If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
...
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
"Good," Caleb said, leaning back in his leather chair and turning his gaze out the large bay windows, looking out over the sprawling, sunlit gardens of his new kingdom. The board was set. The pieces were moving perfectly. In forty eight hours, Caleb Thorne was going to step out into the daylight, and the entire state of Lemoyne was going to bow at his feet.
The silence in the opulent study stretched for a comfortable moment, filled only by the distant, muffled sounds of the estate groundskeepers going about their daily labor. Caleb turned his attention back from the glass windows to the meticulously organized butler standing at attention before the massive mahogany desk.
There was one final, crucial piece of internal security that needed to be established before the day was done. An empire was only as strong as its foundation, and Caleb refused to be blindsided in his own home the way Angelo Bronte had been.
Caleb then gave Antonio an order, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the heavy, uncompromising gravity of a ruler laying down the absolute law of the land. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished wood.
"Antonio, you manage the lifeblood of this estate," Caleb began smoothly, his maxed out Leadership Skill subtly reinforcing the undeniable weight of his command. "The maids who sweep the halls, the cooks who prepare the meals, the stable hands, the groundskeepers, they see everything. They hear whispers in the corridors. They notice when a door is left unlocked or when a carriage arrives off schedule."
Antonio nodded slowly, his sharp eyes focused entirely on his new Don. "Indeed, they do, Don McLaughlin. The staff is the invisible nervous system of any great house."
"Exactly," Caleb confirmed. "And I want that nervous system wired directly into my office. I am ordering you to inform the entirety of the staff in this mansion that they are to report everything, or anything, that happens within these walls to me. But they will not come to me directly. They will report it to you."
Caleb pointed a finger at the butler, cementing Antonio's role as his chief intelligence filter. "You are my spymaster within these walls, Antonio. They bring the whispers to you. You will then filter the information, deciding what is trivial gossip and how important it truly is, before it is then brought to my attention. You will compile these reports and deliver them to me personally."
Antonio, hearing that immense responsibility being placed squarely upon his shoulders, nodded his head in solemn understanding. He was an incredibly organized man, but the sheer scope of total surveillance gave him a momentary pause. He adjusted his spectacles, clearing his throat lightly.
"I understand the order completely, my Don," Antonio said respectfully, before then asking Caleb for a point of clarification. "However, to ensure I filter this intelligence to your exact standards... the kind of information you are looking for, for example, is like what? Are we speaking strictly of security breaches, or..."
"Anything and everything, Antonio," Caleb interrupted softly, yet firmly. His blue eyes locked onto the butler's, an icy, penetrating stare that left absolutely no room for interpretation. "I mean exactly what I say. A misplaced silver spoon. A maid who seems more nervous than usual. A delivery boy who asks too many questions about the layout of the kitchens. A guard who steps off his patrol route for five minutes. Anything and everything. But especially the suspicious ones. If it feels out of place, even by a fraction of an inch, I want to know about it."
Antonio, receiving the intentionally vague but overwhelmingly comprehensive instructions, could only swallow hard and nod his head in absolute submission. He recognized that the new Don operated on a level of situational awareness that bordered on the extreme.
"It shall be done precisely as you command, Don McLaughlin," Antonio promised, bowing at the waist. "I will personally instruct the staff for you before the sun goes down. Nothing will happen in this house without your knowledge."
"See that it is," Caleb said, his tone softening back into a polite, civilized cadence. The heavy business of the afternoon was concluded. He exhaled a long breath, suddenly feeling the deep, physical hollow of hunger in his stomach.
The adrenaline of the coup had masked it, but his high tier physical stats required fuel to maintain their peak condition. And sk, Caleb asked for dinner to be served in the study.
Antonio immediately nodded his head, slipping back into the comfortable, familiar role of the immaculate host. "Right away, my Don. I will have the head chef prepare the food for you immediately. We have fresh cuts of prime beef and some excellent venison remaining from the morning's deliveries."
"The beef will do perfectly," Caleb replied.
Antonio paused at the heavy mahogany doors. "And what drink would you like to accompany your dinner, Don McLaughlin?"
Caleb didn't even have to think about it. The day called for a celebration of the vine. He says he would like some wine. "Bring up a bottle of the richest red you can find in Bronte's private reserve. Something full bodied to match the steak."
