If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Caleb stepped forward, patting her neck. He helped Mary-Beth get up first onto Morgan, lifting her effortlessly so she could sit comfortably. Before then, he gave the heavy iron lockbox to her to hold securely in her lap. And then Caleb got on Morgan, swinging his leg over the saddle and taking the reins.
Before they rode out of Valentine, Caleb cast one last look at his thriving restaurant. It was a beacon of legitimate success, a money printing machine that operated entirely within the bounds of the law. It was the first stone in the fortress he was building for them.
With a gentle click of his tongue, Caleb urged Morgan forward. They headed to the homestead, taking the familiar, winding dirt paths that led a bit to the southwest of Valentine, away from the muddy civilization and back into the quiet isolation of the Heartlands.
The ride was peaceful, the afternoon sun casting long, golden shadows across the plains. They didn't speak much, content in the comfortable silence and the satisfaction of a highly productive day. The weight of the lockbox on Mary-Beth's lap was a tangible reminder of the power Caleb was steadily accumulating.
When they reached back to the homestead, the camp was quiet. The solemn atmosphere of the previous day's funeral still hung over the property, but the frantic edge of survival had noticeably dulled. Charles was chopping wood near the main house, and Sadie was cleaning her rifle on the porch. They offered quiet nods of greeting as Caleb and Mary-Beth rode past.
Caleb and Mary-Beth got off Morgan near the hitching posts. Caleb took the lockbox from her, its iron surface cool to the touch.
Before they entered into the house, Caleb made sure no one was paying too close attention to the heavy box in his hands. They walked through the front door and got to the second floor, retreating to the absolute privacy of their shared room.
Once the door was securely closed and locked from the inside, Caleb walked over to the large, four poster bed. He knelt down and put the lockbox under their bed, pushing it deep into the shadows where it wouldn't be easily seen by anyone casually glancing into the room.
However, the physical box was now entirely empty.
In the fraction of a second between kneeling down and sliding the box under the bed frame, Caleb had utilized the flawless, instantaneous transfer mechanic of his system.
The content of the money, the massive stacks of tightly banded, clean cash, had been transferred directly into his digital inventory with only him knowing about it.
Mary-Beth simply thought he was securing the cashbox, she had no idea the money had vanished into a dimensional space that no Pinkerton, thief, or rival mob boss could ever breach.
Caleb stood up, dusting off his knees. He opened his system interface in his mind's eye, bringing up his current financial statistics.
He saw in his inventory it had increased by an astounding 25,000 dollars.
Caleb counted at the number of money he have after the addition of the twenty five thousand dollars. In 1899, that was an unimaginable fortune for a common man. It was the kind of money that bought elections, built railroads, and fielded private armies.
His restaurant in Valentine was outperforming even his most aggressive projections, drawing in immense wealth from the cattle barons, travelers, and the sheer volume of high quality food they were producing.
Combined with the fortune he had already acquired from the Blackwater stash, the various high-level bounties, and his aggressive, hostile takeovers of Guido Martelli's street level rackets in Saint Denis, Caleb Thorne was rapidly becoming one of the wealthiest men in the state.
And unlike Leviticus Cornwall, whose wealth was tied up in vulnerable physical assets like trains and oil derricks, Caleb's true fortune was entirely liquid, completely untraceable, and utterly untouchable within his system inventory.
He dismissed the system screen, a profound sense of absolute security washing over him. The financial shield he had promised Arthur and Mary-Beth was forging itself faster than he could have hoped.
He turned around to face Mary-Beth. She was sitting at her desk by the window, already pulling out a fresh sheet of paper and a fountain pen, the peaceful view of the Heartlands inspiring her to work on her novel. The afternoon light caught the golden hues in her hair, making her look radiant and perfectly at home.
Caleb walked over to her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders, looking out the window at the vast, unbroken horizon.
Everything was going exactly according to plan. The board was set. Now, he just had to return to Saint Denis in two days, walk into Angelo Bronte's mansion, and pull the final strings that would bring the Italian mafia crashing down, leaving the Underboss to sweep up the pieces and claim the throne.
After that, Caleb spent the rest of the two days completely devoted to Mary-Beth. The shadow of Dutch's death and the looming mob war in Saint Denis were deliberately locked away, allowing them to exist in a perfect, insulated bubble of peace.
