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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Hearing all of that incredibly specific, highly targeted reassurance, the Senator practically sagged with sheer relief. The crushing weight that had been pressing on his chest since he left Blackwater finally began to lift. Pendleton nodded his head awkwardly, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his sweating forehead while frantically thanking Caleb for thinking of him and his political safety.
"I... I cannot thank you enough for your discretion, Don McLaughlin," Pendleton stammered, offering a weak, immensely grateful laugh. "Truly, you are a gentleman of the highest order. I must admit, I was... slightly apprehensive when I received your summons. But knowing that my seat in Washington remains secure is a profound comfort."
The Senator paused, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. His political instincts slowly returning, he narrowed his eyes slightly, wanting to get straight to the point. But he would like to know what help that the Don actually needed.
"So," Pendleton asked, his voice steadying just a fraction. "If you do not require state secrets or a blank check from the federal treasury... what exactly is the favor you require of me?"
Caleb just smiled, a dark, incredibly cunning light flashing in his eyes for a split second before vanishing behind a mask of polite hospitality.
"Patience, Senator," Caleb chuckled softly, steering the man around a corner. "Business of this nature is best discussed behind closed doors, over a very good drink. We are almost there."
And soon, they arrived there. Caleb pushed open the heavy oak doors of the private study, ushering the politician into the nerve center of the empire.
The moment they stepped inside and Pendleton took a seat in one of the plush leather armchairs across from the massive mahogany desk, the door opened behind them again. Antonio entered, moving with the absolute, silent grace of a ghost. The head butler was carrying a large, polished silver tray, bringing some incredibly good quality food and drinks just as Caleb had ordered.
Antonio set the tray down on the edge of the desk. There were delicate crystal bowls filled with imported black Beluga caviar, thinly sliced cuts of cured meats, and freshly baked artisan crackers. Beside the food rested a heavy crystal decanter filled with the dark, amber liquid of the fifty year old vintage brandy, alongside two immaculate snifters.
After expertly serving the food and pouring a generous measure of the expensive brandy into both glasses, the butler bowed deeply and silently took his leave of the study, the heavy oak doors clicking firmly shut behind him, sealing the two men inside.
Caleb walked around the desk, but before he sat down, he reached into a humidor resting on a side table. He goes to give the Senator a very good quality cigar.
"A genuine Cuban, Senator," Caleb offered, holding out the thick, perfectly rolled tobacco leaf. "Imported just last week. Please, enjoy."
Pendleton took the cigar with trembling hands, overwhelmed by the sheer, unapologetic luxury he was being drowned in. Caleb picked up a silver table lighter, striking the flint and leaning across the desk to carefully light the end of the politician's cigar. He then lit one for himself, the rich, deeply aromatic scent of the aged tobacco rapidly filling the quiet, wood paneled room.
Pendleton took a deep, shaky puff of the cigar, closing his eyes as the incredibly smooth smoke hit his lungs. He then reached out and took a long, appreciative sip of the vintage brandy, the liquid burning warmly down his throat, steadying his frayed nerves entirely.
With the Senator completely pacified, sitting comfortably in a leather armchair with a thousand dollar spread of food and liquor before him, the trap was finally, perfectly sprung.
They then began to talk about the matter of business.
Caleb sat down in his high backed executive chair. He rested his elbows on the polished mahogany desk, steepling his fingers together as he looked through the curling blue smoke of his cigar directly into the politician's eyes. The charming host vanished entirely, replaced by the cold, calculating, and absolute authority of the Don.
In which Caleb told Pendleton, his voice dropping into a low, deadly serious register that brooked absolutely no argument or refusal, exactly what the price of his soul was going to be.
"You see, Senator," Caleb began smoothly, his piercing blue eyes completely locking the man in place. "I have recently acquired the absolute, unshakeable loyalty of a very specific group of highly skilled men. These men are the foundation of my new corporate infrastructure here in Saint Denis. They are my family. But they are currently dealing with a rather tedious, bureaucratic inconvenience that is limiting their operational freedom across state lines."
Pendleton swallowed hard, the expensive brandy suddenly tasting like ash in his mouth. He leaned forward, his political instincts screaming that he was about to step onto incredibly dangerous legal ground. "An... an inconvenience, Don McLaughlin?"
