If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, 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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"There is a man currently living in the city," Caleb told her, his voice vibrating with quiet intensity. "His name is Nikola Tesla. He is one of the most brilliant but misunderstood inventors in current time in my opinion He understands electricity in a way that no one else on this planet does. Right now, he is underfunded, struggling, and being actively suppressed by his rivals. I want to meet him. I want to bring him into our family, completely fund his research, and give him the freedom to change the world. Because if I can secure his mind, Mary-Beth... we won't just be wealthy. We will dictate the technological future of this entire country."
Mary-Beth listened intently, absorbing the sheer, staggering magnitude of what he was planning. She saw the fire in his eyes, the visionary brilliance that made him so utterly captivating.
She nodded slowly, a warm, supportive smile touching her lips.
"As long as it is safe, Caleb," Mary-Beth said, her voice filled with quiet conviction. "And as long as you truly promise to take your mind off the business and the patents when it is just the two of us... I am perfectly fine with it. New York sounds like an incredible adventure."
"Thank you, Mary-Beth," Caleb smiled warmly, profoundly grateful for her understanding. He lifted her hands, kissing her knuckles tenderly.
The moment felt incredibly intimate and deeply grounded in the reality of their relationship. They were true partners, completely aligned in their trust and their vision for the future.
With the honeymoon destination officially decided, the two of them eventually dressed for the day and made their way downstairs to the sunlit dining room. They shared a quiet, relaxed breakfast of fresh fruit, warm pastries, and rich coffee, enjoying the peaceful hum of the mansion.
But as the morning progressed, the machinery of the Thorne Holding Company demanded Caleb's attention.
Caleb sent a messenger to the commercial district, and less than an hour later, Pierre arrived at the mansion. The brilliant corporate attorney stepped into the grand foyer looking crisp, efficient, and highly professional, carrying a thick, leather bound folio stuffed with legal documents.
"Don Thorne. Madam Thorne," Pierre greeted them, bowing respectfully as Caleb led him into the primary parlor.
"Do you have the paperwork, Pierre?" Caleb asked, gesturing for the lawyer to take a seat on the velvet sofa.
"I do, sir," Pierre confirmed, opening the folio. "The purchase of the multi story brownstone building on the edge of the Garden District was finalized late last night. The previous owner was more than eager to accept your cash offer. I have drafted the deed transfer entirely under the name of John Marston, free and clear of any encumbrances, back taxes, or liens."
"Excellent work, Pierre," Caleb praised him. He pulled the bell cord. "Antonio, please ask John and Abigail to join us in the parlor."
A few minutes later, John and Abigail walked into the room. They both looked slightly nervous, unsure of exactly what the formal summons was about, but their apprehension vanished the moment Caleb smiled at them.
"Sit down, my friends," Caleb invited warmly, gesturing to the armchairs opposite the sofa.
As they took their seats, Caleb reached across the low mahogany table, taking the thick, heavy parchment deed from Pierre's hands. He looked at the former outlaw, a man who had spent his entire adult life sleeping with one eye open, terrified of the law taking his family away.
Caleb leaned forward, personally extending the deed toward them.
"John. Abigail," Caleb said, his voice ringing with a deep, familial pride. "This is the official, registered property deed to the brownstone building we discussed last night. It is entirely paid for, and it is in your name. It is your home."
John stared at the heavy parchment as if it were made of solid gold. His hands actually trembled slightly as he reached out and took the document. He looked down at his own name, legally printed in crisp, black ink on a legitimate piece of city real estate.
Abigail let out a sudden, choked sob of pure, overwhelming joy. She covered her mouth with her hands, tears immediately spilling over her eyelashes and tracing down her cheeks.
"Oh, Caleb... Mary-Beth," Abigail wept, leaning forward to tightly grip Mary-Beth's hand. "I... I don't even have the words. Thank you. Thank you so much."
John looked up from the deed, his dark eyes shining with an emotion that was incredibly rare for the hardened gunslinger. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his jaw tightening as he looked at Caleb.
