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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"He doesn't need to hold a gun, and he doesn't need to run a racket. But he still needs to know the basic survival instincts of the life of the outlaws to at least use it to protect himself. He needs to watch Arthur, to learn what true strength and unwavering loyalty looks like. He needs to listen to Hosea, to learn how to read a man's true intentions behind a fake smile. And he needs you, John, to show him that a man can walk through hell and still choose to be a good father."
Caleb's words, empowered by his supernatural abilities, struck with devastating accuracy. He wasn't telling them to raise a criminal; he was telling them to raise a survivor.
"The men standing guard at my gates aren't there to corrupt him, Abigail," Caleb finished, his voice a low, comforting hum. "They are there to ensure that no monster ever gets close enough to harm him. We are his armor. Do not strip his armor away just because you are afraid of how it looks."
Caleb's profoundly eloquent, supernaturally persuasive words, of course, worked absolute wonders on both Abigail and John.
John sat back in his chair, completely speechless, his mind blown by the sheer, undeniable logic of Caleb's argument.
He looked at Arthur and Hosea, realizing that Caleb was right. He didn't want his son to be a soft, gullible city boy who could be easily taken advantage of. He wanted him to be smart, strong, and deeply aware of his surroundings.
As for Abigail, she of course was entirely silent for a long, heavy moment.
She stared at Caleb, her chest heaving as she processed the massive paradigm shift he had just forced upon her. She looked at Arthur, remembering how the big, terrifying enforcer had spent hours gently teaching Jack how to fish back at Clements Point. She looked at Hosea, remembering how the old conman had painstakingly taught the boy how to read when she couldn't do it herself.
The walls of her maternal paranoia slowly began to crumble. The realization hit her that the gang wasn't a threat to Jack's innocence, they were the very village that had kept him alive.
In the end, she let out a long, shuddering sigh. The fierce tension melted out of her shoulders, leaving her looking exhausted but profoundly peaceful.
She agreed that she loved the gang.
"I love you all," Abigail whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she looked around the small circle. "I love this gang like my own flesh and blood. You are my family. I just..."
Her voice cracked slightly, her fingers squeezing John's hand so tightly her knuckles turned white.
And Caleb, at this time, seamlessly stepped in to validate her feelings, ensuring she didn't feel defeated, but rather deeply understood.
"I know, Abigail," Caleb said, his voice incredibly soft and full of genuine warmth. "She just wanted a better life for Jack. I know that perfectly well. Any good mother would want the exact same thing. You want to give him the stars, and you are terrified that our past will drag him back down into the mud."
Caleb smiled, a brilliant, highly reassuring expression that completely dispelled the remaining anxiety hovering over the table. He offered them a highly pragmatic, logical compromise that satisfied everyone's desires.
"So, let's just do this," Caleb proposed, his tone shifting into the practical, supportive cadence of a brother. "Let's just shelf the idea of moving out for now. Don't rush into buying some cramped, overpriced boarding apartment just to prove you can stand on your own."
He pointed a finger at John, tapping the table to emphasize the financial reality. "John is going to be drawing a massive, highly lucrative executive salary starting tomorrow. Stay at the mansion. Let him work. Let the two of you collect your money, build a massive, undeniable nest egg of clean, legitimate cash over the next few months."
Caleb painted a picture of a much brighter, far more secure independence. "And while you are saving that money, you can take your time and actively look for the absolute perfect place here in Saint Denis. Don't settle for a room. Look for a beautiful, secure house with a big backyard in a safe, quiet neighborhood where Jack can run freely without a care in the world."
He looked back and forth between the engaged couple, sealing the deal. "When you have the money saved, and when you find that perfect dream house... then we can talk about that. We will help you pack, we will help you move, and we will celebrate your new home properly. But until then... stay under my roof. Stay where it is safe."
