54. A good father?

### **The Heated Confrontation – Extended Version**

Inside the grand study of the Hamilton estate, **Marshall Everett Hamilton** sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his expression dark with fury. The air was thick with tension, the soft ticking of the antique grandfather clock the only sound breaking the silence. Dim lighting from the chandelier cast long shadows across the bookshelves lined with leather-bound tomes, their presence adding to the oppressive weight in the room.

The heavy double doors swung open, and **Victor Hamilton** stepped in. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit, his sharp, calculated demeanor momentarily flickering with confusion. **Marshall rarely summoned him like this.**

"You called for me, Father?" Victor's tone was calm, measured, though there was an underlying wariness in his gaze.

Marshall's piercing eyes locked onto him, **burning with anger.** His grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles white.

"Shut the door," Marshall ordered, his voice dangerously low.

Victor hesitated for a second before obeying, feeling a cold unease creeping up his spine. **His father rarely lost his temper—when he did, it was never without reason.**

A tense silence followed.

"You mind telling me," Marshall began, his voice deceptively calm, "what the *hell* is going on with Logan?"

Victor's brows furrowed slightly. "Logan?" He scoffed, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. "I haven't been keeping tabs on that disgrace of a son."

Marshall's expression **darkened instantly.** He slammed his cane against the desk with a loud *THUD,* making Victor involuntarily flinch. The sound echoed through the study like a gunshot, sending a shiver through the air.

"Exactly my damn point, Victor!" Marshall snapped, his sharp gaze cutting into him like a blade. "You don't even know what your own son has been up to! Do you have *any* idea how much chaos he's caused?"

Victor frowned but remained composed. "He's been involved in… unsavory dealings, yes. But whatever he does with the underworld isn't my concern."

Marshall let out a bitter laugh. "Not your concern?!" He leaned forward, eyes blazing. "Then let me enlighten you. **There's been a surge of black-market dealings, underground movements, and power struggles in this city—do you think that's all just a coincidence?**"

Victor's face remained passive, but his mind raced. He *had* heard whispers of criminal syndicates growing more active lately, but he never once thought of **Logan** being connected to it all.

Seeing Victor's hesitation, Marshall exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Logan Hamilton has been making waves in the criminal underworld, Victor. **Big ones.**" He leveled a glare at his son. "And yet, you, his *father,* had no damn clue."

Victor's jaw tightened. "Because I *chose* to stay uninvolved. Logan made his choice years ago—he stepped into that world, and I refused to acknowledge it. Why should I care what happens to him?"

Marshall's hands clenched into fists. "Because whether you like it or not, **he is still a Hamilton.** And the actions of a Hamilton, *no matter how far they stray,* affect the rest of us!"

Victor remained silent, but something inside him twisted uncomfortably.

Marshall studied Victor's face and let out a long breath, his anger shifting into something colder. "Tell me something, Victor. When was the last time you even *thought* about Logan? Not as a liability. Not as a mistake. But as your *son*?"

Victor's expression stiffened. He opened his mouth, then closed it. When was the last time?

He had been so consumed by his corporate empire, his ambitions, his perfect family image that Logan had become nothing more than a distant shadow in his mind. A child he once had but long ago abandoned in his thoughts.

Marshall saw the flicker of hesitation in Victor's eyes and let out a dry chuckle. "That long, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, his voice filled with disappointment. "You may be a business genius, Victor. But not a good father."

The words were a direct hit, slicing through the carefully built armor Victor had wrapped himself in. His fingers twitched at his sides, but he willed himself to remain still, to keep his expression unreadable.

Marshall's gaze never wavered, sharp and unrelenting. The heavy silence between them was suffocating. The weight of unspoken words, of years of neglect, pressed down like an invisible force.

Victor exhaled, straightening his posture. "Logan chose his own path," he said coolly. "He turned his back on this family. I didn't push him away—he walked away himself."

Marshall let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's rich, coming from you. Tell me, Victor, when did he ever have a choice?"

Victor's jaw tightened. "What are you implying?"

Marshall leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, his expression a mix of frustration and disappointment. "You and I both know that **Logan was never given the same chances as Matthew or Emma.** You treated him like an outsider from the moment he showed defiance. And instead of guiding him, instead of trying to understand him, **you cast him aside like a stain on your perfect family.**"

Victor's fingers curled into fists, his breathing controlled but tight.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said evenly.

Marshall's eyes darkened. "Oh, don't I?" He scoffed. "Logan didn't just *happen* to fall into the underworld. You think a child wakes up one day and decides to become a ghost in his own family? No. **He was searching for a place to belong, and when you wouldn't give it to him, he found it elsewhere.**"

Victor inhaled deeply through his nose, controlling the irritation creeping up his spine. "Logan was reckless. Uncontrollable. He never wanted to listen—he refused to fit into the role of a Hamilton."

Marshall's gaze bore into him. "Or maybe he just refused to become *your* version of a Hamilton."

The words struck deeper than Victor wanted to admit. He clenched his jaw, his mind flashing back to the countless arguments he had with Logan when he was younger—the way his son's rebellious spirit clashed with his expectations, how he had dismissed Logan's frustrations as childish tantrums rather than cries for understanding.

Marshall continued, his tone softer but laced with something far heavier. "I've been watching you, Victor. **For years.** And I know how much you crave control—how you want things to fit neatly into the image you've built. But Logan? **He was never neat, never easy.** And instead of figuring out *why,* you let your pride push him further away."

Victor turned away slightly, his expression unreadable. But in his chest, something twisted.

For years, he had considered Logan a *problem,* a complication to be ignored rather than confronted. He had been so focused on ensuring Matthew and Emma followed the 'right' path that he had disregarded the one son who refused to fit the mold.

Marshall watched Victor's silence carefully before exhaling sharply. "I don't expect you to suddenly change overnight, Victor," he said, his voice weary. "But **you damn well better start paying attention.** Because Logan is no longer just some wayward child you can ignore. **He's making moves in the underworld—big ones. And if you don't start acknowledging him, you'll be blindsided when it's too late.**"

Victor finally turned back, his expression unreadable. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

Marshall leaned back in his chair, his gaze calculating. "That you find out what your son is up to—before it's too late."

Victor let out a slow breath, nodding once. "Fine," he said at last. "I'll look into it."

But as he left the room, an unfamiliar weight settled in his chest.

For the first time in years, **he couldn't push Logan out of his thoughts.**