While they did spend a little bit of their time enjoying the crisp air, occasionally strolling around the perimeter of the homestead or taking Morgan out for brief, leisurely rides across the rolling plains of the Heartlands, they didn't spend their days just wandering.
Instead, they spent their time mostly confined to the cozy sanctuary of their second floor bedroom, dedicating themselves entirely to creating Mary-Beth's novel together.
Caleb sat beside her at the sturdy oak desk, looking over her shoulder as her fountain pen danced across the parchment. He helped her immensely, using the vast knowledge and the distinct, progressive mindset from his past modern life to assist in creating a novel that was much more intricate and lovely than anything currently sitting on the shelves of the Saint Denis bookstores.
He understood the tropes and pacing that made modern romance novels absolute juggernauts of industry. He guided her narrative structure, ensuring the emotional beats hit with devastating precision. It was a story that the ladies of this era would definitely swoon over, captivated by the intense, forbidden longing.
But Caleb also cleverly wove in layers of psychological depth and sophisticated dialogue so that the gentlemen of this time could also learn from this novel, teaching them the more intricate, attentive ways of romance and courting.
Or, if the gentlemen simply wanted to read it for a thrilling, well paced story of danger and devotion, it was perfectly suited for that, too.
He did this not only to help train Mary-Beth's natural literary acumen and build her confidence but also to create a massive, undeniable source of clean profit for their future. A bestselling novel under a pen name would add yet another legitimate pillar to their growing empire.
To elevate the story beyond a simple frontier romance, Caleb activated his Past Life Memory Skill. He decided to help Mary-Beth in creating a gripping, atmospheric book about a vampire romance, a brilliant, 1899 adaptation of the Twilight saga.
He described a brooding, impossibly handsome, and incredibly wealthy immortal who lived in a perpetually rainy, mist shrouded town in the Pacific Northwest, falling in love with a mortal girl whose mind he couldn't read.
Mary-Beth was absolutely captivated by the premise, her eyes wide as she scribbled down the character outlines and the intense, supernatural tension between the protagonists.
But Caleb didn't stop at vampires. To highlight the immortal's vast wealth and his detachment from normal human limitations, Caleb introduced futuristic concepts. Of course, the motor car would be included in the story, but Caleb just made it sound like they were describing a second version of the new technology that was only just beginning to appear in the wealthiest cities.
After all, in a couple of years, mass production of automobiles would begin, but for now, he told her to just think of it as part of their wild imagination as writers.
"Imagine a carriage, Mary-Beth," Caleb whispered, leaning close, his voice painting a vivid picture. "But it has no horses. It's powered by an engine, controlled explosions of oil and fuel. It's made of sleek metal, painted a glittering silver, and it can travel at speeds that would make a thoroughbred look like it's standing still."
Mary-Beth was surprised, of course. She stopped writing and looked at him in sheer wonder. "A carriage with no horses? Moving that fast? Caleb, people will think we're writing pure fantasy."
Caleb just smiled, tapping the edge of the paper. "I just imagined it," he said smoothly, covering his modern knowledge. "But think about it. Wouldn't it be much more helpful in the future if such a kind of technology is here? If they could travel much faster? Soon, even horses wouldn't be the main mode of transportation for people in the cities. And the heavy, coal burning trains? They would be much more for logistics, carrying heavy freight, and truly long distance travel across the country."
Mary-Beth was entirely fascinated by the idea. It gave her vampire protagonist an aura of incredible, otherworldly sophistication. And so she enthusiastically wrote it down, detailing the silver 'motor car' that the vampire drove through the misty forests.
Caleb pushed the boundaries even further, describing flying machines, planes with fixed wings that cut through the clouds, allowing people to cross oceans in hours instead of weeks. He made it sound like it was all born from his vivid imagination, a sci fi backdrop for their supernatural romance.
Mary-Beth was even more fascinated by such things, her pen flying across the pages as she documented this incredible, modern world he was fabricating for her.
They were so consumed by their creative process that they created the novels until late at night in these two days. The warm glow of their kerosene lamp burned long after the rest of the camp had gone to sleep. They were entirely focused, taking their meals in the room to avoid breaking their train of thought.
