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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"But that fire will not reach us," Caleb promised her, his voice carrying the absolute, uncompromising weight of destiny. "We are not fighting for scraps of land, Mary-Beth. We are fighting for the future. And by the time the rest of the world realizes what we are building here... they won't be able to touch us." Mary-Beth leaned her head against his shoulder, her hand resting gently over the growing child in her womb, finding absolute, unshakeable peace in the shadow of his ambition. The world might be burning, but inside the Thorne estate, the future was very safe and secure.
The embers in the hearth had burned down to a dull, pulsing crimson by the time Mary-Beth finally retired to the master suite. Caleb remained in the study, the heavy silence of the mansion pressing in around him. The geopolitical shockwaves radiating from Washington and Peking still echoed in his mind, a chaotic storm of moving armies, desperate emperors, and shifting global borders.
He walked over to the heavy oak doors, sliding the brass lock into place with a definitive click. He was alone.
Moving back to the massive mahogany desk, Caleb bypassed the stacks of corporate ledgers and architectural blueprints. Instead, he reached beneath the desk, his fingers finding a hidden, recessed latch. A small, concealed drawer slid open silently on oiled tracks. From it, he pulled a thick, leather bound journal. The pages were completely blank, save for the first few he had already filled.
Caleb sat down, unscrewed the cap of his gold fountain pen, and began to write.
He didn't trust his memory to hold the sheer, staggering volume of historical data his Past Life Memory provided, especially when the timeline was actively fracturing under the weight of his own interference. He documented the intelligence Sadie had just provided, the Eight-Nation Alliance, McKinley's diplomatic maneuvering, the Qing Emperor's shadow play. He wrote down dates, names, and the eventual historical outcomes he remembered from the original timeline, cross referencing them with the new reality he was forging.
He was writing the blueprint of the twentieth century.
When the ink dried on the geopolitical analysis, he turned to a fresh page and wrote a single name in bold, heavily underscored letters: Albert Einstein.
He mapped out everything he needed for the genius physicist. German born. Swiss education. Patent office in Bern. The Annus Mirabilis papers, 1905. Photoelectric effect. Special Relativity. $E=mc^2$.
Caleb stared at the famous equation, the raw mathematical foundation of the atomic bomb, the formula that would eventually rewrite the laws of mass and energy. He could not allow that intellect to remain isolated in Europe, vulnerable to the eventual rise of the German war machine. He needed Einstein in Saint Denis. He needed him working under the limitless budget of the Thorne Holding Company, insulated from the chaos of the coming world wars.
Caleb closed the heavy leather journal, locking it back inside the concealed drawer. The objective was set. Now, he just needed to build the telephone line that could reach him.
The following morning, Caleb was back in the sweltering, ozone soaked air of Nikola Tesla's restricted laboratory in the swamps.
The Wardenclyffe style prototype was no longer just a theoretical structure of wood and wire. It was a terrifying, living entity of raw voltage. The massive steam dynamo in the corner of the corrugated iron warehouse roared, pumping immense power into the primary grounding matrix.
"The capacitance is holding steady, Caleb!" Tesla shouted over the deafening mechanical roar, his hands flying across the heavy iron switches of the control board. "We are generating a standing wave of 1 million volts! The bounce effect is flawless. We could broadcast a radio signal from here to New York, and it would ring as clear as a bell!"
Caleb stood behind the thick, lead lined safety glass, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the brilliant, branching arcs of purple electricity strike the ceiling from the copper cupola.
"New York is a domestic triumph, Nikola, but it is not the objective," Caleb shouted back, his voice cutting through the crackle of the electrical storm. "Cut the power!"
Tesla threw the main breaker. The massive arcs of lightning vanished instantly, leaving the laboratory bathed in the sudden, eerie silence of the spinning down dynamo. The smell of scorched air and hot copper was overwhelming.
Caleb walked out from behind the safety glass, approaching the towering structure. "Bu tdont forget that what we need to cross afe the Atlantic. As we need to hit Switzerland."
Tesla wiped a smear of grease from his forehead, leaning against the control console, his chest heaving. "Lik I have said before Caleb, the curvature of the earth and the atmospheric degradation over the ocean... to punch a signal through the ionosphere and have it land in central Europe with enough integrity to carry a human voice, we will need to construct the full scale tower. A structure at least two hundred feet tall, driven by a huge power plant capable of generating ten million volts."
"Then draft the blueprints for the two hundred foot tower," Caleb commanded instantly, his eyes locked on the inventor. "I have the steel, and I have the capital. But I need to know the physics will hold."
Tesla narrowed his eyes, his manic curiosity suddenly overriding his exhaustion. "Oh right I never asked but why Switzerland, Caleb? What is so vital in the Swiss mountains that you are willing to fund a monument to electrical engineering just to speak to it?"
Caleb walked over to a heavy wooden workbench, leaning against it. He looked at Tesla, deciding to drop a calculated piece of bait to hook the inventor's brilliant mind.
"There is a young man living in Bern," Caleb began slowly, his voice echoing in the cavernous warehouse. "A patent clerk. A theoretical physicist. His name is Albert Einstein."
