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had suggested. On the other side, he painted her facing forward, an angle Connie preferred. "She was a strong personality who was very determined; by that, I mean she knew what she wanted — and she got a lot," a friend says. "They had an airplane and would fly off to Aspen. Kelly was so rich, he gave her everything." When Connie wanted a bigger diamond ring, they flew to New York to choose a stone, returning with a dazzling 10-carat pear-shaped diamond, which Haltom's Jewelers set. Connie's closet was full of couture gowns from Neiman Marcus in Dallas, including some by young American designer Alfred Fiandaca. After she expressed dissatisfaction with that season's fabrics and colors, Fiandaca dashed off to Europe to select new materials in sunset colors to flatter Connie's complexion. The Youngs' 1983 Route 66-themed bash at the Ridglea Country Club for Kelly's daughters, Alison and Shannon, was "sure to be the party all debutante parties in Fort Worth are measured against for the next 20 years," a local society columnist gushed. The fairy tale soon faded, however, and the couple divorced in 1986. According to court documents, Connie was given custody of the couple's two sons and the right to live in the Fort Worth mansion for three years, after which it would be sold. Kelly agreed to pay her $10,000 a month during that time — money she would repay with proceeds from the sale of the house. In accordance with the agreement, the house was put on the market in 1989, and their roughly $2 million in furnishings were inventoried, which they would eventually split. The house failed to attract a buyer; in 1991, a receiver was appointed by the court to sell it. But Connie had a very different plan in mind. The Scandal The Young's divorce and bitter fight over the mansion and its precious contents set into motion a series of outrageous events, complete with a cast of outlandish characters: a corrupt Arkansas lawyer straight out of Better Call Saul, an FBI wiretap, and millions of dollars in purloined antique furniture, chandeliers, and architectural elements. But it was Connie's conspiracy to blow up the couple's Fort Worth mansion with explosives that landed her in federal prison for two years. The strange and marvelous tale of one of Texas' most significant houses and the scandal that rocked Fort Worth society has been long forgotten — until now. The events that follow are retold from public records, court filings, newspaper archives, and my interviews with Connie, who is now 81 years old; it's the first time she's spoken publicly about her role in the scandal that took place more than 30 years ago. Divorce, Texas Style. Connie Young was furious. Her efforts to block the sale of the couple's Westover Hills mansion had failed, according to federal prosecutors, who said she had turned down offers from interested buyers, including one for $2.5 million. With a court-ordered sale of the house looming, Connie retaliated against her ex-husband, Kelly Young, by refusing to let him see their two sons, court records allege. Kelly filed suit against her, claiming she attempted to tie up the terms of their divorce in legal battles with untrue claims. He testified that Connie also tried to get him thrown in jail for threatening to kill her, charges that were later dropped. Texas state district judge Catherine Adamski Gant awarded Kelly $3.2 million for breach of contract, emotional distress, and damages — A hidden door in the Georgian library reveals the mother-in-law's bedroom, as refreshed by Dunbar Road. 106