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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Antonio," Caleb commanded, his voice sharp and decisive, echoing off the marble floors. "The plans for the wedding have been finalized by me and Mary-Beth. We are holding the ceremony and the subsequent reception at the newly completed luxury hotel complex in the Strawberry mountains."
"An exquisite choice, Don Thorne," Antonio noted smoothly, pulling a silver pen from his breast pocket.
"I want you to begin the preparations immediately," Caleb ordered, his mind calculating the sheer scale of the event. "I want you to prepare hundreds of thousands of dollars in liquid capital. And I do not want this coming from my personal, private accounts. Draw the funds directly from the corporate treasury of the family, no, the company. This wedding is going to serve as a massive, high profile corporate exhibition. Spare absolutely no expense. I want special trains chartered to carry the guests from Saint Denis to West Elizabeth, and I want the hotel stocked with the finest food and liquor on the continent."
"It shall be done, sir. A budget of several hundred thousand dollars will be allocated from the holding company's discretionary funds by this afternoon," Antonio confirmed, his pen flying across the ledger.
"Furthermore," Caleb continued as they reached the base of the sweeping main staircase. "I want you to commission the finest stationary printers in the French Quarter. Have them create the most opulent, gold embossed wedding invitation cards this city has ever seen. I want the absolute richest, most influential politicians, tycoons, judges, and shipping magnates of the city to be officially invited to the wedding."
Caleb paused, a dark, incredibly amused, and ruthlessly pragmatic smirk crossing his handsome face. He turned to look directly at his butler, deciding to inject a bit of mafia style extortion into the high society affair.
"And Antonio," Caleb added, his voice dropping into a smooth, commanding register. "When you draft the invitations, make absolutely sure to put a subtle, yet undeniably clear note at the bottom of the card regarding wedding gifts. I do not want handcrafted stuffs, ugly paintings, or useless silver spoons."
Antonio raised an eyebrow, waiting for the mandate.
"Make it known that if they wish to give a gift to the Don of Saint Denis, I will only receive money, and absolutely nothing else," Caleb instructed coldly. "Raw, unmarked cash, bearer bonds, or certified bank drafts. Well… perhaps high grade jewels, pure gold bars, and other highly liquid valuables that can be easily sold or melted down are acceptable as well. But other than that, he does not receive anything else. If they bring a useless trinket, have the capos turn them away at the door."
Antonio, hearing that incredibly blatant, unapologetic demand for liquid wealth disguised as wedding registry etiquette, simply nodded his head. He was entirely accustomed to the Don's ruthless capitalization on every single event.
"I understand perfectly, my Don," Antonio promised, a faint, highly appreciative smile touching his lips. "I will ensure the phrasing is incredibly polite, yet unmistakably mandatory. I will have the printers begin the work right away."
Antonio closed his ledger with a soft snap, looking up at his employer. "With those directives underway, sir, may I ask where you are going to go today? Shall I have the carriage prepared for a trip to the docks or the factories?"
Caleb smiled, a visionary, dangerously ambitious light flickering in his blue eyes.
"Have the carriage brought around to the front, Antonio," Caleb said, his voice buzzing with intellectual energy. "But I am not going to the docks. I actually have another idea. A completely new concept that I would like to aggressively transform into a massive, nationwide business."
Antonio, hearing that, was genuinely surprised. The Thorne syndicate had just finalized the hostile takeover of the Grays' tobacco empire yesterday, and the Don was already launching another corporate crusade. But Antonio knew better than to question the limitless ambition of the man who had conquered Lemoyne in a matter of months.
Nodding his head respectfully, Antonio took a step back. "I wouldn't dare disturb you from your business, sir. I will have Silvio bring the carriage to the front steps immediately."
"Thank you, Antonio," Caleb replied, turning on his heel and walking briskly up the grand marble staircase to the second floor.
He moved with undeniable purpose, striding down the corridor and entering his heavily fortified, soundproofed private study. He locked the heavy oak doors behind him, shedding his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. He walked over to his massive mahogany desk, pushing aside the topographical maps of Rhodes and the ledgers of the holding company.
Caleb pulled out a stack of large, blank drafting paper, several precise architectural rulers, a compass, and a set of sharp graphite pencils.
He sat down, his hyper intelligent, cognitively enhanced mind accessing the absolute wealth of 20th century mechanical engineering knowledge that he possessed. He wasn't just a mob boss, he was a man carrying the blueprints of the future in his head.
He began to draw.
His pencil flew across the parchment with blinding, practiced speed. He was writing down the highly detailed, mathematically flawless schematics for bicycles. But these were not the absurd, dangerous, bone shaking contraptions of the late 19th century. He was not drawing the ridiculous penny farthing with its massive front wheel, nor the heavy, unstable wooden velocipedes.
Caleb was drafting the modern safety bicycle.
He meticulously sketched the revolutionary "diamond frame" architecture, utilizing lightweight, hollow drawn steel tubing for maximum structural integrity and minimum weight. He detailed the exact gear ratios for the chain driven rear wheel sprocket, ensuring maximum kinetic transfer from the pedals.
He drew detailed cross sections of the wheel rims, specifically annotating the inclusion of pneumatic, air filled rubber tires, a technology that would absorb the shock of the cobblestones and dirt roads, making the ride exponentially smoother.
He wrote down precise metallurgical requirements, braking mechanisms, and ergonomic handlebar designs. He knew exactly what he was doing. The bicycles he was designing were much safer, exponentially more comfortable, and much more aesthetically pleasing than the old bikes currently cluttering the market.
They would be cheap to mass-produce, incredibly durable, and require zero feed or stabling. They were the ultimate transportation solution for the working class of Saint Denis, and the perfect stepping stone before he launched his automotive empire.