Abigail looked at Caleb, the overwhelming relief washing over her face completely undeniable. The frantic, desperate need to flee had been replaced by a calm, secure patience. She didn't have to run anymore. She had time.
She looked at John, who nodded his head eagerly, incredibly grateful for the logical, measured plan Caleb had laid out.
"That... that sounds perfect, Caleb," Abigail smiled, wiping the tear from her cheek. "We will wait. We will save our money, and we will do it right."
Arthur let out a loud, booming laugh, reaching across the table to affectionately ruffle Jack's hair as the boy came running back to the table, clutching a handful of jasmine petals. "Good. Because I wasn't looking forward to hauling this boy's heavy toy chest down three flights of stairs in a cramped boarding house anyway."
Hosea chuckled deeply, raising his crystal glass of water. "A very wise decision. To patience, and to doing things right."
"To doing things right," John agreed, raising his own glass, his heart swelling with immense pride and gratitude for the family that surrounded him.
With the heavy, emotional topic of their future living arrangements beautifully resolved and safely shelved for the time being, the atmosphere in the small circle instantly lightened. The tension completely evaporated, replaced by the warm, joyful ambiance of the engagement party.
The acoustic band in the corner struck up a lively, upbeat Italian folk tune, drawing a loud cheer from Sean MacGuire at the other end of the courtyard. The soft, warm yellow light of the paper lanterns swaying in the willow tree cast a magical, golden glow over the white gravel.
After that deeply emotional, incredibly cathartic moment of reflection under the weeping willow tree, the celebration banquet slowly, naturally drew to a close. The acoustic band played one final, sweeping Italian ballad, the sweet notes of the violin floating up into the cool night air before fading into a respectful, appreciative silence.
The portly owner of La Terrasse du Saule and his dedicated staff practically bowed to the floor as the massive, beautifully dressed party finally rose from the long banquet table.
Everyone gathered their coats, the men playfully clapping each other on the back while the women linked arms, their faces flushed with good wine and genuine happiness.
Together, the entire gang exited the private courtyard and walked out to the cobblestone street, where Caleb's fleet of pristine, black-lacquered carriages was already waiting in a flawless line, surrounded by the ever watchful, heavily armed mafia perimeter guards.
The ride back to the sprawling Garden District mansion was a much quieter affair than the ride there. The sheer, overwhelming excitement of the day had finally caught up with everyone, leaving them wrapped in a comfortable, heavy lethargy.
Caleb found himself sharing a spacious, velvet-lined carriage with Arthur, Hosea, and Mary-Beth. While Mary-Beth dozed lightly against his shoulder, and Arthur stared out the window at the passing gas lamps of the city, Caleb turned his sharp, analytical mind toward the lingering logistical loose ends of their old life.
He looked across the dim cabin at Hosea, who was quietly resting his hands on the silver head of his walking cane.
"Hosea," Caleb began, his voice keeping low so as not to wake Mary-Beth, but carrying a highly practical, business oriented weight. "I wanted to ask you about something we haven't formally addressed yet. What would you like to do with the homestead back at Valentine?"
Hosea opened his eyes, pulling his gaze away from the passing city streets to look at the Don.
"The Heartlands property," Caleb clarified, mapping out the logistical reality of their new circumstances. "Surely our livestock and the farm we have out there need some serious tending. We left it boarded up with Cain standing guard and the local sheriff keeping an eye on the road. But from the looks of it, and considering the absolute success of tonight's conversations... all of us will be living permanently here in Saint Denis moving forward. The gang has officially transitioned into a business side. We aren't going back to the mud."
Caleb paused, offering the patriarch total control over the decision. "If you want, I can have my real estate men draw up the paperwork tomorrow. We can sell the land, the house, and the barns for a tidy profit and roll that cash directly into the syndicate's legitimate accounts."
Hosea, hearing that highly logical, perfectly reasonable business proposition, nodded his head slowly. But he didn't immediately agree. Instead, the older man let out a quiet, incredibly heavy sigh. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, his silver hair catching the flickering orange light of the streetlamps passing by outside the carriage window.
