If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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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.
The suitcase was packed tight with neat, banded stacks of crisp, large denomination dollar bills.
Caleb looked at the money, his eyebrows raising slightly in genuine, pleasant surprise. Extorting the banks directly was always a risky maneuver, but the sheer terror of his reputation had done all the heavy lifting. The manager had practically robbed his own vault to pay tribute.
Before then, he asked, his tone analytical, "How much did the bank manager give as his little apology?"
Silvio puffed his chest out proudly. "There's around 3,000 dollars in there, my Don. All untraceable, non sequential bills. He said to consider it a 'goodwill investment' in your new administration."
Three thousand dollars. An absolute fortune just handed over out of pure, unadulterated fear. Caleb reached out, running a finger over the crisp paper of the top stack. His max level Business Skill instantly recognized the profound opportunity here.
He didn't need this three thousand dollar, his dimensional inventory was already overflowing with Blackwater's money and gold, Cornwall's stolen cash, and Bronte's hidden bedroom stash.
But what he did need, more than cash, was the unbreakable, fanatical devotion of the street level soldiers who were currently patrolling his walls and securing his new empire.
Caleb closed the suitcase with a sharp snap and slid it across the polished mahogany desk directly toward his giant enforcer.
Caleb says, his voice carrying the magnanimous, benevolent authority of a true king, to have the money buy some drinks and foods for the men.
"Take this, Silvio," Caleb ordered softly. "All of it. Take this three thousand dollars down to the ranks. Tell the boys that the new Don recognizes their hard work today. I want you to buy out the best saloons in the city for them tonight. Buy the finest whiskey, order the best food, and ensure every man who pledged his loyalty to me today goes to sleep with a full belly and a heavy pocket."
Silvio, hearing that, was absolutely stunned. In all his years serving under Angelo Bronte, the old Don had never, not once, handed over three thousand dollars just to treat the foot soldiers.
Bronte hoarded every penny, tossing scraps to the men who bled for him. To see Caleb effortlessly part with a fortune just to reward the ranks proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was a leader unlike any other.
Silvio bowed deeply, profound reverence radiating from his massive frame. He thanked him profusely for his incredible generosity. "Don McLaughlin... you are too good to us. The men... they won't believe it."
"Make them believe it, Silvio," Caleb said, picking up his wine glass again. "Make sure they know exactly who provided it."
"I will make absolutely sure that the boys will know of it, Boss," Silvio swore fiercely, grabbing the handle of the heavy suitcase. "They will toast your name until the sun comes up."
Caleb nodded his head at that, a satisfied smirk touching his lips. He had just bought the undying, fanatical loyalty of a private army with money extorted from a terrified banker. It was the perfect cycle of power.
Where Silvio took his leave, backing out of the study with the suitcase of cash and closing the doors softly behind him, eager to spread the gospel of Don McLaughlin's generosity to the men.
Left alone once more, Caleb finished his steak and drained the last drops of the exquisite Bordeaux. The fatigue was finally settling deep into his bones, a heavy, dragging weight that even his high stamina couldn't ignore forever.
Caleb stood up, leaving the empty tray on the desk, and goes to his room to take a rest after an incredibly productive day. He ascended the grand staircase, moving through the quiet, heavily guarded halls of his new palace.
He stripped off his suit, falling into the massive, silk sheeted bed, and instantly drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, completely secure in the knowledge that he held the absolute monopoly on violence and wealth in Saint Denis.
The next day, the brilliant morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the master suite. Caleb woke up feeling entirely rejuvenated, the exhaustion of the coup completely washed away. He threw off the covers, stretching his powerful frame.
He spent the first hour of his morning indulging in the luxuries of his new station. After taking a long, scalding hot bath in a massive, claw foot copper tub drawn by the attentive household staff, he dressed in a fresh, perfectly tailored three piece suit of midnight blue.
He then went downstairs to the sunlit morning room and also ate a phenomenal breakfast of fresh eggs, thick cut bacon, and imported coffee, prepared by the cook.
