If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
...
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Caleb, hearing that fierce, highly ambitious declaration, nodded his head with a wide, predatory smile. He loved surrounding himself with men who were hungry for greatness, his voice ringing with absolute approval, "That is a very, very good choice you made, Leopold. Wrap up the furnishings here, hire a competent manager to run the front desk, and then pack your bags. A massive corner office in Saint Denis is waiting for you."
After that highly successful, deeply satisfying conclusion to their business, the night slowly passed. The men slept soundly in the heavily guarded rented house, the roaring mountain river serving as a peaceful lullaby after the long journey.
The next day, the morning broke crisp and clear over the West Elizabeth mountains. The air was biting cold, but the sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue.
Caleb and his heavily armed group gathered their belongings, pulling on their heavy overcoats as they stepped out onto the frosty wooden porch of the rented house.
Strauss was waiting for them, holding his ledgers tight against his chest.
Caleb shook the accountant's hand firmly. "We will see you in a month, Leopold. Keep the fires burning."
"Safe travels, Don McLaughlin. Gentlemen," Strauss bowed respectfully, watching as the terrifying, suited men descended the stairs.
They said their final goodbyes to Strauss, then entered into the massive, heavy duty transport carriage waiting on the street. Silvio secured the door, and the capos climbed back onto the exterior running boards, their repeater rifles resting casually across their arms.
The driver cracked the whip, and they then went to ride back down the treacherous, winding mountain trails, leaving the quiet logging town and the towering wooden fortress behind them.
The carriage navigated the steep ridges and the dense pine forests with practiced ease, the journey down feeling much faster than the grueling ascent.
They soon arrived back at Riggs Station, the small wooden outpost completely deserted save for the station master, who quickly ducked his head as the mafia vanguard rolled onto the platform.
They stepped off the carriage and walked onto the wooden planks, and they then got on the heavy express train that had arrived just in time as they had arrived.
The massive steam locomotive hissed loudly, the iron wheels grinding against the tracks as the train began its long journey back east. Caleb, Arthur, Hosea, Vincenzo, and Silvio settled back into their private, velvet lined luxury carriage.
The steward immediately brought out fresh coffee and morning pastries, but the men were mostly quiet, their minds already shifting from the isolated peace of the mountains back to the complex, hyper violent realities of the city.
They rode the train back to Saint Denis, the scenery outside the glass windows slowly changing. The towering, snow capped peaks gave way to the rolling, grassy plains of the Heartlands, which eventually melted into the thick, humid, moss draped swamps of Lemoyne. The air growing noticeably thicker, hotter, and smelling faintly of industrial coal smoke.
When they finally arrived back at the sprawling, glass canopied central station of Saint Denis, the contrast was absolute. The noise, the crowds, and the sheer momentum of the city washed over them like a tidal wave.
They stepped off the train, and Caleb's primary, black lacquered personal carriage was already waiting there on the platform, surrounded by a massive, highly intimidating detail of mounted mafia guards on their dark bay horses.
They got on the carriage without delay, the doors slamming shut as the convoy then headed back to the wealthy western edge of the city, navigating the cobblestone avenues toward the Garden District mansion.
As they rode through the city, Caleb leaned his head against the velvet cushions, his sharp blue eyes staring out the window at the towering brick banks and the armed policemen walking the beat.
He had conquered the state of Lemoyne. He was the undisputed King of the South.
But as the massive wrought iron gates of the estate came into view, Caleb knew that his war was not entirely over. His hyper intelligent mind, constantly analyzing threats ten steps ahead, shifted to the absolute largest, most dangerous sword still hanging over his family's head.
Caleb had another thing he had in mind that he absolutely, desperately needed to do.
He turned to Arthur and Hosea, the relaxed, victorious atmosphere of the mountain trip instantly evaporating from the cabin. His expression turned completely cold, hard, and terrifyingly serious.
"Arthur. Hosea," Caleb said, his voice a low, vibrating hum of absolute focus. "The moment we get inside, I want you both in my study. We have a massive problem that needs to be solved immediately."
