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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 leaned closer to the microphone. It was time to show the teeth. "I do not want to ruin our friendship, Mr. President," Caleb whispered, his voice smooth as silk but laced with a lethal, apocalyptic threat. "But if the Bureau of Indian Affairs continues to press this issue, if they attempt to force their federal puppet onto my land... I will be forced to view it as an act of hostility against my business interest."
"And if I am forced to defend my interest, I might suddenly find myself very receptive to the countless lucrative business inquiries I receive daily from the Foreign Ambassadors through letters and telegraph messages. I might decide that the Russian Empire, the German Empire, or the British Navy would pay a premium for the exclusive patents to our encrypted radio transceivers and our advanced automotive engines. I would hate to see the American military lose its technological advantage over a petty squabble regarding a muddy town in New Hanover."
The silence from the Oval Office was deep.
It was the silence of sheer terror. President McKinley fully realized the geopolitical reality. Caleb Thorne was not just a wealthy tycoon, he was a singular technological chokepoint. If Caleb sold his secrets to Britain or Russia or Germany, the United States would instantly lose its early won technological dominance on the world stage. The balance of global power rested entirely in the hands of the man sitting in that train car.
"I... I understand you completely, Caleb," McKinley finally spoke, his voice trembling slightly, the President of the United States fully submitting to the syndicate boss. "I will not interfere with your local election. You have my word. I will ensure the federal appointment is quietly withdrawn the moment your candidate declares victory. The Bureau will be silenced."
"I appreciate your understanding, Mr. President," Caleb replied, his tone instantly returning to a warm, respectful cadence.
"But Caleb, I must beg of you," McKinley pleaded, his voice desperate. "Please, keep this quiet. Do not push them too far. If you flaunt this monopoly control, if you rub the government's nose in it... I will not be able to protect you from the anti trust factions in Congress. Please, do not do too much."
"I can only promise that my actions will be perfectly proportional to the pressure applied against me, William," Caleb answered honestly, offering no absolute guarantees. "If they step back, I will build my city in peace. If they push, I will retaliate. I wish you a very pleasant evening, Mr. President. Give my regards to the First Lady."
"Good evening, Caleb."
Caleb flipped the toggle switch. The vacuum tubes slowly dimmed, the connection severing, plunging the communications suite back into the quiet, rhythmic hum of the moving train.
Caleb leaned back in his chair, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. He had just threatened the President of the United States with global technological treason, and he had won. The head of the federal government officially terrified of him.
Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, in the heart of Washington, D.C., the atmosphere inside the Oval Office was diametrically opposed to Caleb's calm satisfaction.
The heavy, encrypted radio receiver sitting on the President's desk clicked dead.
President McKinley sat frozen in his high backed leather chair for three seconds, his face pale, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. The sheer magnitude of the disaster that had just been narrowly averted, and the terrifying vulnerability of the United States government, crashed down upon him like a physical weight.
He had just been held hostage. The most powerful man in the free world had just been dictated to by a private citizen in Louisiana, and he had possessed no leverage to fight back.
A sudden, blinding surge of fury erupted in McKinley's chest.
He didn't yell. He didn't scream. He simply raised his clenched right fist and slammed it down onto the polished mahogany of the Resolute Desk with a violent, echoing CRACK that shook the inkwells and rattled the fine china teacup sitting near the edge.
The two private bodyguards standing by the heavy doors jumped, their hands instinctively flying to their sidearms, their eyes darting around the room for a threat. The President's Chief of Staff, who had been quietly reviewing documents on a side sofa, scrambled to his feet, his face entirely drained of color.
"Mr. President!" the Chief of Staff gasped, rushing forward. "Sir, are you alright? What happened?"
McKinley slowly stood up from his chair. His face was a mask of cold rage. The grandfatherly, diplomatic veneer had entirely vanished. He was a Commander in Chief who had just realized there was a mutiny occurring in the lower decks of his own ship, and it almost cause hi ship to sink in.
"I am fine," McKinley hissed, his voice a low, terrifying growl that the Chief of Staff had never heard before. "But this administration is currently bleeding from a self inflicted wound."
The President pointed a trembling finger at his Chief of Staff.
"I want the Vice President in this room," McKinley commanded, his words clipping with absolute, merciless authority. "I want the Secretary of State dragged out of whatever diplomatic dinner he is attending, and I want him standing in front of this desk. And I want Commissioner Henry Cass of the Bureau of Indian Affairs brought here immediately. I do not care if he is asleep. I do not care if he is in another state. You send the marshals, you pull him out of his bed, and you march him into this office."
"Y-Yes, Mr. President," the Chief of Staff stammered, frantically grabbing his notepad. "Right away. Sir... what is the nature of the emergency?"
"The nature of the emergency," McKinley said, leaning his knuckles against the desk, his eyes burning with a furious, terrified fire, "is that an arrogant, petty bureaucrat in the Department of the Interior just attempted to wage a personal vendetta against Caleb Thorne. And in doing so, he has almost forced Mr. Thorne to sell the greatest technological and military secrets of the United States to the Foreign countries, especially the Russian Empire."