"I don't know, Caleb," Hosea admitted, his voice thick with a sudden, profound wave of melancholy and deep, sentimental attachment.
He looked down at the floorboards. "I really like that homestead. I spent my entire life sleeping under leaking canvas, waking up with frost in my boots, and constantly looking over my shoulder for the law. That farmhouse in Valentine... it was the very first real piece of evidence that this family could actually have a normal life."
Hosea looked up, his eyes shining with a fierce, protective nostalgia. "It was the first time I ever had a real key to a real front door. I don't want to sell it, Caleb. I don't want to just trade it away to some passing rancher or some railroad baron just to pad our accounts with a few extra dollars. To me, and to Arthur, that dirt means something."
Arthur, who had been listening quietly, shifted in his seat and offered a slow, solemn nod of agreement. That house was where they had finally broken free from Dutch's madness. It was sacred ground.
Caleb, hearing that incredibly profound, emotional reasoning from his chief advisor, didn't push the sale for a single second. His max level Empathy and Leadership skills instantly recognized that some assets carried a psychological value that vastly outweighed their monetary worth. He nodded his head, a warm, understanding smile touching his lips.
"I hear you, Hosea. And I completely understand," Caleb said, his tone instantly shifting from a cold corporate CEO to a deeply supportive brother. "If you don't want it to be sold, then it will not be sold. We will keep the deed firmly in the family's name forever. It can be done exactly like that."
But Caleb was still a visionary businessman, and he never let a valuable asset simply sit and rot. He immediately formulated a brilliant, highly pragmatic compromise that satisfied both Hosea's sentimental attachment and the syndicate's economic expansion.
"But we shouldn't just let the fields go to weed and the barns fall apart," Caleb suggested, his mind rapidly constructing a brand new, entirely legitimate supply chain. "Instead of selling it, we could just hire some honest, local ranchers from the Heartlands to take care of the livestock and manage the farm on our behalf. We can put them on a steady payroll."
Caleb mapped out the financial and logistical beauty of the plan. "Think about it, Hosea. Pearson is about to handle my restaurant branch right here in the center of Saint Denis. He is going to need a constant, reliable supply of prime beef, fresh vegetables, and dairy. The produce and the livestock we get from the Valentine homestead could be utilized perfectly. We can sell the excess to the local markets up north, and send the absolute best cuts down here via the railway to be used by Pearson, and to feed our own tables right here at the mansion."
Hosea's eyes widened slightly as he listened to the brilliant, flawless logic of Caleb's proposal. It was the perfect solution. The land wouldn't be abandoned, it would become a thriving, living part of their new, legitimate empire, providing food and income while still belonging entirely to them.
Hosea, hearing that, nodded his head slowly, a wide, immensely proud smile breaking across his weathered face.
"That is a spectacular idea, Caleb," Hosea said, the heavy melancholy completely vanishing from his voice. "We keep the home, we give some honest men a good job, and we feed our own businesses. I love it. I will follow your suggestion entirely. I'll draft up the hiring contracts for the ranch hands tomorrow morning."
"Consider it done," Caleb smiled, leaning back against the velvet cushions just as the carriage began to slow down.
After that highly productive, deeply satisfying conversation, the fleet of carriages finally arrived back at the sprawling Garden District mansion. The massive wrought iron gates were pulled open by the mafia guards, and the carriages rolled smoothly to a halt in front of the sweeping marble staircase.
Everyone piled out of the cabins, their voices hushed but filled with lingering, joyful energy. The transition back into the palatial estate felt entirely different tonight. They weren't just guests anymore; they were the masters of this domain.
As they entered the grand, chandelier lit foyer, the large group naturally began to splinter off. Some of the gang,like Mary-Beth, Abigail, Tilly, and Karen, went upstairs to wash their faces, brush out their hair, and clean themselves up after the long, extravagant evening of dining and celebrating.