"You gave us a life, Caleb," John said, his voice thick and rough. "And now you're giving us a foundation. I don't know how I'm ever going to repay you for this."
"You already have, John," Caleb smiled warmly, clearly, deeply pleased that he possessed the power to do this for them. "By standing with me when it counted. Take your family. Go see your new home."
The two of them stood up, thanking Caleb and Mary-Beth profusely once more before practically running out of the parlor, eager to show little Jack the place where he would actually get to grow up. The scene felt incredibly meaningful, a definitive, triumphant turning point that officially secured a stable, prosperous future for the Marston family.
Once the emotional high of the deed handover had settled, Pierre took his leave to file the remaining tax documents with the city. Caleb watched the lawyer depart before turning his mind toward the looming, massive logistics of the Northern expansion.
It was time to assemble the generals.
Caleb instructed Antonio to gather Vincenzo, Silvio, Arthur, John, Javier, and Bill, and bring them directly to the big halll room in the estate.
Twenty minutes later, the six men were seated around a massive, polished oak table. The atmosphere in the underground room was instantly serious, devoid of the playful banter from the dinner the night before. These men were the core of the Thorne syndicate, and when they were summoned to this room, they knew it meant a new campaign was beginning.
Caleb stood at the head of the table, his hands resting flat against the wood.
"Gentlemen," Caleb began, his blue eyes locking onto each of them in turn. "The war in Lemoyne is over. We own the state. But stagnation is the death of any business. In two weeks' time, Mary-Beth and I will be traveling to New York."
The men exchanged quick, highly alert glances.
"It is, officially, our honeymoon," Caleb continued, pacing slowly behind his chair. "But on a much larger scale, it is an expedition. New York is not just a city, it is the financial gateway of the world. It is a major future center of power, trade, and political influence. The men who control the docks and the industries of New York will dictate the trajectory of this country for the next century."
Caleb stopped, looking directly at Vincenzo and Silvio.
"I have specific business to conduct there. Opportunities that will exponentially expand our wealth," Caleb explained, keeping the details of Nikola Tesla close to his chest for now, but giving them enough of the strategic picture to understand the stakes. "But I know exactly what New York is. It is a city controlled by ruthless political machines and violent, entrenched street gangs. They do not know who we are, and they will see our wealth as an opportunity for extortion."
Arthur leaned forward, resting his massive forearms on the table, a pragmatic, concerned frown on his face.
"That's a mighty big pond, Caleb," Arthur warned, his voice low and serious. "The gangs up there... they ain't like the Raiders or the O'Driscolls. They're organized. They have thousands of men, and they own the local police. If we walk in there waving our money around, we are going to kick a hornet's nest."
"I am counting on it, Arthur," Caleb replied coldly, a terrifying, confident smirk touching his lips. "Which is exactly why you six are coming with me."
John, having just received the deed to his new life, didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. "You point the gun, Caleb. I'll pull the trigger. Whatever you need."
"You will act as my absolute inner circle of protection for the duration of the journey and the honeymoon," Caleb mandated, his tone shifting into the uncompromising cadence of the Don.
"You will support me in any negotiations, and you will secure any opportunities that arise from them. We will bring a heavily armed detachment of our best capos. We will not start a war in their streets... but if they attempt to intimidate the Thorne Holding Company, I want you to remind them exactly why we own the South."
Vincenzo, the scarred Italian Underboss, nodded his head slowly, a dark, violent respect burning in his eyes. He understood the language of New York perfectly.
"It will be an honor, Don Thorne," Vincenzo rumbled, his thick accent filling the room. "We will pack the Vanguard rifles and the Sweepers. If the Five Points gangs or the waterfront mobs try to cross you, we will leave them in the Hudson River."
Javier spun a silver coin across his knuckles, a sharp, eager grin on his face. "I've never been to New York. Hear the weather is terrible, but the money is good. I'm in."
"I'll start organizing the ammunition crates today, boss," Bill added, puffing his chest out proudly.