"An excellent choice, sir," Antonio murmured, offering one final bow before he slipped silently out of the room, leaving the double doors closed firmly behind him.
With Antonio gone, Caleb was finally left in complete, undisturbed solitude. He let out a long, heavy sigh, allowing the rigid, terrifying posture of the 'Don' to melt away for just a few minutes. He just rested his body on the comfy, high backed leather chair, sinking into the plush material.
He spent the next several minutes looking around the study, truly absorbing the reality of his new environment. The towering bookshelves filled with leather bound classics, the intricate Persian rugs mapping out geometric patterns on the hardwood floor, the smell of expensive cigar smoke permanently baked into the velvet curtains. This was the seat of power in Saint Denis, and he had claimed it without losing a single drop of his own blood.
But Caleb was not a man who rested on his laurels. His maxed out Business Skill was a relentless, ever churning engine of ambition, constantly projecting forward, constantly looking for the next acquisition, the next expansion, the next conquest.
He leaned his head back, staring at the ornately plastered ceiling, and was thinking that tomorrow, he would embark on the next crucial phase of his absolute takeover. Tomorrow, he will go out to the abandoned church located deep in the murky, cypress choked swamps outside the city limits.
It was the ultimate prize. During his brutal interrogation of the broken former Don in the cold cellars, Bronte had surrendered the location and the access codes to his true, hidden treasury.
Bronte stored his entire, massive accumulation of illicit wealth there. The old man hadn't trusted the banks with the bulk of his liquid assets, nor did he trust the floorboards of his own mansion. He had chosen a rotting, forgotten sanctuary in the middle of nowhere, guarded by his most fiercely loyal, off the books soldiers.
Caleb ran his fingers along the polished edge of the mahogany desk, formulating the tactical approach. He wasn't just going there to loot a vault. He was going there to consolidate his military might. He intended to walk right through the front doors of that ruined church and make the rest of the men stationed there pledge their allegiance to him.
These were men isolated from the city's politics, men who only knew to guard the gold with their lives. When he presented them with the undeniable proof of Bronte's fall and offered them a place in a much richer, much more powerful regime, they would undoubtedly bend the knee.
So, not only will he get more money to fuel his expanding empire, but he will also get more manpower. Hardened, elite guards who knew how to keep a secret.
His mind drifted from the men to the vault itself. He was thinking of what kind of riches were hidden there in the dark. Obviously, there would be massive stacks of dollar bills, untraceable greenbacks extorted from the city's underbelly over decades.
There would likely be small fortunes in precious jewels or heavy, stamped gold bars, the universal currencies of the criminal underworld.
But Caleb, thinking with the mind of a legitimate corporate titan, was hoping for something far more valuable than shiny rocks or paper money. He was hoping for paper of a different kind. Maybe more land deeds.
Bronte had controlled Saint Denis for a long time. It was highly probable the old Don had leveraged gambling debts and extortion to seize prime real estate across the state of Lemoyne. Land deeds could make him have far more legitimate, taxable assets.
If he could secure large tracts of industrial zoning or undeveloped riverfront property through those deeds, the strategic possibilities were endless. Caleb's thoughts immediately pivoted to his rapidly growing, entirely legitimate front businesses. Specifically, his highly lucrative firearms manufacturing enterprise.
Currently, his operations were bottlenecked by geography. If he found the right industrial land deeds in Bronte's vault, he could also have his firearms company make a massive factory branch right here in the South.
The logistics were flawless. Saint Denis was a major port city with direct access to the ocean, endless railway lines, and a massive pool of cheap, desperate labor.
Having a dedicated manufacturing hub in Lemoyne meant he could cut his shipping costs in half, flood the southern and western markets with his proprietary repeating rifles and revolvers, and drastically increase his profit margins.
More importantly, so he doesn't have to go all the way back to Connecticut to oversee his primary manufacturing operations. He could run a massive, legal, cross country industrial conglomerate from the exact same leather chair where he orchestrated the city's illegal gambling and smuggling rings. Total, vertical integration of both the light and the dark.
As he was thinking that, a soft knock at the door broke his intense concentration.
"Enter," Caleb called out, sitting up straight and adjusting his vest.
The heavy doors swung open. His food and wine arrived, brought into the study by Antonio and a young, nervously polite maid wearing a crisp white apron. The maid carried a heavy silver tray, setting it down delicately on the edge of the mahogany desk.
