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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Late that evening, an emergency, highly secretive meeting was convened in the opulent, smoke filled parlor of Reginald Hayes, the owner of the largest livery and coach service in the state.
The room was packed with the major figures of the Saint Denis horse and coach industry. Wealthy stable owners, horse breeders from Scarlett Meadows, and the heads of the transit unions sat in plush leather chairs, their faces pale, sweating heavily despite the cool evening air.
"My riders have been sitting idle for three days," Hayes barked, pacing fiercely in front of the marble fireplace, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. "Profits are down forty percent this week alone! People aren't renting horses. They aren't taking the cabs. They're buying those... those infernal metal contraptions!"
"It's a novelty, Reginald. A passing fad," a nervous horse breeder offered, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.
"It is not a fad!" another transit baron snapped, slamming his fist on a side table. "I bought one just to see how it works. It doesn't break. It doesn't get tired. If we do not stop this production, or slow it down, we are going to be bankrupt by the end of the year!"
The primary concern among the gathered men was obvious: they needed to destroy the bicycle. Suggestions began flying across the smoky room.
"We need to apply political pressure," one man suggested frantically. "Bribe the Mayor. Have the city council pass an ordinance banning bicycles from the main thoroughfares, claiming they are a hazard to pedestrians."
"Or we sabotage the factory," a rough looking carriage boss muttered, his eyes narrowing. "A few gallons of kerosene and a match in the middle of the night. Problem solved."
But as the words hung in the air, a deep, paralyzing silence fell over the room. The men looked at each other, the color completely draining from their faces as the reality of the situation finally caught up to their panic. They quickly realized that the real obstacle was not the bicycle itself.
The real obstacle was Caleb Thorne.
"Are you completely out of your mind?" Reginald Hayes hissed, stopping his pacing to glare at the carriage boss. "Sabotage the factory? Do you have any idea who owns that building?"
"He's just a businessman who got lucky—"
"He is the man who overthrew Angelo Bronte!" Hayes roared, his voice cracking with absolute terror. "He didn't just take Bronte's territory, he slaughtered him and his men, and then built an empire twice as terrifying! You want to throw a match at the Thorne syndicate?"
Another transit owner swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. "Hayes is right. We aren't dealing with a rival stable boy. Thorne controls the shipping docks. He controls the commercial districts. He has hundreds of loyal, heavily armed capos patrolling the streets."
"And let's not forget," the nervous breeder whispered, his eyes wide, "he owns Thorne-Marlin. He possesses a firearms factory capable of producing the most advanced, lethal weapons on the market. If we try to pass a law against him, he will buy the politicians right out from under us. And if we try to burn his factory... he will march those men out with his new submachine guns and burn our houses to the ground with our families inside them."
The horse industry leaders shifted in their plush chairs, deeply, profoundly uneasy. The mere thought of provoking Caleb Thorne was enough to make their blood run cold. Every single aggressive suggestion, political pressure, legal restrictions, physical sabotage, ran face first into the exact same insurmountable problem.
Absolutely none of them were confident that they could successfully challenge Caleb without suffering total, devastating, and likely fatal consequences.
The meeting slowly descended into a suffocating, tense frustration. Men rubbed their temples, staring blankly into the fire, realizing they were completely trapped. They were caught in an impossible vice between the slow, economic death of their businesses and the immediate, violent fear of confronting a man who possessed the power of a warlord.
Ultimately, the grand meeting ended with a whimper. There was no concrete solution. They had no effective plan, no courage to strike, and no leverage to use. They quietly filed out of Hayes's mansion, defeated, while out on the streets, the bicycle boom continued to grow with unstoppable momentum.
While the economic fabric of the city was being violently rewritten, a much quieter, profoundly strategic meeting was taking place back in the Garden District.
A heavy, unmarked carriage pulled through the iron gates of Caleb's estate. Stepping out into the warm evening air was United States Senator Pendleton.
Caleb was waiting for him on the grand portico. He personally welcomed the Senator with polite, genuine respect, shaking the man's hand warmly before guiding him inside.
Pendleton was not a man to be taken lightly, he was a rising star now in Washington, and he understood the immense, critical importance of this meeting. He had willingly made the long train journey south because he recognized that Caleb's ambitions were rapidly outgrowing the borders of Lemoyne.
Caleb led Pendleton into the quiet sanctuary of his private study. Antonio silently served them both hot, imported tea before bowing and closing the heavy oak doors, ensuring absolute privacy.
"It is good to see you, Senator," Caleb began, taking a seat opposite Pendleton by the crackling fireplace. "I trust the journey from the capital was comfortable?"
"Comfortable enough, Don Thorne," Pendleton smiled, taking a sip of his tea. His eyes, however, were sharp and focused. "Though I admit, the news of your latest... commercial endeavor has reached as far north as Washington. Bicycles, Caleb? I thought you dealt in steel and gunpowder."
"I deal in the future, Senator," Caleb corrected smoothly. "And speaking of the future... I believe we have some northern preparations to discuss."
