If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel a Dragon Age Inquisition novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
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"I want the coal to feed the steam engines of our trenching machines, and I want the oil to refine into gasoline for the Model T," Caleb stated, the absolute synergy of his industrial monopoly snapping into place. "Cornwall's remaining assets are the oil fields and his railroad empire. I intend to consume both."
"Boss, transferring these deeds is going to require massive legal maneuvers," Pierre warned, though he didn't sound deterred; he sounded challenged. "Cornwall's lawyers will fight it. They will claim the deeds were stolen."
"Let them claim whatever they want," Caleb countered smoothly. "You will establish three blind shell corporations in New York. You will utilize Senator Pendleton's political influence to have a federal judge quietly legitimize the transfer of the deeds due to 'outstanding, uncollected debts' owed by Cornwall's holding company. By the time Cornwall realizes the land has been legally stripped from him, it will be buried beneath an impenetrable fortress of corporate bureaucracy."
Pierre took a slow, deep breath, nodding his head. "It's brilliant. It's entirely illegal, but it's brilliant. I can have the deeds laundered and the ownership transferred within six weeks."
"Do it," Caleb ordered, tapping his finger against the desk. "Once the oil fields are ours, we establish our own refineries. We do not rely on Standard Oil or anyone else to fuel our motorcars."
"And the railroads?" Pierre asked, a nervous thrill in his voice. "Cornwall's railway lines crisscross the entire country. If you take those..."
"I will take those," Caleb promised, his eyes completely devoid of mercy. "The other tycoons, like Vanderbilt and Harriman, they are circling Cornwall like vultures, waiting for him to die so they can carve up his tracks. I am not going to wait. We take the oil first. Then, we systematically bankrupt his railway freight lines by undercutting his shipping rates using our own logistical network. We bleed his trains dry until he is forced to sell the tracks to us for pennies on the dollar."
Pierre gathered the deeds, carefully sliding them into his leather briefcase. He looked at Caleb, shaking his head in profound, terrified awe. "You aren't just building your empire, Boss. You are actively destroying the old ones to pave the roads."
"The twentieth century requires steel, Pierre," Caleb said softly, looking out the window toward the rising skyline of Saint Denis. "And I am taking it from wherever I must."
As Pierre left the study to begin the legal assassination of Leviticus Cornwall's remaining wealth, Caleb remained at his desk. He looked at the empty lockbox, the physical remnant of his violent past.
He closed the lockbox, a deep, satisfied breath expanding his chest. The pieces were moving flawlessly. The future belonged entirely to the Thorne Holding Company.
The days bled into weeks, the relentless, grinding machinery of the Thorne Holding Company operating at a terrifying peak efficiency. Caleb Thorne had set the board, maneuvered his pieces, and locked the architects of his future into place. As September drew to a close, yielding to the crisp, golden onset of autumn, Caleb finally allowed himself to step away from the blueprints and the foundries.
It was time to secure the northern supply lines. It was time to return to the mud where it all began.
On the final morning of the month, the sprawling Saint Denis rail yard was locked down by a heavy perimeter of armed capos in tailored suits. Sitting on the primary track, hissing plumes of white steam into the humid Louisiana air, was the Leviathan, the Thorne Holding Company's private, heavily armored locomotive.
Caleb stepped out of his carriage, offering his hand to Mary-Beth. She wore a beautifully tailored, dark plum traveling dress, a wide-brimmed hat shielding her eyes from the morning sun. Her pregnancy was becoming more pronounced, a gentle, undeniable curve that Caleb monitored with a fiercely protective vigilance.
"Watch your step on the boarding platform," Caleb murmured, keeping his hand securely on the small of her back as he guided her up the steel steps into the luxurious parlor car.
Arthur and John followed closely behind, carrying their repeating rifles with a casual, practiced ease. Vincenzo and Silvio brought up the rear, directing a contingent of ten elite, hand picked capos into the forward passenger cars.
Once the inner circle was secured in the opulent, velvet-lined parlor car, the conductor blew the heavy brass whistle. The massive steel wheels ground against the iron tracks, and the locomotive surged forward, beginning its long, powerful climb out of the southern swamps and toward the rugged heartlands of New Hanover.
