The Grand Ballroom of the QS Holdings headquarters had become a theater of the impossible. The silence that had followed Oliver Smith’s true identity reveal was broken only by the ragged, desperate breathing of Thomas Connors. As the effects of the neuro-inhibitor began to wear off, a slow, agonizing movement returned to his limbs. He struggled against the grip of the military police, his face a mask of sweating, unadulterated hatred. "You think you’ve won, Oliver?" Thomas spat, his voice a jagged, broken sound. "Or so he thought," he muttered to himself, a final, delusional hope flickering in his eyes. He looked up at Oliver, his gaze a silent, devastating promise of destruction. "You think a few suits and a legal buyout can stop the Connors? You’re a fool! While you were playing king on this stage, my allies were already dismantling your foundation. Karen, Macy, and Aliyah are in Townsville as we speak. They’re destroying the Quinton Tower, burning all evidence of the Quinton '
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