Arthur frowned, sitting forward. "What is it? Did one of the rival families make a move while we were gone?"
"No," Caleb shook his head. "The state of Lemoyne is entirely secure. I own the police, I own the mayor, and I own the streets. If you walk into a saloon in Saint Denis, no local lawman is ever going to put handcuffs on you."
Caleb leaned closer, laying out the terrifying, inescapable reality of their situation. "But my influence ends at the state border. We still have the United States Federal Government to worry about."
Hosea's eyes widened slightly, the old, ingrained paranoia of the outlaw life instantly flaring back up. "The bounty bunters."
"Exactly," Caleb nodded grimly. "And that is to completely clear out the massive, federal bounties hanging over the heads of this gang. You, Arthur, John, Bill, Charles... all of you are still wanted dead or alive by the remaining bounty hunters and the federal marshals for the atrocities committed in Blackwater, the train robberies in New Hanover, and the shootouts in all over the states around here."
Caleb pointed a leather gloved finger at his two oldest friends, emphasizing the sheer danger of their current status.
"You are safe here in my city," Caleb explained, his voice hard. "But since you cannot go freely outside of the states under my direct influence without risking the federal government catching wind of your location, you are essentially prisoners in a very large, very expensive cage. If all of them find out you are hiding here, they won't just send a local sheriff. They will send a small army of heavily armed federal agents down here to take you down, purely due to the incredible, national level of danger being put on your names."
Arthur clenched his massive fists, the memory of the relentless, terrifying pursuit by Agent Milton and Agent Ross burning fresh in his mind. "So what the hell do we do, Caleb? We can't shoot the entire federal government."
"No, Arthur, we can't," Caleb smirked, a dark, incredibly powerful light igniting in his blue eyes. The mob boss had returned in full force. "But this is the Gilded Age. You don't have to shoot the government when you have enough capital to simply buy it."
Caleb leaned back against the cushions as the carriage pulled to a halt in front of the sweeping marble staircase of the mansion.
"We are going to wipe your slates completely clean," Caleb declared, his voice ringing with absolute, unshakeable certainty. "We are going to find the highest ranking, most corrupt officials in that are currently staying here in Saint Denis, and we are going to bribe, extort, and manipulate them until every single bounty poster with your faces on it is burned to ash. You are going to be free men, Arthur. And I know exactly how to do it, since there's someone who owed me a favor."
After Caleb said that, delivering the absolute, staggering promise of total federal freedom to his two top lieutenants, the heavy black lacquered carriage finally pulled to a complete halt. The iron wheels crunched satisfyingly against the pristine white gravel of the Garden District estate's expansive circular driveway.
Caleb reached for the brass handle and stepped off the carriage first. He moved with the crisp, undeniable authority of a man who commanded the very ground beneath his expensive leather boots.
Everyone else in the cabin then quickly got off after him, their minds still heavily reeling from the monumental revelation he had just dropped on them.
The transition from the rugged, isolated mountain air of Strawberry to the humid, heavily guarded luxury of the Saint Denis mansion was immediate.
As Caleb's boots hit the gravel, the elite perimeter guards standing watch near the grand entrance immediately straightened their postures, clutching their repeating rifles tight to their chests in a silent, perfectly synchronized display of absolute loyalty.
Caleb didn't pause in the courtyard. He immediately went to the sprawling, mahogany paneled private study on the second floor, the absolute nerve center of his criminal and corporate empire. Arthur and Hosea, exchanging a tense, highly anticipating glance, followed closely right behind him, their heavy footfalls echoing on the marble steps.
Meanwhile, standing near the idling carriage, Vincenzo and Silvio remained outside. The two hardened veterans of the Italian mafia watched their Don walk away. With a deep, ingrained reverence that Angelo Bronte had never managed to truly inspire in them, they bowed their heads just a bit to the leaving back of the Don.
Once the Don was safely inside, the two lieutenants separated to execute their respective duties. Vincenzo immediately turned on his heel, pulling his heavy overcoat tight around his scarred frame.
