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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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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.
Jasper blinked, taken aback. "Sir?"
"The Crown here in Valentine is flawless. It practically runs itself under your systems," Caleb continued, setting his spoon down and giving Jasper his full attention. "But I have significantly larger ambitions for this brand. I want to open a flagship location in the heart of Saint Denis. A massive, multi story restaurant catering to the working class of the city. I need a man I can trust implicitly to run it. I want you to pack your bags, move to the South, and take the position of General Manager for the southern division. I will triple your current salary and put you in a beautiful townhouse."
It was an offer that would make any sane man in 1900 drop to his knees in gratitude. The chance to escape the mud and the freezing winters of the frontier, to move to a booming, industrialized metropolis, backed by the wealth of the Thorne Holding Company.
Jasper stared at Caleb, his eyes wide. He looked around the bustling, loud, grease scented restaurant. He looked out the massive glass window at the muddy, chaotic street of Valentine, where a pair of cowboys were currently shouting at a stubborn mule.
Then, Jasper looked back at Caleb, a slow, gentle, and profoundly grounded smile touching his lips.
"Mr. Thorne, Boss," Jasper began, his voice laced with absolute, unyielding respect, but completely devoid of hesitation. "You pulled me out of the dirt when you bought this place. You gave me a wage, you gave me a purpose, and you gave me a life I can be proud of. I owe you everything."
Jasper took a slow breath, shaking his head gently.
"But I don't want to move to Saint Denis, Boss," Jasper said honestly. "I've seen the pictures in the papers. It's too big, it's too loud, and there are too many people in fancy suits. I'm a frontier boy. I like the smell of the pine trees. I like knowing the names of every rancher who walks through that door. This mud... this is my home. I am more than content right here, running the best damn restaurant in New Hanover."
Arthur paused mid bite, raising an impressed eyebrow. It took a massive amount of internal fortitude to look Caleb Thorne in the eye and reject a promotion.
Caleb didn't look angry. He didn't look insulted. He looked at Jasper, the ruthless industrialist entirely melting away, replaced by a deep seated respect. Caleb valued ambition, but he valued self awareness even more. Jasper knew exactly who he was, and he refused to let greed compromise his peace.
"A man who knows his own limits is a rare and dangerous thing, Jasper," Caleb smiled warmly, reaching across the table to shake the young manager's hand. "Your loyalty is to this town, and I respect that entirely. You stay here. You keep running my restaurant. But your salary is still tripling, effective today. Because I will not underpay the best manager in my employ."
Jasper's eyes filled with sudden, overwhelming emotion, his grip tightening on Caleb's hand. "Thank you, Boss. Thank you. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't," Caleb nodded. "Now, get back to your kitchen before Thomas gets overwhelmed at the register."
Jasper practically sprang from the chair, energized and fiercely loyal, rushing back to the chaotic, beautiful machinery of his fast-food line.
Mary-Beth watched him go, a soft, affectionate smile on her face as she ate a spoonful of ice cream. "He is a good young man, Caleb. You chose well."
"He is the perfect man for this town," Caleb agreed, his eyes narrowing slightly as his mind pivoted from the sentimental reunion to the cold, hard logistics of vertical integration. He pulled a silver pocket watch from his vest, checking the time.
The social visit was over. The conquest was about to begin.
"Mary-Beth, my love," Caleb said softly, turning to his wife. "I have some pressing business to attend to in town. I need to meet with the local authorities. I want you to stay here in the restaurant where it is warm and safe."
Mary-Beth offered a knowing sigh, wiping her mouth delicately with a napkin. "I suspected this trip wasn't purely for the burgers, Caleb. Go. Handle your business. But don't take too long, the train beds are far more comfortable than these wooden booths."
Caleb leaned over, kissing her softly on the cheek. He then looked up, his eyes locking onto his two deadliest enforcers.
"Arthur. John," Caleb's voice dropped an octave, the warmth entirely vanishing, replaced by the uncompromising authority of the syndicate boss. "You do not leave this booth. You do not take your eyes off the front door. You keep my wife safe, or I will personally feed both of you into the gears of one of Tesla's dynamos. Am I understood?"
Arthur let out a low, rumbling chuckle, leaning back against the leather booth and resting his hand casually on the grip of his customized M-1911 Pistol. "Relax, Caleb. Nobody in this mud hole is stupid enough to cause trouble with us sitting here. Go play politics. We'll watch her safely."
John offered a sharp, confirming nod, his eyes already continuously scanning the crowded room, evaluating every single customer who walked through the door.
Caleb stood up, buttoning his dark overcoat. He signaled to Vincenzo and Silvio with a sharp tilt of his head. The two sharply dressed underbosses instantly rose from their table, falling in flawlessly behind Caleb, alongside four of the massive, heavily armed elite capos.
Caleb walked out of the warm, bustling restaurant and stepped back into the biting autumn wind of Valentine.