The Chief of Staff's jaw dropped. The geopolitical implications were huge. "My God."
"Get them in here. Now," McKinley roared. "We are going to have a closed door emergency meeting, and when it is over, Commissioner Cass is going to wish he had never been born."
While the political fires of Washington burned with a frantic, desperate intensity, the train continued its flawless journey south, finally piercing the humid, heavy air of the Lemoyne swamps.
By the time the massive locomotive hissed to a halt in the sprawling rail yards of Saint Denis, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the smog choked, industrialized skyline of the city in a brilliant, bruised purple light.
Caleb stepped off the parlor car, the heavy, bone deep exhaustion of the multi day corporate conquest finally beginning to catch up with him. He had bought a county, saved a tribe, corrupted a sheriff, and threatened a president. It was time to go home.
A fleet of immaculate, black Model T motorcars was waiting at the edge of the platform, their brass headlights cutting through the descending evening gloom. Caleb climbed into the back of the lead vehicle, sinking into the plush leather seats. Vincenzo took the passenger seat, signaling the driver, and the convoy roared to life, pulling smoothly out of the rail yard.
The drive through Saint Denis was a stark, jarring contrast to the muddy, desperate survival of the frontier. The motorcar glided over smooth, pristine cobblestones. The streets were illuminated by brilliant, steady electric arc lamps. High society couples in silk dresses and tailored tuxedos strolled past the brightly lit windows of expensive boutiques and grand theaters. This was Caleb's kingdom. A fortress of modernity and wealth that he had built from the ground up.
When the motorcar pulled through the towering wrought iron gates of the Garden District estate, the massive white pillars of the mansion glowed warmly in the twilight.
Caleb stepped out of the vehicle, handing his heavy overcoat and hat to a waiting footman on the marble steps. Antonio, the impeccably dressed head steward, stood in the grand foyer, bowing deeply as the master of the house entered.
"Welcome home, Mr. Thorne," Antonio greeted smoothly. "I trust your journey to the northern territories was successful?"
"Highly successful, Antonio. The Heartlands are fully integrated," Caleb replied, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension in his muscles. "Where is my wife?"
"Mrs. Thorne is currently receiving guests on the rear terrace, sir," Antonio informed him, a rare, faint smile touching the corners of the steward's mouth. "The ladies of your former... acquaintance... have arrived to keep her company in your absence. I had the kitchen prepare a full tea service and an assortment of French pastries."
Caleb's eyebrows rose slightly in pleasant surprise. He walked through the opulent, chandelier-lit hallways of the mansion, heading toward the massive glass doors that opened out onto the sprawling, manicured gardens and the wide, marble-tiled rear terrace.
As he approached the slightly ajar glass doors, the sound of bright, unrestrained feminine laughter echoed into the hallway.
Caleb paused, leaning casually against the doorframe, remaining out of sight in the shadows of the hallway to simply observe the scene for a moment.
It was a beautiful heartwarming tableau.
Gathered around a wrought iron patio table, seated on plush cushions, were the women of the Thorne Holding Company. They were a far cry from the destitute, terrified women who had huddled around campfires in the mud of Horseshoe Overlook. Thanks to the immense wealth and tight protection Caleb had provided, they had blossomed into women of refined, striking beauty.
Abigail sat with a quiet, grounded grace, wearing a tailored navy blue day dress, looking every bit the respectable matriarch she had always wanted to be. Karen was leaning back in her chair, a cup of tea in one hand and a half eaten pastry in the other, her boisterous, infectious energy completely undimmed by high society. Tilly looked stunning in a bright yellow silk dress, giggling softly behind her hand.
Miss Grimshaw sat slightly straighter than the rest, wearing a stern, high collared black dress, though the fond, amused glint in her eyes betrayed her strict facade. Molly looked ethereal and relaxed, the constant, paranoid tension of Dutch's manic behavior entirely erased from her features. And sitting near the edge, looking soft and deeply contented, was Mary Linton, the engaged bride to be.
And at the center of it all was Mary-Beth. She looked radiant, her dark hair pinned up elegantly, the subtle swell of her pregnancy visible beneath the flowing, emerald green fabric of her dress. She was smiling brightly, pouring a fresh cup of tea for Tilly from a silver pot.
Caleb felt a overwhelming wave of love and fierce protectiveness wash over him. He had fought wars to secure this exact moment. He had slaughtered men in the dark so these women could sit in the sunlight and drink tea from porcelain cups without looking over their shoulders.
He was about to step out and announce his presence when Karen's voice, loud and carrying zero pretense of high society manners, cut through the gentle chatter.
"Oh, don't try and change the subject, Mary-Beth!" Karen laughed, slamming her teacup down onto the saucer with a sharp clatter, leaning across the table with a wicked, teasing grin. "You can pour all the tea you want, but you ain't distracting us! We want the truth!"