Tesla frowned, the name entirely unknown to him. "A patent clerk? What has a patent clerk engineered?"
"He hasn't engineered anything. He is theorizing," Caleb explained, utilizing the Socratic method he used with Dr. Howell. "Tell me, Nikola... you work with electromagnetic waves. You work with the speed of light. What happens to the physical mass of an object as it accelerates closer to that absolute speed?"
Tesla blinked, caught off guard by the theoretical pivot. "Classical Newtonian physics dictates that mass is a constant, Caleb. Acceleration requires energy, but the mass remains unchanged."
"Newton was wrong," Caleb stated flatly, dropping the intellectual bomb. "This young man in Bern... he is currently working on mathematical proofs that will demonstrate that mass and energy are not separate entities. They are interchangeable. He is going to prove that the speed of light is the only absolute constant in the universe, and that time and space are entirely relative to the observer."
Tesla went perfectly still. The Serbian genius possessed a mind that operated on the bleeding edge of physics, and the sheer, staggering implications of what Caleb was suggesting hit him like a physical blow.
"Mass and energy... interchangeable?" Tesla whispered, his eyes widening in absolute horror and awe as he ran the theoretical equations in his head. "If that is true... the amount of dormant energy locked inside a single atom of matter would be... it would be enormous."
"It is," Caleb confirmed softly. "And I intend to have him working for the Thorne Holding Company before the rest of the world realizes he has rewritten the universe. That is why we are building the tower, Nikola. Build the bridge to Europe."
Tesla stared at the copper prototype, his mind completely consumed by the terrifying brilliance of the revelation. "I will scale the architecture immediately. We will pierce the ocean."
With Tesla entirely focused on the trans Atlantic transmission, Caleb shifted his attention to his other pioneers.
The following afternoon, Caleb was driving his pitch black Model T down the dusty coastal roads of Lemoyne. The transition from the dense, sweltering swamps to the open, howling winds of the coast was always a welcome relief.
When he pulled the roaring motorcar up to the isolated aviation hangar, he found Wilbur and Orville Wright locked in a state of frantic, joyous labor.
The second iteration of the flyer was nearly complete. It was a terrifying, beautiful evolution of the machine that had crashed into the dirt just weeks prior. The fragile ash wood ribs had been entirely replaced by Thorne's lightweight, high-tensile tubular steel. The canvas was stretched taut, and the massive, counter-rotating wooden propellers gleamed with fresh varnish.
"She's a predator, Caleb," Wilbur announced proudly as Caleb walked into the hangar, running his hand over the leading edge of the lower wing. "The steel framing increased the structural rigidity by eighty percent. We extended the wingspan, deepened the camber, and redesigned the forward elevator for aggressive pitch control."
"And the heart of the beast?" Caleb asked, walking around to the rear of the pilot's cradle, where the gleaming aluminum engine block sat securely mounted to the steel frame.
"The rotary mechanical fuel pump is flawless," Orville grinned, holding up a heavy, grease stained wrench. "It is driven directly off the camshaft. It forces the gasoline into the intake manifold under absolute, constant pressure. I could put this machine into a vertical dive, and the engine wouldn't starve for a single rotation. We are generating twelve horsepower at peak RPM."
Caleb nodded, his eyes dropping to the heavy leather harness resting in the pilot's cradle, and the thick canvas bag bolted to the steel frame directly behind it. The static line of the parachute was securely anchored.
"The failsafe is integrated," Caleb observed, his voice carrying a firm, uncompromising weight.
"It is," Wilbur agreed, his stoic face deadly serious. "Orville and I agreed. We do not test the aerodynamic limits of this machine without the silk packed and ready. We push the boundaries, but we survive the fall."
"Good," Caleb smiled, clapping Wilbur on the shoulder. "Because we are done hopping over the sand dunes. When this machine is ready for flight, I want you to climb. I want to see this machine hit five hundred feet. I want to know exactly what the atmosphere does to the steel when we leave the earth behind."
The brothers exchanged a look of pure, adrenaline-fueled anticipation. They weren't just inventors anymore; they were the test pilots of the twentieth century, backed by an emperor who refused to let them fail.
The demanding rhythm of Caleb's schedule rarely left room for reflection, but the past occasionally had a way of reaching through the polished veneer of his modern empire.
Two days later, Caleb was sitting behind the mahogany desk in his private study, casually reviewing a massive stack of operational reports from the Thorne Holding Company. Vincenzo stood near the fireplace, sipping a coffee, having just delivered the morning mail.
Caleb sifted through the heavy, wax-sealed envelopes from bank managers and steel foundry foremen until he paused, his eyes catching on a small, slightly crumpled envelope. The handwriting was rough, unrefined, and the postmark was stamped with a familiar, muddy town, Valentine, New Hanover.
Caleb broke the seal and unfolded the letter. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face as he read the jagged script.
"Who is it from, Boss?" Vincenzo asked, noting the rare look of pure nostalgia on Caleb's face.
"It's from Jasper," Caleb answered, leaning back in his leather chair. "Our manager up at the Crown in Valentine."