The group reacted with a perfect mix of pragmatic concern and profound, unwavering respect. They saw the sheer, visionary ambition radiating from Caleb. He wasn't just thinking about next week's collections, he was thinking decades into the future, moving them into positions of power they had never even dreamed of.
"Prepare your men," Caleb ordered, officially concluding the strategic briefing. "We leave in fourteen days. Let the North see what is coming."
As the heavy oak doors of theroom closed behind the departing men, the atmosphere in the mansion shifted into a state of focus, relentless preparation. The fourteen day countdown to the New York expedition had officially begun.
For Vincenzo, Silvio, Arthur, John, Javier, and Bill, those two weeks would be consumed with meticulously organizing crates of high grade ammunition, selecting their most ruthless capos, and coordinating the armored train cars that would carry the Thorne syndicate into the northern labyrinth.
But Caleb could not afford to solely focus on the future. He had an empire to run in the present, and the New York invasion required an endless, flowing river of liquid capital.
Leaving the meticulous travel logistics to his generals, Caleb grabbed his tailored wool overcoat and stepped out into the crisp Saint Denis afternoon. He bypassed the luxurious carriage, opting instead for a brisk, solitary walk toward the sprawling industrial district. He needed to clear his head, and he needed to see the physical manifestation of his technological vision.
The transition from the pristine, manicured lawns of the Garden District to the smog choked, soot stained brick of the factory sector was stark. The air here smelled of burning coal, hot iron, and the sweat of a thousand desperate laborers.
As Caleb approached the massive, red brick facility that he had purchased just weeks prior, he was immediately greeted by the sight of his own corporate power. Standing at rigid attention outside the heavy iron gates were half a dozen men wearing sharp, dark suits.
They were Thorne Trading Co. security, hand picked by Vincenzo, armed with concealed Vanguard pistols and watchful, uncompromising eyes. They weren't just guarding a building, they were guarding the most valuable industrial secret on the entire city.
The guards immediately straightened, respectfully pulling the heavy iron doors open as their employer approached.
"Don Thorne," the captain of the guard nodded deferentially.
"Keep your eyes on the street," Caleb murmured, stepping past them and into the cavernous interior of the factory.
The moment Caleb crossed the threshold, the deafening, rhythmic cacophony of mass production washed over him.
The factory floor was a sprawling hive of disciplined, relentless activity. Massive leather belts spun overhead, powering the heavy stamping presses that punched out steel sprockets. In the far corner, the bright, blinding blue flames of brazing torches illuminated the soot stained faces of the metalworkers as they flawlessly welded the hollow drawn steel tubing into Caleb's revolutionary diamond frames.
Caleb walked slowly down the central aisle, his blue eyes taking in every detail. He observed the rhythm of the production line with profound satisfaction. There was no chaos, no wasted movement.
The men were paid exceptionally well, and in return, they worked with a militant discipline, carefully stretching the vulcanized rubber pneumatic tires over the wire spoked wheels and bolting the plush leather saddles onto the frames.
Near the back of the factory, standing before rows upon rows of fully assembled, gleaming bicycles, was the factory manager. Mr. Higgins was a nervous, sharply dressed man who constantly wiped machine grease from his spectacles. When he saw the towering, impeccably dressed rich CEO walking toward him, Higgins nearly dropped his clipboard.
"M-Mr. Thorne! Sir!" Higgins stammered, rushing forward to meet him. "We weren't expecting an inspection today!"
"I don't require an invitation to visit my own property, Higgins," Caleb said smoothly, his voice easily cutting through the mechanical roar of the factory. He stopped, running a gloved hand over the pristine, polished handlebars of the nearest bicycle. The craftsmanship was flawless. The gear ratios were perfect. "Tell me. How many units have successfully cleared the final assembly line?"
Higgins flipped frantically through the pages on his clipboard, his finger tracing a column of ink.
"As of this morning's shift, sir, we have produced exactly seven hundred and fifty completed bicycles. Fully inspected, tires pressurized, and chains oiled," the manager reported, puffing his chest out slightly, clearly proud of the output.