Once his physical needs were met, his mind snapped back to the tactical objectives of the day. It was time to secure the true treasury.
He grabbed his hat and his silver tipped cane and walked out the grand front doors of the mansion.
Vincenzo and Silvio were already on the wide marble porch waiting for him. The two capos looked incredibly sharp, dressed in clean, dark coats, their weapons fully loaded and gleaming in the morning sun. The hangovers from the previous night's massive, Don funded celebration were entirely hidden behind their professional, lethal demeanors.
Parked at the base of the steps, with the driver already holding the reins of the four pristine white horses, was the carriage already prepared for the day's journey.
Caleb, stepping outside to the porch, adjusted his hat and greeted the both of them with a firm nod. "Good morning, brothers. I trust the men enjoyed the bank's generous donation last night?"
Silvio grinned, a massive, predatory smile. "They sang your praises until their throats were raw, Don McLaughlin. You have an army of zealots ready to die for you today."
"Excellent," Caleb replied smoothly. The capos returned the greeting respectfully, stepping aside to let their Don lead the way.
And after that, they walked down the marble steps and boarded into the luxurious black lacquered carriage. Caleb took his seat facing forward, while Vincenzo and Silvio took the bench opposite him.
Caleb slid open the wooden partition separating them from the driver's box. He looked up at the loyal driver and gave his specific, highly unusual routing instructions.
Caleb told the driver to leave the city first. "Take us out of Saint Denis. Head west, out past the city limits."
The driver nodded, adjusting his grip on the reins. "Yes, Don McLaughlin. Heading west. To any specific town, sir?"
"No," Caleb instructed, his voice dropping to a low, serious register. "Heading west toward the deep forests of Lemoyne. I will guide you when we hit the dirt tracks. We are looking for an abandoned church deep in the swamps."
The driver blinked, clearly taken aback by the strange order. Driving a highly conspicuous, immensely expensive luxury carriage belonging to the most powerful mafia boss in the state deep into the treacherous, alligator infested, outlaw ridden mud tracks of the Lemoyne swamps made absolutely no logical sense.
The driver, even though he felt deeply confused and frankly terrified of getting the heavy carriage stuck in the mud, didn't utter a single syllable of protest. He didn't know why they were going there, but he knew exactly who was giving the order.
He swallowed his apprehension, tipped his hat, and followed the direction that was said by Caleb without hesitation.
The driver cracked his whip, the sharp sound echoing in the courtyard. "Hyah!"
The four white horses surged forward, pulling the heavy carriage out of the Garden District. They left the paved, civilized cobblestones of Saint Denis behind, rolling steadily westward.
The manicured lawns and towering mansions slowly gave way to the dense, suffocating humidity, the hanging Spanish moss, and the dark, mysterious shadows of the Lemoyne forests, carrying the new Don directly toward the hidden, heavily guarded vault that held the true, staggering wealth.
As they finally left the town fully, the paved cobblestones transitioning into the rutted, uneven dirt tracks of the deep country, the air grew noticeably heavier. The fresh, salty breeze blowing in off the Lannahechee River was completely choked out by the stagnant, thick atmosphere of the bayou.
The symphony of the city, the clanging trolley bells and shouting merchants, was replaced by the ominous, pulsating drone of cicadas, the croaking of massive bullfrogs, and the occasional, terrifying splash of a large alligator sliding off a muddy bank into the murky waters.
The driver expertly navigated the heavy, black lacquered carriage through the treacherous terrain. The four pristine white horses were already beginning to show the toll of the journey, their pristine coats flecked with dark brown mud and sweat, snorting nervously at the strange, predatory smells of the swamp.
Caleb leaned forward slightly, sliding the wooden partition open just a crack. He directed the driver toward a specific, overgrown path, guiding him through a maze of towering, ancient cypress trees whose gnarled roots breached the dark water like the fingers of drowning giants. He was guiding them toward the abandoned church that had been turned into a fortress of wealth by Bronte.
Inside the plush, velvet lined cabin, the oppressive heat of the swamp was beginning to seep through the floorboards. Vincenzo, sitting across from Caleb, adjusted his good arm in its sling, wiping a bead of sweat from his scarred forehead. The capo looked out the window at the endless, twisting maze of green water and hanging moss, a deep furrow of confusion etching itself into his brow.
At this time, Vincenzo finally broke the comfortable silence. He asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity, "Where exactly are we going, my Don?"
Vincenzo looked back at Caleb, his expression utterly perplexed. "I have rode for this family for over a decade. I know every safe house, every smuggling route, and every blind drop from Saint Denis up to Roanoke Ridge. But I have never known there's an important place out here in this rotting mud. There's nothing out here but gators and Night Folk."
Silvio grunted in agreement, shifting his massive bulk on the velvet cushions, his hand resting instinctively on the heavy revolver at his hip. "It feels like a graveyard, Boss. If we are looking for men to recruit, the slums would be better."
Caleb let out a low, knowing chuckle. He leaned back against the cushions, resting both hands on the silver head of his cane. He looked at his two most trusted lieutenants, his blue eyes gleaming with a calculating, sharp intelligence.
"You shouldn't know about it, Vincenzo," Caleb explained smoothly, the carriage rocking as it rolled over a thick tree root. "In fact, if Bronte had his way, absolutely no one in the main ranks would even suspect this place exists. This was a secret place. A location that only Angelo Bronte and Guido Martelli knew about, alongside a very small, highly vetted handful of men they stationed out here to permanently guard the place."
Vincenzo and Silvio exchanged wide eyed glances. Anything that had been kept a secret exclusively between the old Don and the late, terrifying Guido Martelli was bound to be something of monumental importance.
"If it was such a tightly guarded secret," Silvio rumbled, his thick brow furrowing as he tried to piece the puzzle together, "how do you know the way through this swamp, Don McLaughlin?"
Caleb didn't miss a beat. His max level Acting and Persuasion skills seamlessly wove a completely believable, highly strategic lie that further cemented his indispensable value to the old regime, right up until his betrayal.
"When Guido Martelli was removed from the board, Bronte's paranoia spiked to levels even he couldn't control," Caleb lied flawlessly. "He was terrified that Guido had somehow compromised the security of his greatest secret before his death. So, Bronte brought me into the fold."
Caleb leaned forward, capturing their absolute attention. "Bronte told me to do some scouting of the place. He sent me out here into the mud to quietly observe the security perimeter, to check the sightlines, and most importantly, to test the loyalty of the men guarding it as well. He wanted an outside perspective, a pair of eyes that wasn't blinded by years of standing in the swamp."
Hearing what Caleb said, both of them were very surprised. The level of trust Bronte had apparently placed in Caleb was staggering, which only made Caleb's eventual, righteous mutiny seem even more incredibly bold and necessary.
Vincenzo leaned forward, his curiosity entirely overriding his discomfort with the humid air. He asked him, his voice dropping to a whisper despite the fact that they were completely alone in the moving carriage.
"What is out here, Boss?" Vincenzo pressed. "An armory? A massive moonshine still? A prison for his enemies?"
Caleb smiled, a cold, predatory expression that perfectly matched the ruthless environment outside the carriage window. "It's Bronte's personal wealth. His hidden vault."
The words hung in the humid air of the cabin for a long moment. Hearing that, they were, of course, surprised even further. Their jaws literally dropped. They were street level capos who had fought and bled over crates of smuggled liquor that netted a few hundred dollars.
The concept of the Don's primary, personal treasury, the legendary hoard they had all whispered about but never truly believed existed, sitting in the middle of a swamp was almost too much to process. Before then, Vincenzo let out a harsh, bitter laugh. He shook his head, the lingering resentment from the riverboat massacre flaring up in his chest.
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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: 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: -