Antonio stepped forward with a bottle of dark, vintage Bordeaux, already uncorked and breathing perfectly. He poured a generous measure into a crystal goblet. "Your dinner, Don McLaughlin. Prime ribeye, cooked medium rare, with a side of roasted potatoes and a peppercorn reduction."
"It smells phenomenal. Thank you, Antonio. You may both leave," Caleb said, dismissing them with a polite nod.
The servants bowed and exited silently. Caleb pulled the tray closer. The steak was a masterpiece, perfectly seared on the outside and bleeding a rich, savory juice onto the porcelain plate.
Caleb then ate and drank, slicing into the tender meat and washing it down with the incredibly smooth, complex flavors of the vintage red wine. The combination of the heavy protein and the alcohol was exactly what his exhausted, hyper active system needed to finally relax.
He was halfway through his meal, enjoying the rare moment of quiet indulgence, when heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed down the hallway outside.
At this time, Silvio arrived. The massive enforcer knocked once, a heavy, booming sound against the oak, before pushing the door open. He stepped into the study, filling the doorway with his sheer, imposing bulk. He had removed his duster, but the heavy revolvers strapped to his hips remained prominent.
Silvio greeted Caleb incredibly respectfully, bowing his head. "Good evening, Don McLaughlin. Pardon the interruption to your supper."
Caleb swallowed a bite of the steak and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. He returned the greeting warmly. "Good evening, Silvio. Come in. Sit. There are no interruptions between brothers."
Silvio stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, though he remained standing, too energized by the success of his mission to sit down.
Caleb leaned back, taking a sip of his wine, and asked him how the task given to him had gone. "Tell me about the bank, Silvio. Did our snooty French friend give you any trouble?"
Silvio let out a deep, rumbling laugh that shook his broad chest. With a massive, predatory smile, he says he had done it wonderfully. "Like a dream, Don McLaughlin. Like an absolute dream."
Silvio stepped closer to the desk, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the psychological domination he had just inflicted. "I walked right into the Saint Denis National Bank with the boys. Bypassed the teller lines completely and kicked open the manager's frosted glass door. The little rat was sitting there counting his fountain pens. When he looked up and saw me, he almost swallowed his own tongue."
Caleb chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. "I can imagine the look on his face."
"It was priceless," Silvio continued, highly animated. "I told him we were making a withdrawal. He tried to puff his chest out, tried to tell me that Angelo Bronte's accounts were frozen unless the Don himself was present with the seal. He tried to play the tough banker."
Silvio's smile widened into a genuinely terrifying grin. "And that's when I told him. I leaned right over his fancy mahogany desk, got inches from his face, and told him that the bank manager immediately needed to understand that Bronte has been disposed of. Finished. Gone. And that he was currently looking at the primary enforcer for the new Don of Saint Denis, Don McLaughlin."
"And his reaction?" Caleb prompted, thoroughly enjoying the report.
"The bank manager immediately caved in when he heard that," Silvio laughed, slapping his thigh. "All the color drained right out of his face. He started sweating through his expensive silk suit. He realized real quick that his fancy vault doors wouldn't stop us from burning his building down if he refused."
Silvio recounted the rest of the flawless extortion. "I told him I was under your direct order to take some money from the accounts for the new Don to make some immediate, vital payments for the family's business. The bank manager immediately approved the withdrawal after that. He didn't ask for a signature. He didn't ask for a wax seal. He ran down to the vault himself and brought up the five and a half grand for the Pelton Wheel, packing it into a satchel for the boys to take to the freight depot."
"Excellent work, Silvio. That secures our hydroelectric power for Strawberry," Caleb praised him.
"But that wasn't all, Boss," Silvio added, his grin turning incredibly sly. "The manager was so terrified that he had offended the new king of the city... he wanted to make amends. He wanted to buy your favor. And also, he gave this money as a personal gift to the new Don. An offering of peace from the bank."
Silvio reached behind him, pulling a heavy, black leather suitcase from where he had left it by the door frame. He walked up to the desk and put the suitcase on the table, right next to Caleb's dinner tray. With a sharp double click, he unlatched the brass locks and opened it, showing the contents to Caleb.
...
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: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 286,492 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 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, 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: -