Mary-Beth's cheeks instantly flushed a deep, brilliant shade of crimson. She set the silver teapot down rather quickly, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the table. "Karen, please. I don't know what you are talking about. You shouldn't listen to idle kitchen gossip."
"Idle gossip?!" Tilly giggled, practically bouncing in her chair. "Mary-Beth, the entire household staff is talking about it! Lily the maid said she had to serve double the breakfast portions for the master suite before Caleb left for the mountains because the man was burning through calories like a steam engine!"
"That's just... Caleb has a very active stomach so he goes hungry fast!" Mary-Beth protested weakly, fanning her flushed face with her hand, realizing she was surrounded and outnumbered.
"An active stomach?" Abigail snorted, shaking her head in profound amusement, taking a sip of her tea. "Mary-Beth, John comes home from overseeing the docks, takes his boots off, and is snoring before his head hits the pillow. He sleeps like the dead. But according to your maids..." Abigail paused, a deeply impressed, highly scandalous smirk forming on her lips, "they say the gas lamps in the master suite don't go out until the sun near comes up."
The table erupted into a chorus of shrieks and laughter.
"Every single night!" Karen crowed, slapping the table in delight. "They say he's like a machine! A highly stamina driven, relentless machine! Honestly, Mary-Beth, now. I know why you got pregnant fast, I'm amazed you can even walk down the stairs in the morning before!"
Mary-Beth buried her face in her hands, absolutely mortified, though her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. "You are all terrible. Every single one of you is absolutely terrible. It is incredibly inappropriate to discuss the private affairs between—"
"Oh, spare us the high society modesty, Miss Gaskill!" Molly chimed in, a rare, bright laugh escaping her. "We all shared a single campfire for years, except for Miss Linton of course. But the point is, we know exactly who you are. Come on, tell us the truth. Does the great, terrifying Caleb Thorne really possess the stamina of a racehorse?"
Miss Grimshaw cleared her throat loudly, attempting to restore a shred of dignity to the gathering, though the corners of her mouth were twitching violently. "Ladies, really. We are guests in this beautiful home. We should not be interrogating our hostess about the intimate, passionate, and apparently sleepless nights she spends with her husband."
The faux reprimand only caused Tilly and Karen to laugh harder. Mary Linton, sitting quietly, blushed a deep red, clearly thinking about her own impending wedding night with Arthur, which only fueled the teasing further.
Caleb could not contain himself any longer. The sheer hilarity of the conversation was the perfect, grounding antidote to the toxic political poison of Washington.
He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway, pushing the glass doors open, and strolled casually out onto the marble terrace, his hands resting in the pockets of his trousers.
"I can assure you, ladies," Caleb announced, his voice smooth, carrying a deep, vibrating undercurrent of pure amusement, "the rumors circulated by the household staff are very understated. I possess a level of stamina that science has yet to properly categorize."
The reaction was explosive.
Karen actually choked on her pastry, descending into a fit of coughing laughter. Tilly shrieked, covering her face with her napkin. Abigail nearly dropped her teacup, her eyes wide with shock at being caught gossiping by the Caleb himself, while Miss Grimshaw let out a highly scandalous, undignified squawk of surprise. Mary Linton turned so red she looked like she might faint.
Mary-Beth's head snapped up. When she saw Caleb standing there, a wicked, devastatingly handsome smirk on his face, her mortification instantly vanished, eclipsed by the overwhelming joy of his return.
She didn't care about the teasing anymore. She stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the marble.
"Caleb!" she cried out.
She crossed the terrace in three swift steps and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest.
Caleb caught her effortlessly, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, lifting her slightly off her feet and spinning her in a slow, gentle circle. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of jasmine, the heavy burdens of the empire completely falling away.
"I'm home, my love," Caleb whispered fiercely, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to her temple before setting her gently back on her feet. "The Wapiti are safe. The Heartlands are secure."
He pulled back, looking down into her eyes, seeing the radiant, unabashed love shining there. He then looked over her shoulder at the table of women, who were watching the deeply romantic reunion with soft, affectionate smiles, the teasing entirely forgotten.
"Good evening, ladies," Caleb smiled warmly, keeping one arm securely wrapped around Mary-Beth's waist. "It is wonderful to see this house so full of life. Please, do not let me interrupt your tea. Or your highly inaccurate assessments of my endurance."
Karen let out a loud, booming laugh, raising her teacup in a toast. "Welcome back, Cake ! We missed you around here. Things get too quiet when you're out conquering the world."
"Well, the conquering is finished for a while, Karen," Caleb replied, looking down at his wife. "I intend to spend the foreseeable future right here in Saint Denis, focusing entirely on my family."
Caleb leaned in, capturing Mary-Beth's lips in a deep, passionate kiss right in front of the entire terrace. The women cheered and clapped, a beautiful, raucous sound of genuine joy that echoed out over the pristine gardens of the estate. Caleb had built an empire of steel, blood, and money. He had bent presidents to his will and bought the survival of a dying people.
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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: -