The journey took a day and a half, the landscape outside the reinforced glass windows slowly shifting from dense, moss draped cypress trees to rolling, golden plains and towering green pines.
Inside the parlor car, the atmosphere was a mix of relaxed luxury and quiet nostalgia. Arthur sat by the window, a cup of black coffee in his hand, watching the familiar terrain of New Hanover roll by.
"It's a strange feeling, Caleb," Arthur mused, his gruff voice cutting through the rhythmic clatter of the tracks. "Riding through this territory in a private armored train, drinking French coffee. A few years ago, if I saw a train like this rolling through the Heartlands, my first instinct would be to blow the safe and shoot the guards."
John laughed from the opposite sofa, kicking his boots up onto a mahogany table. "If you tried to rob this train back then, Arthur, Silvio would have shot you off your horse before you even got close to the door."
"I'm just saying," Arthur grunted, a small smile touching his lips. "It's hard to reconcile. We used to sleep in the dirt out here. Now we own the tracks."
"We don't own the tracks yet, Arthur," Caleb corrected smoothly, looking up from a financial ledger he was reviewing. "Leviticus Cornwall still owns the steel we are riding on. But Pierre is actively rectifying that oversight as we speak. By next year, the name on the side of these boxcars will be ours."
Mary-Beth reached across the space between their armchairs, resting her hand lightly over Caleb's ledger. "Put the numbers away, Caleb. You promised me this was a trip to visit our friends, not a hostile takeover."
"It can be both, my love," Caleb smiled, closing the leather-bound book and giving her his full attention. "But you are right. Today is about loyalty. Today is about Valentine."
By late afternoon, the train began its final deceleration. The whistle blew a long, echoing blast that bounced off the distant, snow-capped peaks of Ambarino.
The Leviathan pulled into the Valentine station, its massive, gleaming black iron boiler standing in stark, intimidating contrast to the rustic, weather beaten wooden structures of the livestock town. The station master, recognizing the Thorne insignia emblazoned on the side of the armored cars, practically tripped over himself rushing out to the platform to secure the boarding ramps.
The capos disembarked first, fanning out with military precision to secure a perimeter on the dusty wooden platform. Only when the area was entirely locked down did Caleb lead his wife and his inner circle out of the parlor car.
The air in Valentine was sharp, cool, and carried the heavy, unmistakable scent of pine resin, woodsmoke, and livestock. It was the smell of the frontier.
Waiting for them at the base of the platform was a fleet of three immaculate, high end enclosed carriages, procured in advance by Vincenzo's scouts. The Model T motorcars had not yet made their way this far north, the muddy, rutted roads of the Heartlands were currently still the undisputed domain of the horse, but the carriages Caleb had rented were the absolute finest available.
Caleb helped Mary-Beth into the lead carriage, climbing in beside her, while Arthur and John took the opposite seats. Vincenzo and Silvio flanked the carriage on horseback, leading the convoy up the winding, muddy road toward the center of town.
Valentine was a town built entirely on mud, whiskey, and cattle. But as they rolled onto the main street, Caleb could immediately see the economic ripples his syndicate had caused. The town was busier, the storefronts looked slightly more prosperous, and the volume of livestock moving through the massive auction yards on the edge of town had visibly doubled.
But the true jewel of the main street sat right in the center of town.
"Oh, Caleb!" Mary-Beth gasped, leaning forward and looking out the carriage window, her eyes wide with delight. "Look at it! It's beautiful!"
Caleb looked out the window, a profound, genuine smile spreading across his face.
The Crown. His very first business.
It was no longer the small, hastily renovated wooden shack he had purchased years ago to clean his illicit money. Jasper and the crew had utilized the massive capital Caleb had continuously funneled into the project to completely transform the building. The foundation had been reinforced with solid red brick.
The front facade had been expanded outward, featuring massive, pristine plate-glass windows that allowed the warm, golden light of the interior to spill out onto the muddy street. A beautiful, hand painted wooden sign hung above the double doors, bearing the golden crown insignia of the Thorne Holding Company.
"I couldn't let my first group of employees down, could I?" Caleb chuckled, feeling a rare surge of sentimental pride. "Jasper has done an exceptional job. He expanded the footprint. They have indoor seating now."
The convoy pulled to a halt directly in front of the restaurant.
Vincenzo and the capos immediately established a perimeter around the carriages, their hands resting casually near the lapels of their suits, their eyes scanning the muddy street, the saloon balconies, and the rooftops.
Caleb stepped out of the carriage first, the crisp autumn wind catching the edge of his dark, tailored overcoat. He turned and gently helped Mary-Beth down to the wooden boardwalk.
The moment Caleb's boots hit the planks, the rhythm of Valentine entirely stopped.
A rancher leading a horse down the street paused, his eyes widening. Two cowboys walking out of Smithfield's Saloon stopped dead in their tracks, their hands pausing mid reach for their tobacco pouches. A woman carrying a basket of laundry actually dropped a folded shirt into the mud, staring at the entourage.
Caleb was not a stranger to Valentine. He had built his early reputation here. But the man standing on the boardwalk now was not the rising mob boss they remembered. He was a national titan. The people of Valentine had been reading the national newspapers.
They had seen the staggering headlines about the Thorne-Marlin military contracts, the explosive launch of the T&T radio broadcasts, and the rumors of flying machines and horseless carriages in the South.
To the people of this rugged livestock town, Caleb Thorne was Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, and a gunslinger all rolled into one.
"It's him," a weathered ranch hand whispered loudly to his companion. "It's Thorne."
Suddenly, a loud, booming cheer erupted from the porch of the general store. A group of local merchants, whose businesses had thrived on the massive influx of cash The Crown had brought to the town, began to clap. The applause rippled down the muddy street, ranchers and cowboys joining in, offering shouts of welcome and respectful tips of their Stetson hats.
Mary-Beth looked around, a blush touching her cheeks, overwhelmed by the sheer, spontaneous display of respect from the rugged townsfolk.
Caleb didn't shy away from the attention. He was a master of public perception. He stood tall, a warm, charismatic smile breaking across his face. He raised his hand, offering a wave of acknowledgment to the crowd, returning the polite nods of the merchants. He projected the aura of a benevolent king returning to one of his most prosperous provinces.
"Come on," Caleb said softly to Mary-Beth, placing a hand on the small of her back. "Let's get out of the cold."
Arthur held one of the heavy glass paneled double doors open, and Caleb guided his wife into the restaurant.
The moment they stepped over the threshold, they were hit by a wall of mouth watering heat. The air was thick with the scent of searing beef, melting cheese, frying potatoes, and the sweet, yeasty aroma of fresh baked bread. The interior of the restaurant was a masterpiece of rustic efficiency.
Long, polished wooden counters stretched across the room, lined with heavy iron stools. Several large, comfortable booths had been built along the glass windows, and the massive cast iron stoves in the open kitchen were hissing with raw, culinary energy.
The restaurant was packed. Cowboys, wealthy cattle buyers, and local families were shoulder to shoulder, devouring the fast-food concept Caleb had introduced to the century.
Behind the main counter, manning the primary cash register and shouting orders back to the kitchen line, was Jasper. The young man looked a few years older than what his age should be, his face sharper, carrying the confident, seasoned authority of a man who managed the most profitable business in three counties.
He looked up as the bells above the door chimed. His eyes locked onto Caleb and Mary-Beth.
Jasper froze. He literally dropped the handful of coins he was holding into the cash drawer, his mouth falling open in absolute shock.
"Boss?" Jasper breathed, hardly daring to believe his eyes.
"Jasper," Caleb smiled warmly, walking up to the counter. "I received your letter. You said the renovations were finished. I had to come see them for myself."
Jasper let out a loud, joyous laugh, practically vaulting over the low swinging door of the counter to close the distance. He grabbed Caleb's extended hand, shaking it with fierce, overwhelming gratitude.
"Mr. Thorne! Mrs. Thorne! Lord above, you actually came!" Jasper beamed, his eyes darting to Arthur and John, offering them respectful nods. "I didn't think you'd ever find the time to come all the way up here, what with the radios and the factories they write about in the papers!"