However, the fact that they only ate in their room and rarely came downstairs, of course, caused all of the gang members to tease them mercilessly.
In a camp of outlaws, privacy was a rare commodity, and imaginations ran wild. The gang simply thought the two of them were doing adult things in their room nonstop for forty eight hours.
On the afternoon of the second day, when Mary-Beth finally ventured downstairs to fetch some fresh water and a pot of tea, she was ambushed in the kitchen.
Karen, holding a bottle of beer, leaned against the doorframe with a wicked, knowing grin. Tilly was giggling behind her hand, and even Molly, looking much better and more lucid since Dutch's passing, offered a wry, amused smirk.
"Well, well, well," Karen drawled loudly, making sure the men outside could hear. "Look who finally decided to join the living! Two whole days, Mary-Beth. We were starting to think Caleb had accidentally locked the door from the inside."
"Or maybe they just couldn't find their clothes," Tilly added, erupting into a fit of giggles.
This, of course, caused Mary-Beth to turn bright red. The blush started at her collarbone and rushed all the way up to her hairline. She frantically filled the tea kettle, avoiding their teasing gazes.
"We are writing!" Mary-Beth protested, her voice squeaking slightly in her embarrassment. She of course denied all of that while facing Karen, Tilly, and Molly teasing her. "Caleb is helping me outline a new novel! It's very complex work, and we need quiet!"
"Writing? Is that what they're calling it these days in Saint Denis?" Karen laughed, taking a swig of her beer. "Sure, honey. We hear a whole lot of 'writing' going on up there. Must be a very passionate story."
Molly smiled, stepping forward to gently pat Mary-Beth's arm. "Ignore them, Mary-Beth. But do tell Mr. Thorne he's setting a terribly high standard for the rest of the men in this camp."
Mary-Beth grabbed her tea tray and practically fled back up the stairs, her face burning, while the sound of the women's laughter echoed behind her.
When she returned to the room and told Caleb about the ambush, he simply threw his head back and laughed, finding the gang's assumptions endlessly entertaining.
When the two days finally passed by, the peaceful interlude had to end. The time was morning, the air crisp and filled with the scent of dew on the prairie grass.
Caleb was in the bedroom, preparing himself to go on a ride back to Saint Denis. He packed his satchel with fresh ammunition, his encrypted ledgers, and strapped on his twin Navy Revolvers.
He donned his heavy, dark duster coat, transforming back from the attentive, imaginative lover into the terrifying, calculating Underboss of the Italian Mafia.
Downstairs, Mary-Beth had woken up even earlier. She wanted to ensure he had a good meal for the long road ahead. She helped him prepare some food for him downstairs in the kitchen, with Pearson actively helping her.
She remembered how much he had enjoyed the meal at his restaurant, and she tried creating the burger and fries here for Caleb. It was a practical choice, as it's much easier for him to bring and eat while riding in the saddle.
Cooking it actually wasn't that hard; the mechanics of shaping the beef and frying the potatoes were simple enough. The only hurdle was making sure the spices were correct, which was a bit hard for her since Caleb's secret blend was complex.
But with the help of Pearson, who had watched Caleb cook it just days prior, it became much easier. Pearson guided her hand, showing her exactly how much smoked paprika and garlic powder to sprinkle over the sizzling meat to replicate the exact flavor profile the boss loved.
When Caleb was finally finished packing and walked downstairs, his spurs jingling softly on the wooden steps, he stepped out into the cool morning air. He stood on the porch, waiting for Mary-Beth.
A moment later, the screen door creaked open, and she came out with a small, neatly wrapped canvas bag filled with several portions of the freshly cooked burgers and thick-cut fries. The savory, mouth-watering aroma wafted up from the bundle immediately.
"For the road," Mary-Beth said, her voice soft, a hint of reluctance in her eyes as she looked at his imposing, armed figure.
When he received it and opened it, looking at the perfectly cooked food she had prepared with her own hands, Caleb smiled a deep, genuine smile of profound appreciation. "Thank you, Mary-Beth. It's perfect," he said softly.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 50x50x50)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 2)
- Leadership (Lvl 2)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 275,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, & 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern
Bank: -