Vincenzo chuckled. The original fast food restaurant, the very first legitimate business Caleb had ever established, back when he was just a well known skilled bounty hunter who hunts down big bounties before coming to Saint Denis, it seemed like a quaint relic compared to the automotive factories and medical institutes they were building now.
"How are things in the mud?" Vincenzo asked, amused.
"Booming, apparently," Caleb said, reading the letter aloud. "Boss. I hope this letter finds you and the missus well down in the big city. The renovations on the restaurant are entirely finished. The new cast iron stoves you sent up are working flawlessly, and the expanded dining room is packed from sunrise to midnight. The cowboys and the ranchers are practically eating the burgers out of our hands. We are turning a massive profit every week. But I gotta tell you, Caleb... the crew misses you. We miss the Boss. We know we got our roles up here in Valentine, and nobody is leaving their post, but we sure are hoping you might find the time to bring one of those fancy trains up here and pay us a visit."
Caleb lowered the letter, looking out the window of his study. He remembered the muddy streets of Valentine, the smell of livestock, and the absolute chaos of his early days taking over the local underworld. It was a lifetime ago, yet it was the bedrock upon which the Thorne Holding Company was built.
"They are loyal men," Caleb murmured, a deep fondness in his voice. "They held the line when we were nothing but outlaws."
He pulled a fresh piece of parchment toward him, quickly drafting a reply to Jasper.
"We are going to take a trip up to New Hanover, Vincenzo," Caleb announced, his strategic mind instantly calculating the economic potential of the region. "Valentine isn't just a muddy outpost. It is the absolute beating heart of the livestock and animal auction industry in the Midwest. Every rancher from Ambarino to the Heartlands brings their herds through that town."
Vincenzo set his coffee cup down, his analytical mind catching Caleb's drift. "You want to control the beef supply."
"I want to control the beef, the leather, and the transit," Caleb confirmed, signing his name at the bottom of the letter to Jasper. "Look at what Charles Smith accomplished in Strawberry. He took a dying logging town and transformed it into the premier wilderness resort for the East Coast elite. The Grand Hotel is generating massive capital. We can do the same for Valentine. We inject capital into the auction houses, we build a modern slaughterhouse directly on the rail line to streamline the freight, and we revitalize the town under the Thorne banner. We own the town."
"I'll have the armored train prepped for the end of the month," Vincenzo nodded, already mapping out the logistical requirements for the journey.
"Do that," Caleb agreed. "But before we secure the livestock... we need to secure some land."
Caleb stood up from his desk, walking over to the heavy, floor to ceiling bookshelves that lined the western wall of the study. He reached behind a collection of ancient Roman histories, his fingers finding a concealed lever. He pulled it, and the entire bookshelf swung silently outward on heavy steel hinges, revealing a massive, reinforced iron vault built directly into the stone foundation of the mansion.
Caleb rapidly spun the combination dial, the heavy tumblers clicking into place, and hauled the heavy iron door open.
Inside the vault sat stacks of gold bullion, emergency cash reserves, which all belonged to Bromte now his, and classified corporate ledgers. But Caleb ignored the wealth. He reached into the back of the safe and pulled out a battered, scarred metal lockbox.
It was the lockbox he had stolen from Leviticus Cornwall's private train car during his violent, bloody ascension to power.
Caleb carried the lockbox back to his desk where he transfered the documents from his inventory to here, before setting it down with a heavy thud. He unlocked it with a small brass key on his pocket chain and flipped the lid open.
Inside sat a stack of thick notarized legal documents. The lifeblood of an older, dying empire.
"Get Pierre in here," Caleb ordered quietly.
Ten minutes later, the young, sharp eyed legal counsel stepped into the study, adjusting his spectacles as he looked at the battered lockbox on Caleb's desk.
"You called, Boss?" Pierre asked, taking the seat opposite Caleb.
Caleb reached into the box and pulled out two specific, incredibly valuable documents. He slid them across the mahogany desk toward Pierre.
"Review those," Caleb commanded.
Pierre picked up the heavy parchment, his eyes scanning the dense legal text. His breath hitched in his throat as he realized exactly what he was holding.
"Boss..." Pierre whispered, looking up in absolute shock. "These are the absolute, unencumbered land deeds to the Annesburg Coal Mine operations... and the primary oil fields in the Heartlands of New Hanover. These belong to Leviticus Cornwall."
"They belonged to Leviticus Cornwall," Caleb corrected, a cold, ruthless smile touching his lips. "I acquired them during our rather aggressive hostile raid a year ago. They have been sitting in that vault, waiting for the situation and also my own power to grow ensuring s smooth transition, and of course waiting for our political network to grow strong enough to launder them."
Caleb leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, the predatory king of the underworld fully surfacing.
"I have men watching Cornwall," Caleb revealed, his voice low and dangerous. "He is a shell of the man he used to be. The financial losses I inflicted on him when we burned his refineries, coupled with the... personal trauma I visited upon him during our final meeting, have broken his spirit. He is paranoid. He rarely leaves his private estates. His empire is bleeding out."
Pierre looked down at the deeds, his legal mind spinning with the terrifying implications of what Caleb was asking. "You want me to transfer the ownership. You want to legally steal the oil and the coal."
"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."
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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: -