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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When the three men heard what Caleb said, the atmosphere on their side of the table shifted entirely. The raw, primal terror of the mafia boss was suddenly clashing violently with their deeply ingrained, highly cynical instincts as veteran publishers. At first, they, of course, inwardly wanted to mock Caleb. Their minds immediately jumped to the most obvious, cliched conclusion.
Another powerful, arrogant man with a beautiful mistress, Mr. Sterling thought to himself, fighting the desperate urge to roll his eyes. 'He wants us to use our prestigious printing presses to publish her illiterate, purple prose diary entries just to keep her happy.'
It was a tale as old as time in the publishing industry. Wealthy tycoons, corrupt politicians, and arrogant socialites were always trying to force vanity projects down their throats.
But they absolutely held themselves back from showing even a single ounce of that cynicism on their faces, knowing exactly how he was and what he was capable of. They knew that if they laughed, or if they rejected the manuscripts out of hand, they might not leave the Garden District estate alive.
They wanted to mock him because they had heard such bold, arrogant words from many, many people over their long careers, and almost none of it was ever a hit. Ninety nine percent of the vanity projects they were forced to review were absolute, unreadable garbage.
But they were trapped. They proceeded to agree to read the books, forcing incredibly tight, fake smiles onto their faces, completely preparing themselves to read hundreds of pages of dreadful, amateurish drivel just to appease the mob boss.
Meanwhile, Caleb entirely unfazed by their hidden skepticism, address them. "I don't expect you to take my word for it on blind faith, gentlemen," Caleb said smoothly, gesturing to the stacks. "I am a businessman. I deal in proven assets. I want you to read them. Read the first few chapters. You will believe me after reading the books in general, one by one."
Caleb untied the twine from the first stack, the heavily edited, flawless 1899 adaptation of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, and pushed a thick section of the handwritten pages across the glass table toward Mr. Vance. He pushed the first romantic manuscript toward Mr. Sterling, and another fantasy volume toward Mr. Beauregard.
"Take your time," Caleb offered, leaning back and crossing his legs, projecting infinite patience. "I have coffee, I have pastries, and I have all morning."
The three men nervously reached out, their hands trembling slightly as they picked up the heavy parchment pages. They adjusted their spectacles, cleared their throats, and looked down at the flowing cursive handwriting.
And so, time passed by as they read the books.
The back porch fell into a deep, profound silence, broken only by the gentle trickling of the marble fountain, the distant singing of birds in the garden, and the crisp, rhythmic rustle of thick paper pages being turned.
At first, as their eyes scanned the opening paragraphs, they didn't have any hope. Their posture was stiff, their expressions tight with forced polite indulgence.
Mr. Vance, reading the opening description of a strangely normal family living in a strangely normal house, expected the prose to stumble, expected the grammar to fail, expected the narrative to be completely devoid of structure.
But then, something incredible happened.
The stiffness in Mr. Vance's shoulders began to melt away. His eyes, which had been scanning the lines with cynical speed, suddenly slowed down, tracking the words with sharp, genuine focus. He read about a strange cat reading a map, about men in cloaks whispering on street corners, and about a giant arriving on a flying motorcycle (cleverly adapted to a roaring, steam powered mechanical marvel of the Gilded Age).
The prose was absolutely flawless. It was tight, evocative, and incredibly polished. Mary-Beth's natural, brilliant talent for capturing emotion and description, combined with Caleb's supernatural retention of one of the greatest stories ever told in human history, had created an absolute masterpiece.
Mr. Sterling, reading Mary-Beth's original romance novel, let out a soft, completely involuntary gasp as he turned a page. The raw, heartbreaking emotional tension she had built in just the first three chapters was staggering. It wasn't the cheap, melodramatic drivel he had expected, it was profound, sweeping, and undeniably gripping.
They then soon began to not just read out of obligation, but to get completely, hopelessly hooked.
The forced smiles vanished entirely, replaced by looks of absolute, unadulterated literary shock. They leaned forward in their wrought iron chairs, their expensive suits wrinkling as they hunched over the glass table. They pulled the pages closer to their faces, their eyes darting rapidly across the ink. The coffee in their porcelain cups grew completely cold, entirely forgotten.
They were especially hooked on these Harry Potter books. The world-building was so dense, so wildly imaginative, yet grounded in such relatable, human emotion that it completely defied the standard conventions of late 19th century literature. It was an entirely new genre.
As Mr. Vance finished the first stack of chapters, his hands actually shook, not from fear of the mafia Don, but from the sheer, overwhelming adrenaline of a publisher who had just discovered a diamond mine. He eagerly reached for the second stack, his eyes widening as he read the title Chamber of Secrets.
As they frantically cross referenced the stacks, swapping pages among themselves in absolute silence, they realized as well that it was a massive, interconnected series. It wasn't just a single good book, it was an expansive, deeply plotted universe with escalating stakes, returning characters, and an underlying mystery that connected every single volume.
And even more staggering, as they looked at the massive pile of six thick manuscripts, they realized it hadn't ended yet. The story was still ongoing. It was a guaranteed, multi year revenue stream. An absolute golden goose that would keep readers coming back to the bookstores year after year, desperate for the next installment.
Mr. Vance slowly lowered the pages of the third book to the glass table. He took off his spectacles, wiping the lenses with a trembling hand. He looked up at Caleb, his cynical, high society arrogance entirely shattered.
He didn't see a terrifying mafia thug anymore. He saw a man who was handing him the keys to the greatest literary empire of the century.
"Don McLaughlin..." Mr. Vance breathed, his voice completely hollowed out by absolute awe. He looked at Mary-Beth, his eyes wide with profound, staggering respect. "Madam McFarlane... this is... I don't even have the words. This is not just good. This is a monumental achievement in modern fiction."
Mr. Sterling nodded frantically, tapping his finger against the romance manuscript. "The emotional depth... the pacing... I have never read anything like it. The market will absolutely devour this. They will riot in the streets to buy the next copy."
Mr. Beauregard, the oldest and most experienced of the three, simply stared at the stacks of the magical series, his business mind racing with millions of dollars in projected sales. "A serialized fantasy epic of this magnitude... it will cross all demographics. Children will want it, adults will read it in the parlors... Don McLaughlin, you were not exaggerating."
Caleb smiled, a slow, predatory, and utterly victorious grin spreading across his face. He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together over his stomach. He had completely destroyed their cynicism. They were hooked, they were desperate, and now, they were entirely at his mercy.
"I told you, gentlemen," Caleb said smoothly, his voice a low, terrifyingly confident rumble. "I deal in proven assets. Now that we are all on the same page regarding the unparalleled quality of my Madam's work... let us discuss exactly how much of your profit margins you are going to surrender to me in order to print it."
Mary-Beth sat beside him, her heart soaring into the stratosphere, trying her absolute hardest to maintain her cold, aristocratic composure while her greatest dream officially became an unstoppable, world altering reality.
The serene, sunlit atmosphere of the back porch suddenly became thick, heavy, and suffocatingly tense. As the profound realization of what sat on the glass table washed over the three heads of the publishing houses, a rapid, almost violent psychological shift occurred among them.
Just minutes earlier, when they had been escorted into the Garden District estate by armed mafia capos, Archibald Vance, Arthur Sterling, and Thaddeus Beauregard had stood shoulder to shoulder.
They had treated each other, more or less, as comrades in distress, a united front of legitimate businessmen bracing themselves to face the unpredictable wrath of the city's newest, most terrifying crime lord. They had shared panicked glances of solidarity.
But now? Now, as they looked at the towering stacks of perfectly polished manuscripts, they looked at each other and their eyes turned cold, calculating, and entirely ruthless. They now treated each other as bitter, mortal enemies.
The camaraderie evaporated like morning mist under a scorching sun. The scent of unimaginable, paradigm shifting wealth was in the air.
They were veteran publishers. They possessed an unparalleled understanding of the Gilded Age literary market, and they could see the raw, explosive opportunity in these manuscripts.
Yes, they all silently acknowledged that Madam McFarlane's original romance and fantasy novels were absolutely outstanding in their own right. Her sweeping prose and breathtaking emotional tension would easily top the bestseller lists and secure a massive, dedicated female readership across the eastern part of the country and even the whole country.
But they were not fools. They could clearly see that the biggest and most lucrative moneys, the kind of generational wealth that built mansions, funded rail lines, and established international corporate monopolies, were all concentrated on these Harry Potter books.
The serialized nature of the story, the dense, immersive world building, and the cross demographic appeal meant it wouldn't just be a book, it would become a cultural obsession.
And now, they wanted to possess it entirely.
The three men sat frozen in their plush wrought iron chairs, their eyes darting between the manuscripts and each other. They wanted to aggressively assess each other, constantly running the mathematics of printing costs, distribution tariffs, and binding expenses in their heads.
Yet, a suffocating silence reigned over the glass table. Not a single one of them was daring to be the one to speak first.
As seasoned businessmen, they found themselves trapped in the ultimate negotiator's paradox.
They desperately wanted to get the most benefits for their respective publishing houses, maximizing their own profit margins. But at the same time, they were negotiating with Don McLaughlin.
They knew they had to present the most lucrative deals for Caleb, deals that would appease a man who could order their legs broken, while still expertly weaving in terms that allowed themselves to get the astronomical benefits they so deeply desired. Whoever spoke first would effectively set the ceiling for the Don, but they would also expose their own underbelly to the other two competitors.
Caleb, leaning back in his chair with his hands steepled over his stomach, observed the agonizing, silent standoff with a dark, deeply entertained amusement. His high Perception stats effortlessly read the sheer, unadulterated greed warring with primal fear in their sweating faces.
He decided to force their hands.
Caleb unclasped his hands and reached out, using his knuckles to deliver two sharp, commanding raps against the thick glass of the table.
Knock. Knock.
The sound cracked through the tense silence like a pistol shot, making all three executives physically jump in their seats. Caleb had successfully broken their tension, immediately drawing their wide, fearful eyes back to him.
"Gentlemen," Caleb began, his voice a low, smooth baritone that commanded absolute obedience. "We are losing the morning light. I am a man who appreciates efficiency. Since none of you seem eager to jump into the fire, I will establish the order of proceedings."
He pointed a long, leather gloved finger directly at the man sitting on the far left.
"Mr. Vance," Caleb declared, his tone leaving zero room for debate. "You will be the first one to say your offer. You will lay out exactly what the Saint Denis Times Literary Press is prepared to bring to my Madam's table."
Caleb then shifted his finger, pointing down the line. "You will be followed by Mr. Sterling, and then Mr. Beauregard, in turns. I want to hear what each of your houses can provide in terms of upfront capital, royalty percentages, distribution networks, and premium binding runs."
Before the sheer panic of establishing the baseline could entirely paralyze Vance, Caleb offered a strategic, highly manipulative olive branch.
"And breathe easy, gentlemen," Caleb continued, a cool, calculating smile touching his lips. "I am a businessman just like you. I am not a tyrant who expects the impossible on the first breath. I can completely understand that whatever offer you give me firsthand is merely a starting point. It could be changed, adjusted, and refined later according to how the negotiation proceeds. We are simply establishing the foundation of our partnership."
Hearing that highly reasonable, deeply corporate assurance from the city's most feared mafia boss, the three men collectively heaved a massive sigh of relief. Their shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. The Don wasn't going to shoot them for making a low initial bid; he was inviting them to play the great game of capitalism.
But while Sterling and Beauregard relaxed slightly, Vance was the one who got incredibly nervous again. The blood drained from the executive director's face.
Because he was pointed out by Caleb to be the first one to talk, he was in the most vulnerable position possible. While the others could simply sit back, analyze the first deal he gave, and then ruthlessly use it to make him look bad to Caleb, Vance had to guess the magical number that would impress the Don without bankrupting his firm.
Vance swallowed hard, nervously adjusting his tweed jacket. He looked at the massive stack of Harry Potter manuscripts, the greed finally overriding his fear.
"Don McLaughlin... Madam McFarlane," Vance began, his voice shaking slightly before he cleared his throat to find his professional cadence. "The Saint Denis Times Literary Press is the most prestigious institution in the city. We propose an unprecedented, highly generous contract. We will cover all overhead costs for the initial printing of five thousand copies. We offer a standard advance of two thousand dollars, and we are prepared to offer the Madam a staggering twelve percent royalty on all gross sales. Furthermore, we will retain the standard publishing rights, but we will guarantee premium placement in every bookstore in Lemoyne."
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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: 285,392 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, 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: -