"Where to, Boss?" Vincenzo asked, his eyes tracking a group of rowdy cowboys across the street.
"We need the layout of the local economy, Vincenzo," Caleb stated, his boots crunching against the muddy boardwalk as he turned toward the center of town. "I want to buy the auction yards. I want to buy the prime grazing land. I want to build a centralized slaughterhouse directly on the rail line to streamline our beef supply to the entire states. But I do not have the time to negotiate with fifty different ranchers."
"So we find the man who already knows who is bleeding and who is desperate to sell," Silvio deduced, a predatory grin forming.
"Exactly," Caleb nodded. "And in a town like this, the only man who knows every dirty secret, every failing mortgage, and every corruptible official... is the man wearing the tin star."
They walked with absolute purpose down the main street. The townsfolk instinctively parted for them, stepping off the boardwalk and into the mud to avoid the phalanx of sharply dressed, terrifyingly professional men.
They approached the Valentine Sheriff's Office, a sturdy, square wooden building with barred windows and a small holding cell in the rear.
Caleb didn't bother knocking. He pushed the heavy wooden door open and strode inside.
The interior of the office was warm, smelling of stale coffee, gun oil, and cheap tobacco. Sitting behind a cluttered wooden desk, his boots propped up next to a stack of wanted posters, was Sheriff Malloy.
Sheriff Malloy was a pragmatic, slightly cynical lawman who had survived the violent frontier by knowing exactly whose boots to lick and whose heads to crack.
For the past year now, he had operated under a highly lucrative, quiet business arrangement with the Thorne syndicate. Caleb paid the Sheriff an envelope of cash on the first of every month, and in return, Sheriff Malloy and his deputies received free meals at The Crown and looked the other way whenever Caleb's men needed to handle "internal discipline" within the town borders.
But Malloy hadn't seen Caleb in person since Caleb was just a rising bounty hunter securing a single restaurant.
As Caleb walked into the office, flanked by Vincenzo, Silvio, and the four massive capos, the dynamic instantly, violently shifted. Malloy's boots slammed down onto the floorboards. He sat up entirely straight, the color draining slightly from his weathered face.
He wasn't looking at a local gangster anymore. He was looking at a man who could buy his entire town with the change in his pocket, a man who dined with senators and built flying machines. The sheer, suffocating weight of Caleb's aura filled the small wooden office, leaving absolutely no oxygen for anyone else.
"Caleb, I mean Mr. Thorne," Malloy stammered slightly, quickly standing up and instinctively brushing the cigar ash off his vest. "I... I heard rumors you were in town. It is an honor, sir. Truly."
"Sit down, Sheriff," Caleb said, his voice quiet, calm, and terrifying.
Malloy slowly sank back into his creaking wooden chair.
Caleb didn't sit. He walked slowly around the small office, inspecting a wanted poster on the wall, letting the silence stretch out, forcing the lawman to sweat. Vincenzo and Silvio stood perfectly still by the door, blocking the only exit.
"The arrangement we struck a year ago has been mutually beneficial, hasn't it, Sheriff?" Caleb finally spoke, turning to face Malloy. "My restaurant operates without harassment, my supply wagons move freely, and you and your deputies enjoy the finest meals in the state, supplemented by a rather generous monthly stipend."
"It has, Mr. Thorne. Extremely beneficial," Sheriff Malloy nodded rapidly, eager to confirm his loyalty. "You won't find a safer business in New Hanover than yours. We make sure of it."
"I know you do. Which is why I am here to expand your responsibilities," Caleb stated, walking over and placing both hands flat on Malloy's cluttered desk, leaning in close. "I am no longer satisfied with simply feeding the town of Valentine, Curtis. I intend to own it."
Sheriff Malloy swallowed hard, his eyes wide. "Own it, sir?"
"I want the livestock infrastructure," Caleb dictated, his voice cold and precise. "I want the auction yards on the edge of town. I want the prime grazing acreage in the Heartlands. And I am going to construct a massive and modern slaughterhouse and meat packing facility directly on the rail spur. I am going to vertically integrate the beef supply of this territory under the Thorne Holding Company."
Caleb locked eyes with the Sheriff, the predatory billionaire fully unleashing his demands.
"But I do not have the time to blindly survey the market," Caleb continued softly. "You know this town better than anyone, Curtis. You know which ranchers are drowning in debt to the banks. You know which auction managers are embezzling funds. You know who is desperate to sell, and you know whose arms need to be twisted to make them sign a deed."
Caleb reached inside his overcoat, pulling out a thick, heavy envelope. He tossed it onto the desk. It landed with a heavy, distinct thud that spoke of a staggering amount of cash.
"I need an informant, and I need a broker," Caleb offered, his eyes boring into the lawman. "You compile a comprehensive ledger of every vulnerable, failing, or corruptible livestock asset in this county. You tell my man Vincenzo who to approach and what leverage to use. If you do this efficiently, the envelope on this desk will be delivered to you every single week for the rest of your tenure in office. You will retire a very, very wealthy man."