Pendleton nodded slowly. He reached into his leather briefcase, withdrawing a thick, carefully sealed manila envelope. He handed the heavily prepared document across the low table to Caleb.
"As requested," Pendleton said, his tone dropping into a hushed, highly confidential register. "New York is a beast of a city, Caleb. You cannot simply walk in with a briefcase full of money and expect to build a factory. The local powers will bleed you dry or bury you in the East River. You need guides. You need gatekeepers."
Caleb broke the wax seal, sliding the thick parchment out.
"Contained in that document," Pendleton explained, leaning forward, "is a highly curated list of five politically and economically powerful men operating in New York. I know them personally, or I hold enough leverage to guarantee they will take your meetings. They represent the absolute pillars of the city's power structure. You will need them all if you intend to move in there and build infrastructure."
Caleb's blue eyes scanned the list, his mind immediately cataloging the names.
"Walk me through them, Senator," Caleb commanded softly..
Pendleton tapped the first name on the list. "First, you have Alderman Richard 'Dickie' Vance. He is a senior ward boss for Tammany Hall. He controls the local government influence in the industrial wards. He is a wildly corrupt, greedy man, but he is the gatekeeper to building permits, zoning laws, and electrical grid access. If you want to build a laboratory or a factory for yourself without the city shutting the water off, you must grease Vance's palms. Be careful, though. He has no loyalty to anything but the dollar. Rent him, do not trust him."
Caleb nodded, committing the psychological profile to memory.
"Second," Pendleton continued, "is Cornelius Van Der Rohe. High society. Absolute, entrenched old money. He is a senior director at one of the massive investment banks on Wall Street. Van Der Rohe despises Tammany Hall, but he secretly funds them to keep the peace. You need him because if you wanted to deal in the markets there, he have access to specialized European materials and massive lines of international credit that only Wall Street can clear quickly. He is arrogant, prideful, and values pedigree. You must approach him as an equal industrialist, not as a Southern outsider."
"I can play the aristocrat," Caleb murmured, glancing at the third name.
"Third is Deputy Police Commissioner Ewan Macleod," Pendleton said, his expression darkening slightly. "He effectively controls the NYPD's harbor and industrial patrols. He is brutal, deeply pragmatic, and highly effective. If you are bringing an armed detachment of your capos into the city, Macleod is the man who can ensure his officers look the other way when your boys inevitably clash with the local street gangs. He will provide a shield of legal immunity, but his price is steep, and he demands absolute discretion."
Caleb absorbed the information. A corrupt, powerful cop was exactly what Vincenzo would need to operate freely.
"Fourth is 'Iron' Mike Hoolihan," Pendleton pointed to the next line. "He is the supreme leader of the stevedores and the longshoremen's union. He controls every single crate that comes on and off the docks of Manhattan and Brooklyn. If you want to ship your bicycles, your weapons, or any heavy machinery into the city without the crates mysteriously 'falling into the harbor,' Hoolihan must be handled. He is blunt, violent, and respects strength above all else. Money won't buy him if he thinks you are weak."
"I will introduce him to Arthur," Caleb noted dryly, a faint smirk touching his lips.
"Finally," Pendleton concluded, tapping the last name. "State Senator Julian Astor. He represents New York in Albany. He is your political insider. Thomas Edison has an army of patent lawyers and state judges in his pocket. If Edison tries to file legal injunctions to stop the work under your banner, Astor is the man who can fast track corporate charters and shut down Edison's lawsuits at the state level. Astor is incredibly vain, obsessed with his legacy. Convince him that backing you makes him a visionary, and he will fight Edison tooth and nail."
Caleb sat back, the document resting in his lap. He studied the detailed breakdown, recognizing instantly that this information was incredibly, undeniably valuable. It was the absolute blueprint for conquering the North.
"This is exceptional work, Senator," Caleb praised him sincerely, looking up to meet Pendleton's eyes. "You have mapped the battlefield perfectly."
"I aim to prove my worth to this partnership, Caleb," Pendleton replied smoothly.
"And you have," Caleb assured him, leaning forward to pour Pendleton a glass of aged bourbon. "Let me make my intentions perfectly clear. If these five connections grant me the foothold I need to secure Tesla and establish the Thorne Holding Company in New York... my support for you will no longer be limited to Lemoyne."
Pendleton's eyes sparked with intense interest.
"I see a much larger future for you, Senator," Caleb promised, his voice carrying the subtle, calculated weight of grand political strategy. "This relationship is entirely mutually beneficial. You provide me the keys to New York's political and business circles. In return, I will provide the vast, unlimited financial resources, the corporate influence, and the media support required to propel your political ambitions far beyond the Senate. Perhaps a cabinet seat. Perhaps... something higher."
Pendleton swallowed hard, the sheer scope of Caleb's promise settling over him. He knew Caleb Thorne was a man who delivered on his threats and his promises with equal, terrifying efficiency.
"I look forward to our continued success, Caleb," Pendleton smiled, raising his glass in a toast.