After spending nearly two hours furiously sketching, calculating, and annotating, Caleb finally set his pencil down. He looked at the five pages of flawless mechanical schematics resting on his desk. The "Thorne Cycle" was officially born.
He gathered the papers, rolling them into a tight, secure leather drafting tube. He grabbed his tailored suit jacket, slipped his gold inlaid M-1911 into his shoulder holster, and walked purposefully downstairs.
He left the warmth of the mansion, stepping out into the crisp, freezing winter air.
Waiting for him at the base of the marble steps was his luxurious, reinforced black lacquered carriage. Sitting high on the driver's bench, holding the reins of the massive thoroughbreds, was Silvio, who was serving as his personal bodyguard and driver for the day.
Caleb climbed into the plush, velvet lined interior of the carriage. "To the city center, Silvio. Take me to Pierre's law firm."
"Yes, Don Thorne," Silvio grunted, cracking the whip.
The heavy carriage surged forward, rolling smoothly out of the Garden District and heading toward the bustling, smog choked, incredibly loud heart of Saint Denis. Caleb sat back against the cushions, watching the city pass by through the reinforced glass windows.
He watched the miserable, exhausted factory workers trudging through the muddy streets, dodging massive, unpredictable horse drawn cargo wagons. Soon, those workers would be riding his bicycles, and paying him for the privilege.
After a twenty minute ride, the carriage pulled to a smooth halt along a pristine, highly expensive commercial avenue in the central district of the city.
They were parked outside of an immaculate, five-story, red-brick apartment and office building. It was a premium piece of real estate, situated directly across from the city's grand plaza.
It was also a building that was entirely under the Thorne Holding Company's ownership, which Caleb had generously gifted the top two floors of to Pierre as a corporate law office, ensuring his chief attorney was completely insulated from the filth of the lower districts.
Caleb stepped out of the carriage, his heavy leather shoes hitting the cobblestones. He didn't wait for Silvio, he knew the capo would stand guard at the street level. Caleb walked confidently through the ornate brass doors of the building and proceeded to walk up the sweeping, carpeted stairs to the fourth floor.
He arrived at the heavy, frosted glass door bearing the gold leaf lettering, Pierre & Associates - Corporate Law.
Caleb didn't bother waiting to be announced. He simply knocked twice, a heavy, authoritative sound, before turning the brass handle.
The front reception area of the law firm was a chaotic hive of activity. Dozens of junior clerks and paralegals were running around with stacks of property deeds, frantically filing the massive influx of paperwork required to legitimize the hostile takeover of the Gray and Braithwaite estates.
When Caleb pushed the door open and stepped inside, the room instantly fell dead silent.
One of Pierre's senior team members, a balding man with wire rimmed glasses, had rushed over to see who was interrupting their chaotic workflow.
But upon opening the inner door and seeing the towering, impeccably dressed, and utterly terrifying figure of Don Thorne standing in the reception area, the man's face went pale. Recognizing exactly who it was, the clerk practically tripped over his own feet as he immediately stepped aside and allowed him to enter the inner sanctum of the firm.
"M-Mr. Thorne! Apologies, sir! Right this way!" the clerk stammered, ushering Caleb down the hallway.
Pierre, who was buried behind a mountain of legal briefs in his massive corner office, heard the sudden silence in the bullpen and the frantic footsteps approaching his door.
When he looked up and saw the Don of Saint Denis stepping into his office, Pierre immediately dropped his fountain pen.
The lawyer scrambled out from behind his massive mahogany desk. Pierre, having just attended the monumental banquet the night before and fully understanding the terrifying scope of Caleb's newly revealed identity, rushed forward to meet him.
"Don Thorne!" Pierre greeted him, bowing deeply, his voice laced with profound respect and a healthy dose of nervous energy. "What an unexpected honor! Please, come in, sit down. Is everything alright? Is there absolutely anything I can do to help you this afternoon?"
Caleb didn't sit. He walked directly to the center of the office, his presence completely dominating the room. He reached into his coat and pulled out the leather drafting tube.
With a smooth motion, Caleb unrolled the five pages of flawless, highly detailed mechanical schematics directly onto the center of Pierre's cluttered desk, pinning the corners down with a pair of heavy brass paperweights.
Caleb looked at the lawyer, his blue eyes flashing with the cold, uncompromising fire of a hostile corporate raider. He nodded his head toward the blueprints, showing the schematics that would revolutionize American transportation.
"I have a new project for you, Pierre," Caleb said, his voice a low, vibrating hum of absolute authority. "I want you to take these designs, and I want you to patent every single millimeter of this machine. I want international, federal, and state patents filed by the end of the week. Lock the intellectual property down so tightly that no one on this continent can build a wheel without paying me royalties."
Pierre leaned over the desk, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose as he stared at the incredibly advanced bicycle schematics. His jaw dropped slightly as he realized the sheer commercial potential of what he was looking at.
"These... these are revolutionary, sir," Pierre breathed in awe.
"They are," Caleb confirmed coldly. "And I do not intend to wait for a contractor to build them for me. I want to produce these items immediately."
Caleb leaned over the desk, getting eye level with his chief attorney, issuing a mandate that would spell the end for several local businessmen.
"While you are filing the patents, Pierre, I also want you to find me some existing, independent manufacturing factories here in Saint Denis or the surrounding industrial zones," Caleb ordered smoothly, his tone laced with impending financial violence. "Find me foundries or textile mills that are heavily in debt, poorly managed, or owned by men with gambling problems. Find the weak ones."
Caleb stood up straight, adjusting his tailored cuffs. "Find me the factories that can be easily taken over," he concluded, a dark, terrifying smirk crossing his handsome face. "Because the Thorne Holding Company is going into the transportation business. And we are going to own the streets by spring."
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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, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -