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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Antonio, hearing that flawless, terrifyingly efficient blend of corporate negotiation and mafia extortion, simply smiled and bowed deeply. "It is a completely irresistible offer, Don McLaughlin," Antonio praised him, turning to leave the study to execute the ruthless economic maneuver. "The lights of Strawberry will be burning bright by the end of the month, and it will cost the family practically nothing."
Caleb nodded his head slowly, his expression a mask of cool, impenetrable calculation as he agreed completely with what his head butler had said. He leaned back into the plush leather of his high backed chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
To a lesser man, the idea of sacrificing immediate, liquid cash flow would seem foolish, but Caleb's vision extended far beyond the next collection cycle.
"Exactly, Antonio," Caleb confirmed, his voice a low, resonant rumble in the quiet sanctuary of the study. "We must always look at the broader horizon. I just think of it as the family having a bit less of an income for just several months. It is a calculated, strategic sacrifice. In the grand scheme of our ledgers, the loss of a few weeks of protection money from a single electrical firm is an absolute pittance."
He stood up from his desk, walking slowly toward the massive bay windows that overlooked the sun-drenched courtyard of the Garden District estate. He looked out over the high iron gates, visualizing the vast, untamed territories stretching out to the west.
"We will get a return of massively big profits when the projects in Strawberry are finalized," Caleb explained, his max level Business Skill effortlessly charting the future trajectories of their investments. "Once the Pelton Wheel is fully wired, the hotel opens its doors, and the town becomes entirely dependent on our power grid, those projects will produce big profits. Staggering profits. Legitimate, clean capital that the federal government cannot touch."
He turned back to face Antonio, his blue eyes flashing with an unyielding, terrifying ambition. "The income of the family could, and will, increase tenfold. Since, after all, right now the biggest priority is making profits first for the family. We must stabilize our war chest, legitimize our fronts, and stockpile our capital so that we can actively prepare for the grand expansion of the family to the outside of Saint Denis. We are going to buy the state, Antonio. And we are going to do it with the lights turned on."
Antonio, possessing a flawless understanding of his Don's visionary corporate architecture, nodded his head deeply. "A masterful strategy, Don McLaughlin. The foundation of an empire must be poured with patience. I shall negotiate the terms with the electrical union exactly as you have commanded."
With the logistical parameters of the Strawberry project firmly established, Antonio bowed respectfully. He turned on his heel, the polished leather of his shoes making no sound against the thick Persian rug, and went to take his leave to execute the Don's will.
But, just as the butler reached the heavy oak double doors, before he left the room completely, his sharp, encyclopedic mind remembered something else. He paused, his hand resting on the brass doorknob.
He turned around and said to Caleb, his tone shifting to one of mild apology for the oversight. "Ah, forgive my lapse in memory, Don McLaughlin. In the flurry of managing the coronation banquet and the morning dispatches, I nearly forgot a specific piece of correspondence."
Antonio gestured gracefully toward a small, ornate mahogany side table resting near the roaring fireplace of the study. "I have also left a parchment on the side table of your study. It arrived in the city's main postal hub late last evening. It was dispatched from a manufacturing company named Thorne-Marlin Firearms, based out of Connecticut."
Caleb, hearing that specific corporate name, was genuinely surprised. His eyebrows shot up, and the cold, calculating mask of the mafia Don cracked for a fraction of a second, replaced by the sheer, unadulterated thrill of an inventor whose masterpiece had finally been recognized.
"Thorne-Marlin?" Caleb repeated, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across his handsome face. He immediately walked away from the window, closing the distance to the side table. "I had almost entirely given up on the postal service reaching the East Coast in a timely manner. Thank you for securing this, Antonio."
In truth, Caleb had totally forgot about this specific venture since it had been quite some time. The relentless, bloody, day to day survival of climbing the mafia ranks and systematically dismantling Angelo Bronte's regime had completely consumed his mental bandwidth.
Months ago, back in the quiet, rustic peace of the Heartlands homestead, he had painstakingly drafted a series of highly advanced, futuristic weapons schematics.
He had drawn them by the light of a flickering oil lamp, utilizing the brilliant, meticulous help of Mary-Beth to ensure the drafting lines were perfect and the mathematical annotations were flawless.
Before leaving for Strawberry with Mary-Beth and Arthur Morgan to deal with the initial hotel land acquisition, he had carefully sealed the blueprints in a heavy wax envelope.
He had it be sent to the Marlin company directly through Valentine's muddy, chaotic mail station. Recognizing the need for operational security, he had the return address of the mail be set to Saint Denis, strictly under the alias 'McLaughlin.'
However, plunged into the ensuing mob war, he had simply forgotten to check on the central Saint Denis mail stations once in a while.
But now, due to him already violently seizing the throne and becoming the Don, his power in the city was secure, absolute, and omnipresent. Antonio, utilizing the vast, terrified network of informants and postal clerks under the family's control, had proactively gone to check the mail station for any mail addressed to the Don's aliases, and had successfully found the delayed letter.
"It is my absolute pleasure to serve, my Don," Antonio bowed one final time before slipping out of the study, the heavy oak doors clicking shut, leaving Caleb entirely alone with his prize.
So, Caleb went to stand by the table and took the heavy, cream-colored parchment in his hands before eagerly breaking the wax seal and opening it.
The letterhead was crisp and professional, embossed with the newly minted logo of Thorne-Marlin Firearms. And when he read it, his max level intellect devoured the words. It was written personally by Mahlon Henry, the chief operations officer of the factory.
'To the Esteemed Mr. McLaughlin / Mr. Thorne,
I write to you with the utmost urgency and profound astonishment. We have received your sealed blueprints. Sir, your schematics are truly advanced and full of unprecedented innovation. The gas operated reloading mechanisms, the magazine feeding systems, and the structural barrel cooling designs you have proposed are very advanced, pushing the absolute boundaries of modern metallurgy.'
'This is something that needed to be developed right away. I assure you, our newly expanded factory floors and our heavy industrial machines are more than adequate to make these prototypes a reality. But, of course, due to the staggering complexity of the designs, it needed to be heavily researched and meticulously tested by the master crafters in the company first.'
'However, the initial engineering assessments are unanimous. We are very sure that it will be a definite, world-altering success. The Board of Directors and the Marlins truly made a great decision in trusting you, allowing you to acquire the majority shares of their company and formally become the new owner of the facility. We eagerly await your next directive.'
Yours in industry,
Mahlon H. Marlin
Caleb smiled reading this, a deep, resonant chuckle vibrating in his chest as he was incredibly satisfied with the result.
It was the ultimate trump card. He knew exactly what he had sent them. Utilizing his comprehensive knowledge of the future, he had drafted schematics based heavily on WWI technologies, the reliable semi automatic pistols, the devastating trench shotguns, and the heavy, water cooled machine guns that would redefine warfare in the coming decades.
But he hadn't just copied history, he had utilized his unique skills to make massive upgrades so it wouldn't have the catastrophic faults, the jamming issues, and the structural weaknesses it had in the original historical timeline.
When these weapons finally hit the production line, it will definitely sell hot. The domestic market would scramble for them, but more importantly, the federal military would be forced to take notice. Thorne-Marlin would rapidly become a primary, indispensable contractor of the country. The military industrial complex would be born a decade early, directly under his absolute control.
It would make him even more powerful than a simple mafia boss holding a single southern city. By controlling the weapons that the army relied upon, he could eventually, and very possibly, become the most powerful man standing in the untouchable shadows of the United States government. The law wouldn't dare hunt him when their own rifles bore his company's stamp.
His geopolitical future entirely secured, Caleb carefully folded the heavy parchment. He stored the letter securely in the hidden, locked compartment of his massive mahogany desk.
With the corporate business of the morning flawlessly concluded, he turned and went to leave the study.