Some of the men, specifically Bill, Sean, Uncle, and Javier, made an immediate, highly predictable beeline for the mansion's opulent drawing room, intent on raiding the Don's premium liquor cabinets to continue doing some heavy drinking and celebrate John's impending nuptials well into the early hours of the morning.
And as for little Jack, the young boy was practically dead on his feet. He was rubbing his eyes furiously, his tiny bowtie hanging completely askew after hours of chasing fireflies and eating rich desserts.
Hosea stepped forward, leaning his cane against a marble pillar, and gently scooped the sleepy boy up into his arms. Jack immediately rested his head against the old man's shoulder, letting out a soft, exhausted sigh.
Hosea looked over at John and Abigail, offering them a sharp, highly knowing wink. He smoothly announced that Jack was going to be taken by him to his own spacious suite tonight. He was doing this entirely deliberately, utilizing his grandfatherly authority to let John and Abigail share some deeply personal, completely uninterrupted time together on the night of their official engagement.
"Don't you two worry about a thing tonight," Hosea smiled warmly, adjusting his hold on the sleeping boy. "Jack and I are going to read a story about knights and dragons, and then he is staying in my quarters. You two go on upstairs and enjoy yourselves. You've earned a quiet night."
Abigail flushed a deep, brilliant shade of crimson, but she smiled, her eyes shining with profound gratitude as she mouthed a silent 'thank you' to the patriarch.
John just cleared his throat, clapping Hosea gently on the shoulder before he proudly took Abigail's hand and led his beautiful fiancée up the sweeping marble staircase toward their private wing of the mansion.
Meanwhile, as the foyer slowly emptied out and the mansion settled into a quiet, peaceful rhythm, Caleb remained downstairs. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, preparing to head into the kitchen for a glass of ice water, when he was approached by a silent, perfectly postured figure stepping out from the shadows of the eastern corridor.
It was Antonio, the estate's immaculate head butler.
Antonio glided across the polished marble floor, holding a small, highly polished silver tray in his white gloved hands. Resting on the center of the tray was a thick, rolled parchment sealed with a heavy glob of dark green wax.
"Forgive the late intrusion, Don McLaughlin," Antonio murmured, bowing his head with absolute, flawless respect. He extended the silver tray, offering the parchment to Caleb. "But this arrived via a prioritized, late-night express courier just moments before your carriages returned. The rider insisted it was a matter of utmost corporate importance."
Caleb stopped, his sharp blue eyes instantly locking onto the document. "Who is it from, Antonio?"
"It is a letter that arrived all the way from the western town of Strawberry, my Don," Antonio explained smoothly. "It was addressed specifically to you, marked with high priority business seals. The courier stated it was dispatched by a gentleman named Leopold Strauss."
Hearing that specific, highly anticipated name, Caleb immediately let out a wide, brilliant smile.
Caleb reached out and took the heavy parchment from the silver tray. He walked over to a small, velvet lined reading chair nestled beneath a gas lamp in the foyer. He sat down, cracked the dark green wax seal with his thumb, and eagerly went to open the parchment.
He unrolled the thick paper and began to read the meticulously penned content of the letter inside. Strauss's handwriting was exactly like the man himself, cramped, highly organized, and completely devoid of unnecessary flourishes.
"To my esteemed benefactor and Don, Mr. McLaughlin," Strauss wrote, opening with his standard, highly formal Austrian greetings.
"I am writing to you tonight with the most excellent, triumphant news. The grand vision you set into motion so many months ago has finally reached its physical culmination. I am incredibly proud to inform you that the massive, multi story luxury hotel complex here in Strawberry is finally finished. The long, arduous construction phase, including the complex integration of the hydroelectric dam power grid you designed, has been completed. The structure is structurally sound, fully powered, and entirely secure."
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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: 2,822 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 284,392 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 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: -