Sheriff Malloy stared at the thick envelope, his pragmatic, corruptible heart beating wildly against his ribs. It was more money than a frontier sheriff could make in ten lifetimes. And he knew exactly what the alternative was if he refused Caleb.
Sheriff Malloy looked up, his eyes burning with absolute, uncompromising greed.
"I know every dirty secret in this valley, Mr. Thorne," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly with adrenaline. "I know three ranchers on the verge of bankruptcy right now, and the manager of the auction yard owes massive gambling debts in Saint Denis. Give me three days. I'll hand you the keys to the entire ranch farm trade."
Caleb smiled, a chilling, dead eyed expression that sealed the Faustian bargain.
"I knew I could rely on the law in this town," Caleb said softly, tapping his finger against the desk before turning to leave. "Get to work, Sheriff. We have a town to buy."
Sheriff Malloy nodded his head rapidly, the sheer weight of the promised wealth entirely overriding whatever fragile allegiance to the law he had left. He leaned over the desk, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled the thick envelope of cash toward his vest.
"Three days, Mr. Thorne," Malloy swore, his voice hushed but intensely fervent. "I will have a comprehensive informations and ledgers of every vulnerable deed and every corruptible people in the Heartlands sitting on this desk. I give you my absolute word on the deal we have."
Caleb didn't offer a smile, nor did he offer a handshake. He simply waved his hand in a brief, dismissive gesture, turning his back on the lawman without another word. The transaction was complete, Malloy was no longer a sheriff, he was an employee.
Vincenzo and Silvio pulled the heavy wooden door open, stepping out onto the boardwalk to secure the perimeter before Caleb walked out into the biting, frigid autumn wind of Valentine.
As they moved back down the muddy main street, the rhythm of the town slowly resumed. A few brave merchants and seasoned ranchers, recognizing the undisputed king of the southern economy, offered polite, respectful tips of their hats as he passed. Caleb returned the greetings with a smooth, practiced charm, offering a brief nod here and a raised hand there, perfectly maintaining the illusion of the benevolent tycoon.
"So, Boss," Vincenzo murmured, falling into step right beside Caleb, keeping his voice low enough that the passing townsfolk couldn't hear. "Are we posting up at the hotel here in town? If Sheriff Malloy needs three days to compile the ledgers, we can establish a temporary command post, maybe run some of our own intimidation on the auction yards to speed the process along."
Caleb walked in silence for a few paces, the pristine leather of his tailored boots carefully navigating the deep, freezing ruts of mud. He looked around the town. He saw the livestock pens, the massive piles of manure steaming in the cold air, the coughing ranch hands shivering outside the saloons, and the general, inescapable layer of grime that coated every single surface of the frontier.
Through the lens of his Past Life Memory, Caleb didn't just see dirt, he saw this place now as terrifying breeding ground for bacterial infection. He saw tuberculosis, cholera, and the myriad of zoonotic diseases carried by thousands of untested cattle.
"No," Caleb stated definitively, pulling his dark overcoat tighter against the wind. "We are not staying."
Vincenzo blinked in surprise. "We're heading back to Saint Denis today? What about the ledgers and informations from the sheriff?"
"You will leave behind two of the capos to remain in Valentine," Caleb instructed, his tactical mind shifting the logistics flawlessly. "They will stay in the hotel, collect the ledger from Malloy on the third day, and wire the encoded details directly to my study in Saint Denis. We can initiate the buyouts via telegraph and lawyers."
Caleb stopped at the edge of the boardwalk, looking toward the bright, pristine glass windows of The Crown restaurant, where he could see Mary-Beth laughing with Arthur in the corner booth.
"I brought my wife on this excursion because she wanted to see the restaurant," Caleb explained, his voice softening only slightly, the fierce, protective instinct of an expectant father bleeding through the cold armor of the industrialist. "But I will not have her sleeping in a town where the primary export is cow manure and mud. I do not know what kind of frontier fevers or livestock diseases might be lingering in the air, and I am entirely unwilling to risk her health or the health of my child to find out. We leave within the hour."
Vincenzo, understanding the absolute, uncompromising nature of Caleb's protectiveness, nodded sharply. "I'll send the runner to the station to fire up the boiler on the train."
They crossed the muddy street and stepped back into the overwhelming, savory heat of the restaurant.
Caleb walked over to the corner booth. Arthur and John immediately stopped their conversation, their postures shifting from relaxed to highly alert the moment their boss entered their radius.
Mary-Beth looked up, a bright, welcoming smile on her face. She had finished her ice cream and was holding a steaming mug of fresh coffee.
"Are your political maneuvers concluded, Mr. Thorne?" she asked playfully, noting the serious, focused set of his jaw.
"They are, Mrs. Thorne," Caleb nodded, sliding into the leather booth beside her and casually wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "The Heartlands will be integrated into our business lines within the month. But our business here is finished. It is time for us to go home."
...
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: -