He left the mansion grounds, heading back down into the chaotic, smog choked heart of the city to do his brutal, highly necessary work as the Underboss, collecting the weekly protection envelopes from the business in the city, resolving disputes on the eastern docks, and ensuring the syndicate's blood flowed exactly as Caleb had designed.
Silvio, the towering mountain of muscle, went in the opposite direction. He racked the heavy slide of his repeating shotgun with a loud, metallic clack that echoed across the courtyard.
He went to make absolutely sure the perimeter of the mansion was completely safe and locked down while he was gone for the day. He began his terrifying, meticulous patrol of the high stone walls, checking the wrought iron gates and barking harsh, guttural orders in rapid Italian to the heavily armed sentries positioned in the garden shadows.
Inside the quiet sanctuary of the mansion, Caleb pushed open the heavy oak doors of the private study. The room smelled of old paper, expensive lemon oil, and the lingering scent of premium Cuban cigars.
Caleb walked around the massive central desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Arthur and Hosea stepped inside, Arthur firmly closing the heavy doors behind them, ensuring they were entirely sealed off from the rest of the bustling household.
The moment the latch clicked shut, Hosea could no longer contain the burning, desperate curiosity eating away at his brilliant mind. The old conman leaned heavily on his walking cane, his silver hair catching the afternoon light filtering through the bay windows.
Hosea immediately asked Caleb what specific, miraculous way he actually had to help them all be entirely free from their federal bounties.
For a man who had spent over some time running from the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, the concept of simply erasing his criminal record felt like a beautiful, impossible fairy tale. And more importantly, Hosea demanded to know exactly who it was that had such a massive, monumental favor with Caleb that it could be exchanged to literally manipulate the United States government and help them all.
"Caleb, you can't just drop a bomb like that in the carriage and expect us to just sit quietly," Hosea pressed, his voice tight with a mixture of hope and deep seated outlaw paranoia. "We are talking about federal marshals. We are talking about the the government itself. They don't just drop bounties because someone asks nicely. Who the hell do you have in your pocket that possesses that kind of unimaginable pull?"
Arthur crossed his massive arms over his chest, leaning against the mahogany bookcase. "Yeah, Caleb. I've bribed my fair share of local sheriffs with fifty dollars and a bottle of whiskey, but washing away the Blackwater massacre? That takes a miracle."
Caleb stopped behind his desk. He looked at the two men who had fought, bled, and suffered for decades, and he smiled. It was a warm, completely reassuring expression that immediately began to drain the tension from the room.
"Rest easy, Hosea," Caleb said smoothly, his voice a low, comforting hum of absolute confidence. "I am not talking about bribing a local sheriff or paying off a federal agent. I am talking about going straight to the top of the food chain. This is what I have that could help them. And the one who owes me a very big, very dangerous favor... is a United States Senator named Pendleton."
The absolute silence that fell over the study was deafening.
Arthur blinked, his jaw actually dropping a fraction of an inch. Hosea completely froze, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened instinctively on the silver head of his walking cane.
Hosea and Arthur were profoundly, utterly surprised to hear that someone who had the elite, untouchable status of a United States Senator could possibly curry a favor with a man like Caleb. Especially Hosea.
The old patriarch was a master manipulator himself, and he knew exactly the terrifying extent of the power and influence this specific Senator could possibly have in the federal government.
A Senator could whisper in the ear of federal judges. A Senator could pull funding from the Pinkerton agency. A Senator could quietly arrange for presidential pardons to be slid onto the right desks at midnight.
"A Senator?" Arthur breathed out, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "You have a United States Senator in your back pocket? How in the hell did you manage that?"
As Arthur asked that, Caleb turned around. He went to reach for the top right drawer of his massive mahogany table. He pulled a small, brass key from his vest pocket, inserted it into the lock, and turned it with a soft click. He put his hand in there and took out a slightly weathered, meticulously sealed envelope from his inventory. The thick, cream colored parchment bore a heavy, dark red wax seal stamped with an official, highly intricate governmental crest.
...
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: 2,772 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 284,392 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, 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: -