Chapter 39: The House of Glass

By morning, the Connor name was no longer spoken with reverence, but with revulsion.

News anchors across the country scrambled to update their segments. Breaking banners splashed across every major outlet:

BILLIONAIRE COUPLE GREGORY AND MILDRED CONNOR ARRESTED FOR CONSPIRACY, MEDICAL ABUSE, AND UNLAWFUL IMPRISONMENT.

TRUTH BENEATH THE LUXURY: A SON, HIS LOVER, AND THE DARK SECRETS OF AN EMPIRE.

Drone footage circled the Connor estate, now swarmed with federal vehicles, investigators, and forensic teams. The once-pristine estate—known for its lavish galas and cold opulence—was now a crime scene under glaring media scrutiny.

Journalists stood outside the gates, voices urgent and eyes sharp.

"Sources confirm that whistleblower Amanda Wynn, former fiancée of William Connor, was abducted days ago and held against her will..."

"...documents obtained from an anonymous source reveal a decade-long cover-up of psychological manipulation, forced memory suppression, and the attempted erasure of a same-sex relationship involving the Connor heir..."

"...a massive class-action lawsuit is already underway against the Connor family's medical partners..."

Across the country, protests erupted outside the very hospitals and institutions the Connors had once donated to. Banners read: "Memory is not yours to erase", "Love is not a disease", and "Justice for William and Archie."

In a sleek glass tower in Manhattan, the Connor family boardroom sat in stunned silence.

The patriarch and matriarch were behind bars. Stock prices plummeted. Investors pulled out. Charitable partnerships dissolved overnight.

A young woman from PR trembled as she read from the crisis document. "We recommend a full freeze of all public-facing materials. The foundation's website has been taken down. The Connor Legacy Trust... has been dissolved pending legal review."

An elder board member sighed and removed his glasses. "The empire's over."

A junior associate whispered, "It was built on silence. What did they expect?"

At The Owl's Nest café, the booth near the window—Archie's favorite spot—was empty.

Anne sat with Amanda and two folded laptops between them. Both women looked exhausted. But determined.

"They're going to try and bury this," Anne said.

"Let them try," Amanda replied. "We have the receipts. And we have the truth. We're not done."

Anne nodded. "William's going to need support. When Archie wakes up..."

Amanda didn't let the pause linger.

"He'll have us."

Outside the window, a group of college students stood in a silent vigil. Candles flickered. Someone held up a sign: "We remember the forgotten."

In a courtroom downtown, bail was denied.

Mildred stared straight ahead, her makeup smeared, her eyes empty. Gregory shouted in vain, slamming a fist on the defense table before being silenced by a stern judge.

"You destroyed your own son to preserve your image," the judge said coldly. "And now, the world sees you clearly."

From the back of the courtroom, cameras flashed.

Click. Click.

The sound of an empire collapsing.

Meanwhile, in the quiet halls of Saint Augustine Memorial Hospital, the fallout settled like dust on the shoulders of a boy in a hospital bed.

Archie was still. His chest rose and fell slowly beneath crisp white sheets. Machines hummed a steady rhythm.

Beside him, William never left.

He sat with his hands clutching Archie's, head bowed, whispering stories, apologies, dreams they hadn't lived. Nurses came and went, but none dared to interrupt.

Justice was moving forward like a tide.

But William's world had shrunk to this room—to the steady beep of the monitor and the flicker of hope behind closed eyes.

Tomorrow could wait.

He just needed Archie to wake up.