of Bayhaven City."

"You flatter me far too much, I merely know a little bit more than the average person," Alfred chuckled humbly, waving his hands in a modest gesture.

As he walked closer to the seating area, his expert gaze naturally fell upon the large mahogany table. His eyes instantly locked onto the two unrolled scrolls. "Oh my, is this The Aurola Portrait?"

Hearing the expert point out the paintings, Belmont's weathered face instantly flushed a deep, embarrassed shade of red. He panicked, lunging forward to desperately grab the painting Curry had brought, attempting to quickly hide it behind his back. In the high-society circles of antique collectors, there was a strict, unspoken rule: they would laugh at a fake, but they would never laugh at something simply being cheap. If rumors spread through the city that the Turner family was proudly displaying a pathetic forgery in their living room, he would completely lose all face among his peers.

"This is a rather splendid piece," Alfred murmured, carefully picking up the vibrant painting that Callum had confidently presented. He retrieved a specialized jeweler's loupe from his breast pocket and scrutinized the canvas in agonizing silence.

After several tense minutes, he slowly lowered the magnifying glass and sighed softly. "It is a massive pity. This piece is completely fake."

Standing by the tea tray, Celeste's hand jerked violently. The delicate ceramic teapot nearly slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor. She abandoned the tea entirely and practically sprinted over to the table, staring at the artwork in pure disbelief.

"Brother Alfred, you must be joking, right?" she gasped, her voice trembling with rising panic. "How on earth could this possibly be a fake? Just look at how incredibly detailed and magnificent the brushwork is!"

"Sister-in-law, determining the absolute authenticity of a historical painting requires examining multiple, hidden layers of evidence," Alfred explained patiently, a gentle, knowing smile on his face. "While this piece looks incredibly convincing at a mere passing glance, a meticulous inspection reveals fatal flaws. The specific composition of the ink materials used, and the clumsy handling of the microscopic details, show a massive, undeniable gap when compared to the genuine artifact."

Celeste curled her lips downward, a wave of profound, crushing disappointment washing over her. "Alright then."

Frustrated and embarrassed, she aggressively marched over to her husband and snatched the other rolled-up canvas straight from his hands. "Give me this garbage painting too. Stop humiliating our family! If the fifty-million-dollar piece is fake, how could this trash possibly be real? Just looking at it makes my blood boil. I am throwing them both out!"

Belmont's face burned with intense shame as he reluctantly allowed his furious wife to yank the scroll away from him.

"Wait a moment!"

Alfred's voice suddenly cracked like a whip through the tense room. His eyes were completely wide, practically glowing with an intense, unhinged fervor as he stared directly at the faded parchment in Celeste's aggressive grip.

"What is wrong now, Brother Alfred? You genuinely startled me," Celeste complained loudly, clutching her chest.

Ignoring her entirely, Alfred moved with shocking, uncharacteristic speed. He practically tackled the space between them, forcefully snatching the worn scroll right out of her hands as if he were rescuing a dying infant. He laid it flat on the table, his hands physically shaking as he hovered over it. He rubbed his eyes furiously, refusing to believe his own vision as absolute, pure shock paralyzed his facial features.

"I am not mistaken... it is absolutely impossible for me to be mistaken!" he muttered frantically, his voice rising in pitch.

He looked up, his face pale with overwhelming adrenaline. "This is the authentic, undeniably genuine original of The Aurola Portrait!"

"What?!"

"Brother Alfred, you absolutely must be mistaken!" Celeste shrieked in total denial, her eyes wide with horror. "How could this piece of junk possibly be the real thing?!"

In that exact moment, she desperately, violently wished that the painting Curry had brought was the worthless fake, and that Callum's extravagant gift was the genuine treasure. If that were the reality, she could have used the humiliation to finally force this miserable convict out of their home for good.

"Exactly one year ago, I had the ultimate privilege of witnessing the genuine Aurola Portrait with my own two eyes at an exclusive exhibition!" Alfred practically yelled, ignoring her panic entirely as he cradled the artwork like a holy relic. "It was later auctioned off to an anonymous buyer for a staggering thirty million dollars! I deeply hated my own empty pockets that day. If I had possessed the funds, I would have smashed my own iron pots and sold my own blood just to acquire it!"