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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The two of them retreated to the dressing room, changing into clothing that was comfortable for walking, yet completely respectable for high society New York. Mary-Beth chose a beautiful, tailored walking dress of soft forest green, paired with a matching coat and a delicate hat. Caleb opted for a sharp, charcoal grey three piece suit and a heavy wool overcoat to combat the biting Northern wind.
Before he put his overcoat on, Caleb opened his leather satchel. With practiced, deliberate precision, he strapped on his custom leather shoulder holsters. He checked the action on both of his M1911 pistols, sliding the heavy, fully loaded magazines into the grips before holstering them.
He kept the weapons entirely hidden beneath the tailored cut of his jacket, ensuring they drew absolutely no attention. He had promised Mary-Beth a honeymoon, but given the sheer size and the entrenched danger of the city, he quietly made sure he was prepared for anything.
When Caleb and Mary-Beth stepped out of the gilded elevator and into the bustling lobby, Arthur and Silvio were already waiting for them.
As Caleb walked past, Arthur fell into step a few paces behind, casually tipping his bowler hat. Silvio walked slightly ahead, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. Several trusted capos were already dispersed throughout the street outside. The security presence was masterful, subtle enough that it did not ruin the romantic, honeymoon atmosphere, but undeniably clear enough that Caleb and Mary-Beth were not walking through the labyrinth of New York unprotected.
Stepping out onto the street, the first sightseeing trip became an instantly memorable, overwhelming experience.
New York was vastly larger, significantly busier, and exponentially more modern than Saint Denis. The sheer volume of humanity pressing through the streets was staggering. Above their heads, the massive iron tracks of the elevated train lines rumbled and shook, sending a deafening roar echoing down the avenues. Brilliant, early electric advertisements flickered on the sides of brick buildings, and endless lines of streetcars and horse-drawn cabs gridlocked the intersections.
Mary-Beth reacted with natural, unfiltered joy. She held tightly to Caleb's arm, her eyes wide as she took in the towering architecture, the elaborate window displays of the department stores, and the dizzying pace of the crowds.
Caleb took in the city with a quiet, dual perspective. The businessman inside him was silently calculating the flow of capital, analyzing the infrastructure, and noting the sheer logistical power of the transit lines. But he made a conscious, genuine effort to push those thoughts aside. He deliberately pulled his focus back to his wife, choosing to experience the awe of the city through her eyes.
Their first stop was Central Park. Escaping the claustrophobic concrete canyons of the avenues, they walked arm in arm down the winding, paved pathways of the massive green space. The park offered a quiet, peaceful contrast to the roaring streets. They slowed their pace, simply spending time together, watching ice skaters glide across a frozen pond while Arthur and Silvio kept a respectful, distant watch from a nearby stone bridge.
From the park, they transitioned to the high society elegance of Fifth Avenue. They stepped into a sprawling, multi level clothing boutique that smelled of fresh linen and expensive perfume.
Mary-Beth was immediately captivated by the vibrant, modern fashions of New York, which were significantly different from the traditional Southern cuts she was used to. Caleb sat comfortably in a velvet armchair, nursing a glass of complimentary champagne, thoroughly enjoying the simple pleasure of watching her eyes light up as she examined a rack of imported silk dresses.
He quietly instructed the clerk to box up everything she even briefly admired, paying the exorbitant bill without a second thought. But the absolute highlight of the afternoon for Mary-Beth was a massive, three story bookstore near Madison Square.
When they walked through the doors, she was in absolute heaven. The air smelled of old paper, leather bindings, and ink. The shelves stretched floor to ceiling, packed with thousands of titles. Mary-Beth wandered the aisles with a brilliant smile, discovering new Northern authors and European translations she had never seen before. She enthusiastically gathered a small mountain of novels and poetry collections.
"I think I'm going to need a second trunk just for the books," Mary-Beth laughed, bringing her stack to the front counter.
"Buy the entire shelf if you want, sweetheart," Caleb smiled warmly, handing the clerk a crisp fifty dollar bill. "We own a train."
As evening began to fall and the streetlamps flickered to life across the city, they found a highly refined, intimate Italian restaurant tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. They were seated at a private table near the back, while Arthur and Silvio took a table near the front door, sharing a plate of pasta and keeping a vigilant watch on the street.
Over plates of incredible, authentic veal and a bottle of expensive Barolo wine, Caleb and Mary-Beth discussed the staggering differences between their new reality and the world they had left behind.
"It's almost hard to believe," Mary-Beth murmured, swirling the dark wine in her glass. "A year ago, we were hiding in the mud at Clemens Point, wondering if the Pinkertons were going to ride over the hill. And now... we are sitting in New York City, and you are treating the world like it belongs to you."
"It belongs to us," Caleb corrected her softly, reaching across the white linen tablecloth to take her hand. "The running is over, Mary-Beth. This is the life you always deserved."
By the time they finally returned to the Waldorf-Astoria, the night was completely dark. They were both physically exhausted from miles of walking, but deeply, profoundly happy.
Back in the quiet, warm sanctuary of the Presidential suite, Caleb drew a hot, steaming bath for them in the massive clawfoot tub. They stripped away the heavy winter clothing and the concealed weapons, sinking into the warm water together.
The scene was incredibly peaceful, stripped of all pretense and corporate ambition, focused entirely on the pure comfort of being newlyweds in a strange, exciting new city. After bathing and changing into soft sleepwear, they fell into the massive four poster bed, falling asleep almost the moment their heads hit the pillows, completely exhausted by the day's adventures.
This exact, beautiful pattern continued over the next three days.
Caleb deliberately and fiercely kept his promise to separate his business ambitions from his personal life during their honeymoon hours. Every morning, they woke late, enjoying breakfast in their suite overlooking the skyline. And every afternoon, they explored another corner of New York.
Mary-Beth grew more excited each morning, eager to see what they would discover next. They visited the sprawling, chaotic fish markets of the lower east side, the breathtaking architecture of the newly opened Brooklyn Bridge, and the vibrant, glittering theater districts. They spent hours in quiet art galleries and drank coffee in bustling public squares.
It was abundantly clear that Caleb genuinely enjoyed giving Mary-Beth these experiences. Even though his intelligent mind constantly thrummed with thoughts of corporate expansion, monopolies, and Nikola Tesla, he consciously and successfully set those thoughts aside whenever he was holding her hand. The honeymoon felt entirely genuine, deeply romantic, and completely insulated from the ruthless nature of his work.
But while Caleb played the role of the devoted husband in the sunlight, he had masterfully delegated the business side of the New York operation to his most capable generals in the shadows.
While Caleb and Mary-Beth explored the city, Hosea and Herr Strauss had commandeered one of the adjacent luxury suites, transforming it into a high level corporate war room. They were meticulously handling the preparations for the upcoming meetings with the five political and business contacts Senator Pendleton had identified.
Their work was incredibly precise. They were not simply preparing envelopes of cash; they were tailoring specific, psychological approaches for each man.
"Alderman Vance is a creature of Tammany Hall," Hosea explained, pacing in front of a chalk board they had set up in the suite. "Bribery is his native language, but if we just hand him cash, he'll think we're desperate. We need to offer him something sustainable. Strauss, prepare an offer that guarantees his ward union workers exclusive contracts to build our new warehouses. We give him the jobs to hand out to his voters, and he gives us the zoning permits."
"Done," Strauss noted, his pen flying across a ledger. "And what of the Wall Street banker? Mr. Van Der Rohe?"
"Van Der Rohe doesn't care about cash, he cares about legacy and prestige," Hosea reasoned, his conman instincts working flawlessly at a corporate scale. "We send a messenger to his office today. Not with a bribe, but with a gift. Find the most expensive, rarest vintage of French Bordeaux in the city. Send it to him with an invitation to dine with Don Thorne. We need to establish the impression that Caleb is an equal, a titan of Southern industry who is offering him a highly exclusive opportunity, not asking for a favor."
Hosea and Strauss worked tirelessly to arrange the times and locations of each meeting, ensuring they took place under conditions entirely favorable to Caleb. His representatives were quietly blanketing the city's elite circles with whispers of the Thorne Holding Company.
They were establishing a formidable, heavy image around Caleb before he ever stepped into a boardroom. They made sure the men of New York knew that Caleb's arrival was a monumental event, backed by staggering wealth and a highly organized syndicate.
At the exact same time, a completely different, far more gritty operation was taking place on the icy streets of the city.
John, Javier, and several trusted capos had been assigned Caleb's highest priority mission, that is finding Nikola Tesla.
The task was incredibly difficult. Tesla was not a conventional businessman with a massive, clearly marked corporate office. He was a deeply eccentric, reclusive inventor who was currently drowning in debt and actively hiding from creditors and Thomas Edison's corporate spies.
John and Javier spent the three days methodically tracking the genius down. They visited the sprawling, soot stained industrial wards, kicking open the doors of dilapidated electrical workshops. They questioned nervous engineers, bribed telegraph operators, and spoke with people quietly connected to the fringes of the scientific community.
"The guy is a ghost," John muttered, turning up the collar of his coat against the freezing wind as he and Javier walked out of a dingy boarding house in lower Manhattan. "Landlord said he hasn't paid rent in two months and cleared out his laboratory equipment in the middle of the night."
"He has to be somewhere, my friend," Javier replied, lighting a cigar. "A man cannot hide massive electrical coils in his pocket. He needs space. He needs a power grid."
They patiently and persistently gathered information, following the breadcrumbs of unpaid bills and burnt-out electrical transformers. They gradually began to piece together a clearer picture of Tesla's current, desperate circumstances.
They knew Caleb didn't just want an address, he wanted a direct, face to face meeting with the eccentric inventor. Caleb believed Tesla was the key to his future technology empire, and John was determined to deliver the man to his Don.
Throughout the four days, the two parallel threads of Caleb's life coexisted flawlessly.
In the light of day, he was a deeply loving, attentive husband, completely captivated by the joy of his beautiful wife as they navigated the wonders of the modern world. But beneath the surface, the people Caleb trusted most were quietly, ruthlessly preparing the ground for his largest ambitions yet.
By the end of the fourth night, as Caleb and Mary-Beth lay wrapped in each other's arms in the warmth of the Presidential suite, the sense of absolute success was palpable. The honeymoon had been a genuine, beautiful triumph. Mary-Beth was happier than she had ever been, entirely secure in their love.
But as Caleb stared up at the ceiling, listening to the distant, rhythmic rumble of the elevated trains, he knew the holiday was officially over. His larger New York strategy had taken shape in the shadows. The city was slowly opening itself to him, one carefully crafted connection at a time. And somewhere out there, hidden in the concrete labyrinth, Nikola Tesla was waiting to be found.
The following morning, Caleb woke as the first pale light of a New York dawn crept through the towering windows of the Presidential suite. He lay quietly for a moment, listening to the soft, rhythmic breathing of Mary-Beth beside him.
Their honeymoon had already granted them several days of beautiful, uninterrupted time together. He had honored his promise, fiercely separating their private joy from his corporate ambitions, giving her the full, undivided attention she deserved.
But today, the tide was turning. The empire demanded its Don.
Caleb slipped out of bed, moving quietly to the dressing room.
When he emerged, dressed in a sharp, tailored three piece suit of charcoal wool, he found Mary-Beth awake, sitting up against the headboard with a cup of tea.
She watched him adjust his silver tie, a warm, completely understanding smile on her face. There was no resentment, no lingering disappointment. She knew this man, and she knew the staggering weight of the world he carried on his shoulders.
"Go conquer them, Caleb," Mary-Beth said softly, taking a sip of her tea. "I'm going to spend the morning writing by the window, and then I'm taking Sadie to look at the winter coats on Fifth Avenue."
"Buy whatever you want, sweetheart," Caleb smiled, leaning over the bed to press a lingering kiss to her lips. "I will be back before dinner."
With his private life secure and his mind operating with cold, crystalline focus, Caleb made his way down the plush hallway to the large, adjacent suite that Hosea and Strauss had commandeered as their New York war room.
When Caleb pushed the mahogany doors open, he found his generals already assembled. Hosea, Strauss, Arthur, John, Javier, Vincenzo, and Silvio were seated around a massive oak table scattered with maps of the city, ledgers, and telegrams. The air in the room was thick with smoke and serious, militant tension.
Caleb took his seat at the head of the table. "Gentlemen. Give me a full report on the last four days."
Hosea tapped a cigar against a crystal ashtray, taking the lead. "We've made significant progress, Caleb. All five of the political and business contacts Pendleton provided have received our initial outreach. The gifts were delivered well, the financial incentives were properly placed in blind trusts, and every single one of them has officially agreed to meet you personally. The times and locations are secured."
Caleb nodded, pleased that the intricate groundwork for his northern expansion was finally, tangibly moving forward.
"However," Herr Strauss interjected, adjusting his spectacles with a slightly nervous flutter of his hands. "There is an important qualification we must note regarding Alderman Richard 'Dickie' Vance."
"The Tammany Hall creature," Caleb recalled. "What about him?"
"He has proven to be considerably more arrogant and difficult to pin down than the others," Strauss explained, looking at his ledger. "When our messengers delivered the initial offer regarding the union construction contracts, his response was... lacking the appropriate respect. There are strong signs that he does not genuinely want to meet you, Don Thorne. He appears to be agreeing only because Senator Pendleton's name carried weight. Pendleton is a rising star in Washington, and Tammany Hall relies on federal pork barrel funding."
"The Alderman essentially laughed at the messenger," Hosea clarified, his eyes narrowing. "His behavior suggests a deep reluctance, and frankly, outright contempt for a Southern newcomer attempting to buy his way into New York. He thinks you're just another rich rube he can fleece."
Instead of the sudden, explosive anger they might have expected from a mafia boss, Caleb simply leaned back in his chair and let out a low, genuine chuckle.
"Don't worry about Alderman Vance," Caleb said calmly, a dangerous, calculating light flickering in his blue eyes. "Let him feel superior. I will deal with the Alderman personally. I take it you scheduled him accordingly?"
"I did," Hosea nodded, a sharp, conman's grin matching Caleb's. "I deliberately altered the schedule so that Dickie Vance is the absolute last person you meet. You'll have the full measure of the city's political landscape before you have to sit across from him."
"Perfect," Caleb approved. He then turned his intense gaze toward the two gunslingers sitting near the window. "John. Javier. What is the status on Nikola Tesla?"
John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The man is a damn ghost, Caleb, but we're closing in. We've kicked down a few doors in the industrial wards and bribed half the telegraph operators below 14th Street. We've uncovered several highly promising leads concerning his recent associates and a few suppliers who still sell him copper wire on credit. With a little more legwork, we're confident we'll have a precise location for you by the end of the week."
"Good. Trust your instincts on this," Caleb said. He paused, eyeing the two men carefully. "Have you encountered any significant friction with the local underworld while you've been kicking these doors down?"
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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: -