Later that night, Lynda went to Eric to talk about something they had never witnessed before. It was about Bran being engrossed in drugs.

"Are you really not going to talk to him, at least?" She asked.

"I have no reason to worry about him. If he had brought up that behavior on you, then you would know what I am feeling right now." Eric replied, filled with rage.

"He would kill himself with all that."

"Well, good for him and us." He said this while staring at her. Those words hushed her. He continued, "And if you try to take his side and try to go against my will, then you know what happens, right?" He gripped his cane tighter, got up, and approached her. "Well, I still give you a choice. Either you stay with him, become like him, and spend the rest of the years of your life away from Matt, me, and whatever wealth you are holding right now, or you stay with me and stay like this." He left the room, leaving Lynda alone in there, sobbing. She didn't try to push it because she could foresee the consequences. It was true that Eric never loved Bran or even considered him his son. The recollections of that night never failed to bring chills to her, when the boys were younger and the married couple broke into an argument regarding kids. That night was more like a nightmare to her. She witnessed such wrath from her husband that even a prisoner could not expect it from a harsh cop. That was inhuman and left her with crimson marks on her skin. After that, she was holding onto time to make everything better, but time has no flesh and blood that could be trusted or controlled.

After Matt's birth, Sir Eric had made a number of investments in different ventures that he would eventually transfer to Matt, but he had done nothing for Bran. He did not even bring a single gaming console for him. He got hundreds for his younger son. That night, an argument over the same thing was brought up between husband and wife. She wanted him to at least set aside something for Bran, in his will, that could be useful in life. His expression contorted in rage as she was about to complete her plea. He then seized her by the arm and yanked her so hard that she staggered. With a venomous smack across her cheek, he lifted his fist and spit out words in a voice full of hate. Her cheek stung from the punch, sending her reeling. He wasn't finished, though.

His hands flying, he pushed her into the wall out of sheer rage. With a horrible thud, each blow caused bruises on her arms, back, and ribs. She let out a painful cry, begging him to stop, but all she did was make him angry. After yanking her hair, he hauled her to the ground and kicked her repeatedly, his steel-tipped boots continually making contact with her body. He threw a litany of curses at her, warning her to never let such a plea come out of her mouth. As she lay there, curled into herself, attempting to protect her body from the onslaught, his blows grew more vicious. The sounds of his groans, her sobbing, and the horrifying reverberation of his punches filled the room. When he eventually stopped, she was a shattered, shivering wreck on the ground, gasping for air due to the excruciating pain shooting through her entire body. He turned and left her to pick up the pieces of her broken spirit as he stood over her, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing with fury.

She could not imagine him in that same form again and herself going through onerous pain.

The Barrel family was having their dinner when Brandon demanded something at once. On those days, the atmosphere of that house was sober. Bran had not created any kind of nuisance for days. "I want money, a big amount."

Sir Eric looked at him from the corner of his eye and said at once, "You've already got your pocket money from yesterday."

"It's gone. Spent," he said. "I just need more!" he shouted.

Eric tried to swallow the anger bulging inside him with another gulp of wine. "Sorry, I can't." He remarked, his gaze riveted on his meal.

"I guess you're a millionaire, and now misery has taken over your character." Bran commented while throwing the fork at his dish. He was crossing the threshold of respect that he should show his father.

Lady Lynda laid her palm on Sir Eric's hand, gesturing for him to grant Bran's demand once. Sir Eric gave it some thought, and with a gulp, he said, "Alright, I'll give it to you, but I need the reason. What made you spend all your pocket money, and why do you need more?"

"None of your business."

His words carried Sir Eric away. He wished he could slap Bran hard enough that he would not ask again even for a single penny, but Lady Lynda's look, saying 'Please no', stopped him.

"You will not have it." He said it without looking at him or suppressing his anger.

"I will get it anyhow!" He said with his finger out at him and left the dining area. After that, not a soul present there spoke. That went for days, weeks, months, and years. Bran had turned nineteen, officially an adult, but his attitude never changed, and Sir Eric was tired of him. He was suspicious that Bran was involved in some sort of thing that might ruin his name. He never even tried to counsel him, which let Bran go out of control. Bran had even slapped Sir Eric once when he had gone completely out of his senses.

In his own household, the older son was an emotionally and physically remote figure. He absconded for a year, hardly coming back other than for short visits to see his mother, the only relative with whom he felt a relationship. The heartless disdain of his father and younger brother drove him further away, making him seek solace elsewhere—often in the wrong places. He became entangled in illicit activities and was cut off from the family he no longer felt a part of. The living room couch or the doorsteps were his only places to sleep when he did make his occasional trips home, serving as a clear reminder of how estranged he had grown from his once-comfortable surroundings. At the age of twenty, he vanished from sight, going weeks without being seen by anyone. Sir Eric didn't even try to find him and told Lady Lynda to never ask for it. Two years passed, but Bran didn't return. It did not appear to bother Matt either, as he was living the dream of being the sole owner of the entire business of the Barrels. Gradually, the Barrels' lives were back to normal.

*  *  *

One day, Sir Eric was going through the morning news and his light breakfast. Sir Raymond was standing by his side, handing him the account's booklet and telling him the last week's profit. Podrick was there too, setting the breakfast on the table and, as usual, whistling. Later, Matt also joined for breakfast. He hugged his father. Eric kissed his forehead. "You better hurry up, young man. You've got your golf practice just after you finish eating."

"Oh no, father! Please, I don't want it today, please." Then Matt turned to Podrick in annoyance and nearly shouted, "Oh, Podrick, what should I do to you? Will you stop whistling in front of me? I'm afraid I won't be patient anymore."

"Okay. No problem, but we'll do it tomorrow for sure." Sir Eric replied.

"Where is Moco? I have not seen him since morning." Lady Lynda said as she entered with a tray that had bread and garlic butter.

"He was not in his kennel when I woke up." Matt reacted as he stuffed his mouth with boiled eggs.

"Leave him." Sir Eric interposed. "Let's get on with breakfast. He'll be on his tail when he smells food. Lynda, please pass me the boiled eggs." And then something very unexpected happened.

The decibel level of the police cars parked directly outside their gate was so high that it overpowered the sound of birdsong, cutlery clanging as they ate breakfast, and all other melodious sounds of the morning. They all rushed out to see what happened. There were three cars and two motorcyclists boarded with policemen. The worst part was when one of the policemen dragged Brandon out of one car. The Barrels were unable to believe what they were just witnessing. Sir Eric quickly signaled Sir Raymond to take Matt inside, as he didn't want his son to see what his older brother did. That could certainly leave a dark impression on Matt. The police brought Brandon before Eric and Lynda. He was handcuffed, and to the greatest horror, he was bloodstained. The Barrels were unable to make anything before the police told them that their son, Bran, had attempted three murders. Lady Lynda fainted.