"I always have time for the people who built the foundation," Caleb replied, looking around the bustling, immaculate restaurant. "You have done a staggering job here, Jasper. The expansion is beautiful."
The other workers on the kitchen line, the young men and one women from the town who had been lifted out of poverty by Caleb's wages, paused their frantic flipping of burgers to look at Caleb. Their faces lit up with genuine happiness and awe, but true to the intense, fast paced training Caleb had originally instilled in them, they offered quick, respectful waves before immediately turning back to their searing grills, keeping the food moving.
"We keep the line moving, Boss, just like you taught us," Jasper said proudly, noticing Caleb watching the kitchen. "Listen, you can't stand here in the lobby. Come on, I have a private booth in the back corner. The best seats in the house."
Jasper quickly led them to a large, plush leather booth situated perfectly in the corner, offering a clear view of the entire restaurant and the muddy street outside. Arthur and John immediately slid into the booth opposite Caleb and Mary-Beth, positioning themselves to have clear lines of sight to both the front door and the kitchen entrance. Silvio and Vincenzo took a smaller table nearby, their eyes continuously sweeping the room.
"What can I get you?" Jasper asked eagerly, pulling a notepad from his apron. "It's all on the house, obviously."
"I am entirely famished," Mary-Beth admitted, giving Jasper a warm smile. "I would love one of those double cheese burgers, a large order of the fried potatoes, and... do you still have the cold drinks?"
"Ice cold, Mrs. Thorne. We have a dedicated icebox in the back just for the drinks," Jasper promised.
"We'll all take the same," Caleb ordered for the group. "And Jasper... bring out some of the vanilla ice cream for my wife. The real cream."
"Coming right up, Boss," Jasper grinned, rushing back toward the kitchen.
Within ten minutes, the table was covered in a feast that defied the culinary standards of 1900. The burgers were perfectly seared, the cheese melted flawlessly over the thick beef patties, nestled between soft, toasted buns. The potatoes were crispy and golden, heavily salted, and the thick glass mugs of sarsaparilla were frosted with condensation.
Mary-Beth let out a soft, contented groan as she took her first bite of the burger, closing her eyes in sheer culinary bliss. "I don't care how many five star French restaurants we eat at in Saint Denis, Caleb. Nothing tastes quite as good as this."
"It's the grease," Arthur mumbled around a massive bite of his own burger, reaching for a handful of fries. "Fancy chefs don't understand the tactical application of good beef fat."
Caleb laughed, taking a long drink of his cold soda, feeling a profound, grounded peace wash over him. Sitting in this wooden booth, surrounded by his most loyal friends, eating the food that had launched his empire... it was a perfect, untouchable moment.
As they finished the savory portion of the meal, Jasper returned to the table, carrying a silver tray holding two large, frosted glass bowls filled with rich, hand churned vanilla ice cream. He set them down in front of Caleb and Mary-Beth.
Caleb noticed that another young man, wearing a crisp white apron, had seamlessly taken over Jasper's position at the front cash register, handling the long line of customers with practiced efficiency.
"Sit down, Jasper," Caleb offered, gesturing to a heavy wooden chair at the end of the booth. "Take a break."
Jasper wiped his hands on his apron and gratefully sank into the chair, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. "Thank you, Mr. Thorne. It's been a madhouse since sunrise. The fall auction season brings every rancher in the state down the mountain."
"The new boy at the register seems to have it handled," Caleb noted, taking a bite of the cold, sweet ice cream.
"That's Thomas, sir. Hired him three months ago," Jasper explained. "He's sharp. Good with numbers. I've been training him to manage the front so I can focus on the supply chain and the kitchen rotation."
Caleb studied Jasper, seeing the sharp, capable managerial instincts burning behind the young man's earnest demeanor. Jasper wasn't just a manager and cashier anymore, he was a highly competent operational director. "You've outgrown this town, Jasper," Caleb said suddenly, his voice taking on the smooth, calculating tone of a corporate tycoon CEO.
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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
Bank: -