Caleb's expression remained perfectly neutral. He nodded slowly, processing the number. It wasn't a failure, but it was not the overwhelming flood he had envisioned.
"Seven hundred and fifty," Caleb repeated softly. He looked at Higgins, his gaze piercing. "It is less than I expected, Higgins. I want to completely drown the market in these machines, not simply dip our toes in. However... given the technical limitations of your stamping presses and the precision required for the welding, it will do for now."
Higgins let out a quiet breath of relief, nodding vigorously. "We are pushing the men as fast as safely possible, sir. The rubber curing process for the tires is the primary bottleneck."
"Keep pushing them. Pay them double overtime if you must," Caleb ordered, his tone shifting into the visionary cadence of a master marketer. "I want you to prepare every single one of these seven hundred and fifty bicycles. Polish the frames until they shine. Check the tire pressure twice. I am pulling them out of the warehouse."
Higgins blinked in surprise. "All of them, sir? Where are they going?"
"We are holding an event," Caleb smiled, a dangerously ambitious light flickering in his eyes. "It is time to formally introduce the bicycle to the public of Saint Denis."
"Understood completely, Mr. Thorne! I will have the loading crews prepare the crates immediately!" Higgins promised.
Leaving the manager to his frantic preparations, Caleb exited the factory and returned to the quiet luxury of the mansion.
The moment he stepped into his private study, he pulled the bell cord. Antonio appeared within seconds, ledger in hand, ready for the next command.
"Antonio, I need you to secure the necessary documents and city permits by this evening," Caleb instructed, shedding his overcoat and taking a seat behind his mahogany desk. "We are holding a massive public exhibition for the Thorne Trading Co. tomorrow afternoon."
"Of course, sir. Where would you like this exhibition to take place?" Antonio asked, his pen poised.
"Central Park," Caleb stated unequivocally.
Antonio's eyebrows rose slightly. The massive, sprawling public park in the heart of Saint Denis was the crown jewel of the city's green spaces. "Sir, the city council is notoriously strict regarding commercial events in the central gardens. It may require a significant... administrative fee."
"Pay whatever bribe the Mayor requires," Caleb dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. "I need the park. It is the only place with enough paved pathways to serve as a proper demonstration area, and it is the only space large enough to gather the kind of massive crowd I intend to draw."
"Consider it done, sir," Antonio nodded. "What are the logistics for the crowd?"
"We are not just going to display a product; we are going to throw a festival," Caleb strategized, his mind weaving corporate marketing with absolute theatrical spectacle. "I want brass bands. I want colorful banners. I want the people of this city to associate the Thorne name with celebration, prosperity, and the future. And to guarantee a frenzy..."
Caleb leaned forward, a brilliant smile on his face. "We are going to offer five bicycles entirely for free."
Antonio looked up from his notes, genuinely surprised by the philanthropic marketing tactic.
"Have the carpenters build a massive spinning carnival wheel," Caleb instructed, detailing the mechanics of the giveaway. "Paint it with numbers, prizes, and five distinct golden slots. Anyone who attends the event can step up, spin the wheel, and if it lands on the golden slot, they win a bicycle right then and there. Free of charge."
"It is a masterful stroke of psychology, Don Thorne," Antonio praised him, instantly recognizing the genius of the plan. "The prospect of a free prize will draw hundreds of people sir. And once they see the machine, the seven hundred and forty five units we have for sale will evaporate in an mater of moments."
"Exactly. Get the permits, Antonio. We launch tomorrow."
A day passed in a blur of frantic, highly coordinated logistical mastery.
By the time the afternoon sun began to dip toward the western horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the city, the sprawling expanse of Central Park had been completely transformed.
The rumor mill of Saint Denis had done its job flawlessly. The city's populace, ranging from wealthy merchants in tailored suits to exhausted factory workers in soot stained caps, had flooded the park grounds, drawn by the irresistible promise of a free spectacle hosted by the legendary, newly married billionaire Don.
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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: 283,392 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 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: -