"Yes," Caleb nodded slowly, taking a final, measured puff of his cigar before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. He leaned closer across the desk, the sheer weight of the underworld pressing down upon the room. "I would like to ask for your help in entirely clearing out some massive federal bounties that the United States Government has made on their heads."
Hearing that incredibly audacious, monumental demand, Senator Pendleton was silent for a long, heavy moment.
The quiet in the mahogany paneled study suddenly became suffocating. The only sounds in the room were the soft, rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock standing in the corner, and the faint, crackling hiss of the burning tobacco leaves as the two men held their Cuban cigars.
The Senator stared blindly at the crystal snifter of vintage brandy resting on the desk in front of him, his political mind completely short circuiting as it tried to process the sheer scale of the Don's request.
Clearing a local arrest warrant for public intoxication was one thing. Clearing massive, active federal bounties issued by the United States Government was an entirely different, incredibly dangerous universe of political corruption.
Finally, Pendleton swallowed the lump in his throat. He slowly raised his eyes to meet Caleb's cold, unwavering gaze.
"Don McLaughlin..." Pendleton started, his voice a hoarse, trembling whisper. He cleared his throat, trying to summon a shred of his senatorial authority. "Who exactly are the outlaws that you would like to be cleared of the bounties in their name? We are talking about federal jurisdictions. The marshals. The now wekaned but still have influence Pinkerton National Detective Agency. I need to know exactly whose slates I am supposed to wipe clean."
Caleb smiled. It was a slow, highly calculated expression of absolute confidence. He didn't say a word. Instead, he reached inside the breast pocket of his tailored charcoal suit jacket. He withdrew a single, neatly folded piece of premium, cream colored paper.
He placed the paper flat against the polished leather blotter of his desk and slid it smoothly across the mahogany surface until it rested directly under the Senator's nose.
"The boys of my gang, Senator," Caleb said softly. "The executive board of my new corporate infrastructure. Those are the men."
Pendleton set his cigar down on the edge of a crystal ashtray with a slightly shaking hand. He picked up the piece of paper. He unfolded it and began to read the names written down in Caleb's sharp, precise handwriting.
Hosea Matthews.
Arthur Morgan.
John Marston.
Bill Williamson.
Javier Escuella.
Charles Smith.
Sean Maguire.
Lenny Summers.
When the Senator read the names on the list, he was completely, utterly surprised. His eyes shot wide open, practically bulging against the wire frames of his spectacles. The blood entirely drained from his flushed face, leaving him looking like a man who had just been asked to personally assassinate the President of the United States.
He didn't just recognize one or two of the names. He recognized all of them. These were not common street thugs or low level stagecoach robbers. The names he knew were all intimately, directly involved in the infamous, bloody Blackwater Massacre.
They were the guns of the Van der Linde gang, the most highly publicized, ruthlessly hunted band of outlaws currently operating on the eastern seaboard. Their faces had been plastered on the front page of every major newspaper from New York to Lemoyne.
Pendleton looked up at Caleb, his hands physically trembling so hard the paper rattled loudly in the quiet study. He says, completely stammeringly, the sheer terror leaking through his aristocratic facade.
"My God... Don McLaughlin... do you... you know who is on this list, right?" Pendleton gasped, his eyes darting frantically around the room as if expecting Pinkerton agents to suddenly burst through the oak doors. "You just handed them to me! Hosea Matthews? Arthur Morgan? John Marston? These men... the crimes they are involved in! The Blackwater ferry heist! The train robberies! The shootouts in severls locations across three states! They are wanted for high treason, mass murder, and federal robbery! They are the most wanted men in this part of the country!"
Caleb simply picked up his crystal snifter. He swirled the amber liquid gently, watching the light catch the fifty year old brandy, entirely unfazed by the politician's frantic outburst.
Caleb nodded his head, his expression completely calm and unbothered. And he says, "Yes, of course I know who they are, Senator. How could I not? I rode with them. I fought alongside them. And now, they work exclusively for me."
Caleb took a slow, deeply appreciative sip of his wine. He let the rich, burning flavor settle on his tongue before he set the glass down and locked his piercing blue eyes directly onto the terrified politician.
"So," Caleb asked, his tone dropping into a dangerous, icy calmness. "Now that you know their names... why can't you help me, then, in clearing out these bounties?"