He stepped out into the wide, sunlit, carpeted hallway of the second floor, the quiet peace of the mansion settling around him. As he walked toward the residential wing, the heavy doors of the master suite slowly pushed open.
He met with Mary-Beth, who had just woken up and was leaving the bedroom.
She looked absolutely breathtaking, bathed in the soft morning light. The heavy exhaustion of the previous day's coronation banquet had been completely washed away by a deep, restorative sleep.
She was wearing a beautiful, flowing silk robe over her nightgown, her dark hair falling in soft, messy waves around her shoulders. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, a soft, radiant smile instantly appearing on her face the moment she saw him walking down the hall.
"Good morning, Don McLaughlin," Mary-Beth murmured playfully, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against the crisp fabric of his three piece suit.
"Good morning, my Queen," Caleb replied warmly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of lavender soap. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a log," she sighed happily. "I don't think I even moved. Is the city still ours?"
"Entirely," Caleb chuckled, offering her his arm. "Come. Let's get you fed."
So the two of them linked arms and went downstairs, moving through the grand, sweeping marble foyer and stepping into the sunlit, opulent dining room. The household staff had already been hard at work.
They sat down at the massive mahogany table and enjoyed a spectacular, incredibly lavish breakfast that had been meticulously prepared for them by the estate's private chef.
There were silver platters piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs, thick cut smoked bacon, freshly baked buttery croissants, and crystal bowls overflowing with imported, exotic fruits. Antonio personally poured them steaming cups of rich, dark Parisian coffee, ensuring the morning began with absolute, unadulterated luxury.
They ate in a comfortable, deeply affectionate silence, the trauma of their outlaw past feeling like a distant, impossible nightmare compared to the safety of the fortress they now commanded.
After breakfast, the domestic tranquility gave way to the active, hands-on management of the empire.
Mary-Beth went upstairs to change out of her silk robe, dressing in one of the elegant, yet highly practical walking dresses she had purchased the day prior, a beautiful, tailored navy blue ensemble with white lace trim, complete with a tasteful, wide brimmed hat.
Caleb adjusted his tie, ensuring his twin Navy Revolvers were sitting perfectly in his shoulder holsters, hidden smoothly beneath his suit jacket.
The two of them went to leave the mansion, stepping out onto the sun drenched marble porch.
Waiting for them in the pristine, white-gravel courtyard was their black-lacquered carriage. But they were not traveling alone. Of course, Silvio, the giant, scarred enforcer, and a couple of elite, heavily armed mafia soldiers were already mounted on their dark bay horses, forming an impenetrable, highly intimidating perimeter around the vehicle, accompanying them to ensure the absolute safety of the Don and his Madam.
Caleb helped Mary-Beth into the velvet lined cabin, stepping in smoothly behind her. The driver cracked the whip, and the heavy carriage rolled out through the massive iron gates, the hooves of the horses clattering loudly against the cobblestones.
"Where are we going?" Mary-Beth asked, leaning against his shoulder as she watched the wealthy mansions of the Garden District roll by the glass windows. "More tailoring? A meeting with the Mayor?"
Caleb smiled, shaking his head. He wanted to bring Mary-Beth to a very specific, highly personal location. He was taking her to Doyle's Tavern.
"No politicians today," Caleb promised, resting his hand over hers. "I am taking you to see the very first piece of the board I claimed. A tavern that has been entirely acquired and meticulously renovated by me."
He wanted to show her the very first legitimate business that he truly had operating under his name here in Saint Denis. Before he was the Don, before he lived in a marble palace, he had started his hostile takeover from the bottom up.
The carriage ride took them out of the pristine, tree lined avenues of the wealthy northern sectors and plunged them deep into the beating, industrial heart of the city. The air grew thicker, smelling of coal smoke, salty ocean brine, and unwashed bodies. The architecture shifted from imported marble to soot stained brick and rotting wood.
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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 MAX)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Bow (Lvl MAX)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl MAX)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl MAX)
- Leadership (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 282,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 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, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -