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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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He controlled the veins of the city, the building permits, the municipal approvals, the zoning boards, and critical access to the electrical grid. If Caleb intended to build sprawling laboratories for Tesla, massive distribution warehouses for the Thorne Cycle, or heavy manufacturing plants on the river, he could not afford to have Dickie Vance throwing bureaucratic sand into his gears. 'He has no loyalty to anything but the dollar,' Pendleton had warned. 'Rent him, do not trust him.'
Caleb intended to take that warning to heart.
The carriage carried them deep into the industrial wards, far from the polished marble of high society. The headquarters of the local Tammany club was a sprawling, three story brick building that reeked of cheap cigars, stale beer, and the sweat of desperate men. The atmosphere was completely antithetical to Wall Street.
The waiting room was packed with working class immigrants seeking favors, ward heelers trading votes for coal, and heavy shouldered enforcers making sure everyone knew exactly who was in charge.
This was not a place of formal government; it was a fortress of patronage and corruption.
When Caleb, Hosea, and Strauss were finally ushered into the back office, the air was thick with gray smoke. Alderman Dickie Vance sat behind a massive, cluttered desk. He was a fleshy, red faced man with a thick neck, wearing a flashy, checkered suit that practically screamed of ill gotten wealth. He didn't stand up when Caleb and his entourage entered.
"Mr. Thorne," Vance said, a patronizing, greasy smile spreading across his face. He leaned back, lacing his fingers together over his stomach. "Pendleton's golden boy. Welcome to the real world."
Caleb didn't react to the slight. He unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat opposite the Alderman, projecting an aura of absolute, unbothered calm. He deliberately allowed the sheer scale of his wealth and the lethal quiet of his demeanor to speak for itself.
"Mr. Alderman Vance," Caleb greeted him politely, his voice smooth and steady. "I appreciate you making the time."
"Time is money in this city, Thorne," Vance chuckled, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. "And I hear you have a lot of the latter. But let's get something straight. I don't care how many bicycles you sell down in the swamps. New York ain't Saint Denis. Down there, maybe your money makes you a king. Up here, it just makes you a tourist. If you want to build in my ward, you play by my rules."
It was a blatant test. Vance was attempting to establish dominance, reminding the outsider that the city had a price attached to every brick and every wire.
Caleb understood the game perfectly. He didn't overplay his hand, nor did he act desperate for the corrupt politician's approval. He simply met the man on his own highly transactional terms.
Without breaking eye contact, Caleb reached inside his tailored jacket. He withdrew a thick, heavy envelope from his personal inventory and tossed it onto the center of the cluttered desk. It landed with a heavy, substantial thud.
Vance's eyes darted to the envelope.
"There is exactly three thousand dollars in there, Richard," Caleb said, his voice dropping into a flat, businesslike register.
For 1900, it was an absolutely staggering sum of cash. Vance's patronizing smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense hunger.
"I am not here to beg for favors, and I am not here to ask for your permission to exist in this city," Caleb explained, framing the payment not as submission, but as the practical reality of doing business with a corrupt operator. "I am paying the toll because I respect the reality of your position. I am bringing massive industrial projects into your ward. Warehouses. Factories. Electrical facilities. I expect the doors to open."
Vance reached out, pulling the envelope toward him. He thumbed the flap open, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the crisp, tightly bound stacks of hundred dollar bills. The arrogance melted away, replaced by the deep, calculating respect of a greedy man who had just struck gold.
"Three thousand," Vance muttered, licking his lips. He looked up at Caleb, his demeanor entirely shifted. "Well... I suppose a man who understands the local customs deserves a proper welcome. Building permits can be smoothed out. Zoning laws can be... reinterpreted. If you need heavy electrical grid access for these factories, I can make sure the municipal inspectors look the other way when you lay your cables."
"That is exactly what I expect," Caleb negotiated firmly. "But let me make my terms perfectly clear. I demand absolute discretion. You do not publicly advertise our relationship, and you do not attempt to place your hands on the steering wheel of my companies. You provide the political cover and the administrative access. I provide the capital."
The tension in the room remained high as the two men measured each other. Caleb recognized Vance exactly as Pendleton had described him: incredibly useful, ruthlessly greedy, and entirely untrustworthy. Vance, in turn, recognized that Caleb was not a normal newcomer who could be bled dry or frightened into submission. The Southerner was a predator who had simply decided it was cheaper to feed the guard dog than to shoot it.
"We understand each other, Thorne," Vance finally nodded, slipping the envelope into his desk drawer. "You keep the envelopes coming, and your permits will be approved before the ink is even dry."
Caleb stood up, buttoning his jacket. "A pleasure doing business, Alderman."
Leaving Tammany Hall behind, Caleb, Hosea, and Strauss returned to the Waldorf-Astoria. The moment they stepped into the hotel, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The grimy, cynical tension of corrupt politics was stripped away. Caleb had successfully locked down the final, crucial piece of his political network. The city's infrastructure was now open to him.
Now, it was time to look toward the future.
Caleb directed Hosea and Strauss to fundamentally alter the layout of their war room. He ordered the hotel staff to remove the chalkboards, the ledgers, and the heavy corporate portfolios. In their place, Caleb had them arrange the room in a much more informal, inviting manner.
Silver trays of fresh pastries, imported cheeses, roasted meats, and a fully stocked coffee and tea service were laid out on the sideboards. He deliberately avoided making the setting look like a sterile corporate boardroom or an intimidating mob parlor. He wanted their guest to feel entirely comfortable, safe, and free to speak his mind.
As evening cast long, violet shadows across the New York skyline, a quiet knock echoed through the suite.
Strauss opened the door. Standing in the hallway, carrying a battered leather suitcase and wearing a slightly frayed but meticulously clean suit, was Nikola Tesla.
"Mr. Tesla," Strauss greeted him formally, stepping aside. "Please, come in."
As Tesla stepped into the lavish suite, his deep set eyes cautiously scanning the room, Caleb stepped forward. He did not offer a stiff, corporate handshake or treat the man like an eccentric curiosity. He approached Tesla with look of genuine warmth, recognizing the extraordinary mind before him.
"Mr. Tesla," Caleb said, extending his hand. "It is an absolute honor. I am Caleb Thorne. Please, sit down. Can I offer you some tea? Coffee? You look as though you've been working for three days straight."
Tesla accepted the handshake, his grip surprisingly firm. He was somewhat guarded, his posture stiff. He was a man deeply accustomed to being misunderstood, mocked by the press, or ruthlessly used by wealthy tycoons who only saw his inventions as quick cash grabs.
"Tea would be acceptable, Mr. Thorne. Thank you," Tesla replied, his thick Serbian accent wrapping around the words. He took a seat in a plush velvet armchair, resting his suitcase on his knees. "Your men... they were remarkably persistent. They mentioned you wished to discuss the funding of scientific research."
"I do," Caleb smiled, pouring the tea himself and handing the delicate porcelain cup to the inventor. Caleb took a seat opposite him. "But before we discuss money, I want to discuss the work. I know you have been experimenting with alternating current motors and high frequency transmission. Tell me about your current frustrations. What is stopping you from completing your vision?"
Tesla hesitated. Usually, businessmen immediately demanded to see a profitable product. But Caleb was giving him the floor, showing a genuine, intellectual interest.
Slowly, Tesla began to speak. He talked about the limitations of copper wire, the sheer, beautiful efficiency of the polyphase alternating current system, and his ultimate, deeply misunderstood dream, the wireless transmission of energy. As he spoke, his initial caution melted away, replaced by the frantic, beautiful energy of a genius discussing his life's passion.
Caleb listened intently. And then, he engaged.
Drawing upon his maxed out Crafting Skill, his exhaustive Firearms Knowledge, and the vast, anachronistic wealth of his Past Life Memory, Caleb began to speak.
"The problem with your current mechanical relays isn't the theory, Nikola, it's the metallurgical stress," Caleb pointed out softly, swirling his coffee. "In my firearms factories, we forge Vanguard receivers using a specific, high carbon steel alloy designed to withstand thousands of pounds of pressure per square inch. If we applied a similar, highly refined metallurgical process to the conductive armatures of your high frequency alternators, you could practically eliminate the heat degradation that is currently burning out your coils."
Tesla stopped mid sentence. His teacup halted halfway to his mouth. He stared at Caleb, his eyes wide with absolute shock.
"You... you understand the degradation threshold?" Tesla breathed, genuinely stunned. "Most engineers in this city cannot even comprehend the basic principles of high frequency resonance, let alone the metallurgical friction it causes."
"I understand practical engineering," Caleb smiled, leaning forward. He didn't stop there. He seamlessly guided the conversation into territories that were years, if not decades, ahead of current science. Caleb mentioned the theoretical principles of automated circuitry, miniaturized mechanical logic, and advanced, multi stage power generation.
He didn't magically make himself superior to Tesla. It was immediately clear that their strengths were entirely different. Tesla possessed extraordinary, unparalleled theoretical originality and experimental creativity. He was the dreamer who could pull lightning from the sky. Caleb, however, possessed advanced practical knowledge, hyper efficient manufacturing experience, and an impossible understanding of future applications.
As Caleb introduced concepts that sparked entirely new, revolutionary possibilities, the conversation ignited. Tesla became incredibly animated, setting his tea aside entirely. He opened his suitcase, pulling out chaotic, brilliant blueprints and spreading them across the table.
He began asking Caleb rapid fire questions, challenging his assumptions, and excitedly drawing connections between Caleb's practical manufacturing theories and his own wireless resonance experiments.
It was a beautiful, electric exchange. It was the sound of two brilliant but vastly different minds discovering that they could learn from one another.
"This automated relay concept you mention," Tesla said, his hands moving quickly over a schematic. "If we layered the conductive plates using the precision stamping techniques from your rifle factories... the efficiency would double. Perhaps triple! But... where did you learn these ideas, Mr. Thorne? This is not the knowledge of a simple industrialist."
"I have spent my life observing, Nikola," Caleb answered smoothly, keeping his origins vague but satisfying. "I have studied the mechanics of the world very closely, and I have had the benefit of highly unusual experiences. I look at where the world is going, not where it has been."
Caleb let the technical excitement settle for a brief moment. He looked Tesla directly in the eye.
"And that is exactly why I invited you here tonight," Caleb said, his voice carrying the weight of destiny. "I want to finance your research, Nikola. Entirely."
Tesla went perfectly still.
"I want to build you a laboratory that makes Edison's facilities look like a child's playground," Caleb offered, laying out the blank check. "I will provide the heavy equipment, the rare materials, the assistant engineers, and the manufacturing facilities. I will give you enough capital that you will never have to answer a knock from a creditor ever again."
Tesla swallowed hard, the magnitude of the offer sinking in. But the burns of his past partnerships still stung.
"And in return, Mr. Thorne?" Tesla asked quietly, a defensive wall inching back up. "You demand absolute ownership of my mind? Every patent I register belongs to your company?"
"No," Caleb answered instantly, surprising the inventor. "I am offering you a partnership."
Caleb outlined the condition clearly. "You will retain substantial, absolute freedom over your daily research. I will not micromanage your experiments, and I will not force you to build things you do not believe in. However, any major invention created through my funding and resources will be protected through shared ownership."
Caleb leaned forward, making the business structure transparent. "My holding company provides the capital, the physical manufacturing infrastructure, the legal protection against men like Edison, and the commercial distribution network. In exchange, you retain a highly meaningful share of the patents, a percentage of the profits, and a direct, respected voice in how your inventions are developed and utilized."
It was an offer of unprecedented respect. Wealthy patrons in 1899 simply did not treat inventors as equals; they treated them as employees.
"Why?" Tesla asked, his voice thick with genuine emotion. "Why offer me such freedom? You have the money. You could demand everything."
"Because I am not interested in exploiting a genius for a quick profit," Caleb answered with profound honesty. "I am building an empire based on radical innovation. And I know, as a man of business and a man of science, that the best way to change the world is to give brilliant people the resources to do exactly what they do best, and get out of their way."
The last remnants of Tesla's suspicion shattered. The genius looked down at the blueprints on the table, his mind already racing at a million miles an hour, imagining the sheer, boundless possibilities that Caleb's staggering wealth and industrial network could make real.
For the next two hours, they brainstormed. Tesla mapped out the early concepts for a massive, wireless transmission tower, while Caleb encouraged him, injecting practical logistical realities regarding steel foundations and Wardenclyffe real estate.
Caleb made it clear that Tesla would have unrestricted access to the Thorne-Marlin factories, skilled machinists, and the political protection Caleb had just bled the city to secure.
Tesla realized he wasn't just being offered money. Caleb Thorne was offering him an entire, impenetrable ecosystem for invention.
As midnight approached, the meeting finally drew to a close. Tesla did not sign a formal contract right then and there, he was too overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the evening, but he clearly, enthusiastically accepted the basic arrangement.
"I... I would very much like to inspect the resources you can provide, Mr. Thorne," Tesla said, packing his blueprints back into his suitcase, his hands shaking slightly with renewed purpose. "I believe this could be a highly fruitful endeavor for us both."
"I look forward to it, Nikola," Caleb smiled, walking him to the door. "Get some sleep. The future begins tomorrow."
When the door clicked shut, Caleb turned back to the room. He looked at the empty teacups and the faint pencil marks Tesla had left on the table. The grueling political negotiation with Tammany Hall felt like a lifetime ago. He had secured the ward, and he had secured the mind. He knew, with absolute, terrifying certainty, that this meeting was the first true step toward something far larger than even he could fully imagine. The 20th century officially belonged to Caleb Thorne.
The morning following his meeting with Nikola Tesla, Caleb Thorne sat in the lavish dining room of the Presidential suite, enjoying a quiet breakfast of fresh fruit and black coffee. The early New York sun streamed through the towering windows, casting a warm, golden light across the mahogany table.
Caleb felt genuinely satisfied with how it goes. The meeting with the eccentric genius had exceeded his highest expectations. Tesla clearly held Caleb in unusually high regard, recognizing immediately that the Southerner had not treated him like some strange curiosity or a performing freak.
Instead, Caleb had engaged him on the subjects Tesla actually loved discussing, science, invention, high frequency electricity, advanced engineering, and the boundless possibilities of the future.
It was a deeply refreshing experience for Caleb as well. Surrounded constantly by mobsters, corrupt politicians, and pragmatic accountants, Caleb thoroughly appreciated having someone with whom he could discuss advanced, anachronistic ideas without constantly having to simplify his vocabulary.
Tesla, meanwhile, had undoubtedly left the Waldorf-Astoria with the impression that Caleb was an unusually brilliant and dangerously forward thinking industrialist.
As Caleb finished his coffee, a soft knock echoed at the suite door.
Hosea Matthews and Herr Strauss entered, both men looking crisp and ready for the day's corporate warfare.
"Good morning, Caleb," Hosea greeted him, taking a seat at the table. "We saw Tesla leave late last night. The man looked like he had just been struck by lightning. How did the meeting go?"
"It went exceptionally well," Caleb answered, a satisfied smile touching his lips. "Tesla is genuinely interested in our offer. I do not consider the arrangement finalized yet, a mind like his requires time to process the sheer scale of what I'm offering, but I am confident he will eventually accept the proposal."
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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: -