The Senator practically choked on his own breath. He immediately reached up and pulled at his collar, yanking on his expensive silk tie as if it were suddenly acting as a hangman's noose. He was sweating profusely, the moisture beading on his forehead and upper lip.
Pendleton goes to say to Caleb, his voice frantic and desperate, pleading for the mob boss to understand the political reality of the situation.
"It... it is not that I can't help you, Don McLaughlin!" Pendleton sputtered, desperately trying not to offend the man who currently held his entire life in his hands. "Please, you must understand! It is just that... this is still a remarkably hot piece! The Blackwater disaster is still being actively talked about down here and all across the federal circuits! The Pinkertons even though weakened and have failed many times, still have influence to draw massive funding from the government specifically to hunt these men down!"
The Senator wiped his sweating brow with his sleeve, his polished manners entirely abandoned. "If I simply walk into the Justice Department and demand federal pardons for Arthur Morgan and John Marston... the impact of clearing it out will deliver a massive, uncontrollable backlash to my career as a Senate member! They will investigate me! They will look into my finances, my connections! It would be political suicide!"
After saying that, he frantically wiped his sweat again with his silk handkerchief, his chest heaving as he waited for the Don's terrifying retribution. He expected Silvio to walk through the door with a shotgun. He expected to be dragged down to the bayou and fed to the alligators.
But Caleb didn't shout. He didn't threaten. He simply sat back in his high backed leather chair and looked deeply at him.
For a long, agonizing minute, the Don of Saint Denis just stared at the politician, utilizing his max level Persuasion and Leadership skills to completely dominate the psychological space in the room.
He let the silence stretch, forcing the Senator to stew in his own desperate anxiety. Before then, Caleb finally spoke. His voice was smooth, highly reasonable, and deceptively gentle.
"Then how do you think we should proceed, Nicholas, so that the backlash wouldn't be so massive?" Caleb asked, tilting his head slightly, placing the burden of the logistical planning directly onto the politician's shoulders.
Caleb leaned forward, projecting an aura of immense, protective corporate partnership rather than violent mob coercion. Since, after all, he still wanted to have a very good, highly lucrative, and deeply functional relationship with him as a Senator moving forward into the future.
"There is absolutely no need to worry, Senator," Caleb reassured him, his tone acting as a soothing balm to the man's frayed nerves. "I am a businessman, not a butcher. I am not going to go to the extreme to convince you. I am not going to hold a gun to your head, and I am certainly not going to ask you to commit political suicide. I need you in Washington, passing laws that benefit my shipping lanes and my factories. You are far too valuable to me to be thrown to the wolves."
Hearing that incredibly specific, highly pragmatic reassurance, the Senator practically collapsed against the back of his leather armchair. He heaved a massive, shuddering sigh of profound relief.
The tension melted out of his shoulders, and the color slowly began to return to his pale cheeks. Because at the very least, he finally knew his life wouldn't be in any immediate, violent danger. The Don was actually willing to listen to reason.
Pendleton took a deep breath, his political mind rapidly rebooting as the fear of death receded. If the Don was willing to play the game according to the unwritten rules of Washington corruption, then this seemingly impossible task might actually be feasible.
He then says to Caleb, his voice dropping into the hushed, conspiratorial whisper of a corrupt Washington insider.
"There are ways for me to do it, Don McLaughlin," Pendleton admitted, leaning forward over the mahogany desk, entirely abandoning his moral high ground. "But you must understand... it would take some time. I cannot simply sign a pardon. That is the President's jurisdiction, and that draws too much attention."
The Senator began to outline the dark, labyrinthine reality of federal bureaucracy. "Instead of a pardon, we have to make the bounties simply... disappear. I need to contact my highly placed connections in each separate department. I need to reach out to the clerks in the federal archives, the directors at the Pinkerton agency who handle the bounty ledgers, and the marshals who actively hold the warrants."
Pendleton adjusted his wire rimmed spectacles, his eyes glinting with sheer, unadulterated greed. "We have to arrange for the official records to be 'accidentally' burned in a localized fire. We have to have the active warrants 'misplaced' during a departmental transfer. And to accomplish all of these bureaucratic needs..."
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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: 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: -