"To the future," Caleb agreed.
After Pendleton finally took his leave, the mansion grew quiet. Caleb remained alone in his study, the fire burning low in the hearth. He held the document in his hands, his intelligent mind studying the five names again. Vance, Van Der Rohe, Macleod, Hoolihan, Astor.
He was already thinking several moves ahead, orchestrating the precise psychological angles he would use to manipulate each of them during his upcoming trip. He was visualizing the sprawling laboratories he would build for Nikola Tesla, and the boundless, electrified opportunities the city could offer his syndicate.
Meanwhile, just beyond the quiet, fortified walls of the Garden District, the Saint Denis night was alive with the sound of progress. The bicycle boom continued spreading relentlessly through the streets, creating a massive, growing economic disruption that the old guard was entirely powerless to stop.
Caleb Thorne was not a man who believed in leaving the future up to chance. The moment Senator Pendleton's carriage rolled out of the Garden District, Caleb immediately shifted his focus toward securing his northern foothold. He understood the precarious, delicate nature of New York politics, he did not need to conquer the entire city overnight.
What he needed was an opening, a few reliable connections, and enough leveraged influence to begin building from there. His long term ambition was staggering, once New York became part of his sphere of influence, his industries could grow from dominant regional operations into a sprawling national network, and eventually, an untouchable international empire.
But Caleb was also smart enough to know that the situation in New York was far more labyrinthine and treacherous than the blatant, brute force corruption he had exploited in Saint Denis. He could not plan this campaign alone.
The next morning, Caleb summoned his most trusted advisors to the primary parlor, Hosea, Antonio, and Herr Strauss
"Gentlemen," Caleb began, laying the list of five New York power brokers on the low mahogany table. "In less than two weeks, we board a train for Manhattan. I need this expedition planned with military precision."
The resulting discussions were intense, multi layered, and deeply strategic, reflecting the sheer scale of Caleb's growing empire.
Hosea focused entirely on the psychological warfare. The old conman analyzed Pendleton's profiles with a master's eye, helping Caleb understand the specific motives and social maneuvering required for each man.
"Van Der Rohe is old money, Caleb," Hosea advised, tapping the Wall Street banker's name. "He'll look down his nose at you if you walk in acting like a Southern gunslinger. You need to present yourself as a sophisticated, established industrialist. Buy the most expensive European suits you can find. Don't offer him cash; offer him exclusive equity in the Tesla patents."
"Agreed," Caleb nodded. "What about Alderman Vance?"
"Tammany Hall runs on favors and cash in brown envelopes," Hosea smirked. "He'll take your money, but he'll also want a piece of the action. You have to make him believe that letting you build in his ward makes him look powerful to his bosses."
While Hosea handled the people, Strauss meticulously focused on the finances. The Austrian accountant brought his massive ledgers to the table, calculating exactly how much Caleb should be willing to spend to establish himself in New York without wasting capital.
"We must allocate a minimum of fifty thousand dollars in untraceable bearer bonds just for the initial bribes and 'administrative fees,'" Strauss calculated, his brow furrowed. "But the real expense will be Tesla. If you intend to fully fund his wireless transmission research, we need to establish a massive line of credit with a New York bank. I suggest we transfer a quarter of a million dollars from the Saint Denis reserves to a secure northern account before we ever arrive."
"Do it, Strauss. Spare absolutely no expense when it comes to Tesla," Caleb ordered.
Finally, Antonio handled the physical logistics of moving a billionaire, his bride, and a small army across the country.
"I have already chartered two reinforced Pullman cars and a secure freight car for the journey, Don Thorne," Antonio reported crisply. "I am arranging for a rotating staff of trusted servants to manage the household needs while aboard. Furthermore, I have quietly begun securing luxury accommodations at the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan. The capos will be housed in discreet boarding houses in the surrounding blocks, ensuring they are close at hand but not drawing undue attention to your suite."
"Excellent work, all of you," Caleb praised them, satisfied that the foundation was set.
While the corporate machinery hummed below, the atmosphere upstairs in the master suite was entirely different. Caleb and Mary-Beth had begun the process of preparing their personal luggage for the long journey. Since the trip to New York would take several days by train, they needed to carefully decide what to bring.
The scene was quiet, filled with the comfortable, deeply affectionate intimacy that had blossomed between the newlyweds.
Mary-Beth was standing by a massive open trunk, carefully folding several of her new, elegant dresses. "How many formal gowns do you think I will actually need, Caleb?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. "If we are going to be meeting Wall Street bankers, I suppose I shouldn't dress like I'm going to a barn dance."
Caleb, who was sitting on the edge of the bed polishing the silver inlay of his M-1911 pistol, chuckled softly. "Bring the sapphire silk, and the emerald velvet. You could wear a burlap sack, sweetheart, and you would still outshine every woman in New York high society." Mary-Beth blushed, throwing a rolled up pair of woolen stockings at his head, which he easily caught with a grin.
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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: -