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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"It was a monumental success, Don McLaughlin," Antonio reported, his voice thick with genuine reverence for his employer's absolute capitalistic genius. "After the final Sweeper submachine gun was sold, and all of the promissory notes, bearer bonds, and gold certificates were tallied and authenticated... the family has received slightly more than three hundred thousand dollars."
Three hundred thousand dollars. In 1900, it was an absolutely staggering, reality bending sum of money. It was the kind of wealth that could buy entire towns, purchase fleets of steamships, or fund private armies. And Caleb had generated it in less than an hour by selling forty five pieces of machined steel.
"A very substantial amount indeed," Antonio continued, closing the notebook. "Under Vincenzo's direct, heavily armed supervision, the entirety of the funds has already been transported and securely put into the family's primary reinforced vault beneath the mansion. It is completely safe, untraceable, and ready for your immediate deployment."
Hearing that flawless execution of logistics, Caleb simply nodded his head.
"Good work, Antonio," Caleb said, his mind already spinning the massive influx of capital into a dozen different directions. He looked out the carriage window at the passing storefronts. "I want to immediately put a fraction of that new wealth to work. The hospitality venture is going to be our next major public front."
Caleb turned back to the butler, issuing rapid, highly precise financial orders.
"I want fifty thousand dollars to be withdrawn from the vault this evening," Caleb ordered. "Have it secured in a locked strongbox and placed on the first armored train heading west tomorrow morning. I want it sent directly to Strawberry, delivered straight into the hands of Herr Strauss."
"Fifty thousand, sir?" Antonio asked, pulling out a pen to jot down the order.
"Yes," Caleb confirmed. "Strauss is a brilliant accountant, but he needs massive liquidity to move at the speed I require. Tell him this capital is specifically allocated so he can drastically fasten the purchase of the state of the art furniture, the imported European carpets, and the electric fixtures for the hotel. Furthermore, it will cover all immediate operational costs and provide a massive surplus for paying the premium wages of the specialized employees, chefs, and security personnel that will be permanently assigned to the hotel. I want that resort completely operational and ready to receive the tycoons within the month."
Hearing that, Antonio nodded his head sharply. "I understand completely, Don McLaughlin. I assure you, it will be sent as soon as humanly possible. Strauss will have the funds by tomorrow afternoon."
The carriage continued its smooth journey through the bustling streets of Saint Denis. But as they turned a corner, heading deeper into the commercial district, a heavy, slightly tense silence fell over the interior of the cabin.
Antonio shifted slightly on the velvet bench. The usually unshakeable butler looked down at his silver headed cane, clearly harboring a piece of information that was entirely unpleasant. He cleared his throat softly, his demeanor shifting from the proud financial advisor back to the grim, practical reality of managing a violent mafia empire.
"If I may, Don McLaughlin..." Antonio began hesitantly, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "There is... one other matter of family business that requires your immediate attention."
"Speak," Caleb commanded, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"It concerns our... permanent guest," Antonio said carefully. "Angelo Bronte."
Caleb's expression instantly turned to a mask of cold, unfeeling stone.
After completely dismantling Bronte's criminal empire, slaughtering his men, and taking total control of the city, Caleb had not granted the former Italian crime lord the quick, merciful release of a bullet to the head. That would have been entirely too easy. Instead, Caleb had dragged the arrogant, vicious mob boss back to the Garden District mansion and locked him deep within the cold, damp, soundproofed basement cells.
Caleb had been intentionally keeping the former mob boss alive in the absolute dark. He ordered the guards to give Bronte just enough meager scraps of food and sips of stagnant water to keep his physical body functioning, while completely stripping away his dignity, his power, and his mind. Caleb wanted the man who had agreed on the kidnapping of Jack Marston to truly, deeply suffer the agonizing reality of his own absolute defeat.
"What about him, Antonio?" Caleb asked, his voice devoid of any warmth or mercy.
"The basement guards reported to me just before we left the estate," Antonio said, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered. "Bronte was found dead this morning in his cell, sir."
Caleb leaned back against the plush velvet seat, his mind processing the information with cold, pragmatic detachment.
"It appears his heart simply gave out, sir," Antonio elaborated softly. "Or perhaps... his mind. He has been muttering incoherently for weeks. It looks like his will to live has finally, completely gone."
Caleb closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. He remembered the arrogant, sneering face of Angelo Bronte, the man who believed he owned the entire state of Lemoyne. Now, he had died completely alone, shivering in the dark, stripped of his wealth, his pride, and his empire, exactly as Caleb had intended.
It was a brutal, horrific end, but Caleb felt absolutely no remorse. In this unforgiving, violent world, you either became the apex predator, or you became prey. Bronte had tried to prey on Caleb's family, and he had paid the absolute ultimate price for his arrogance.
"What would you like me to do with his body, Don McLaughlin?" Antonio asked, awaiting the final decree.
Caleb didn't even hesitate. He didn't want a grave. He didn't want a marker. He wanted the man entirely erased from the history of the earth.
"Wrap him in a heavy canvas tarp and weigh it down with iron chains," Caleb ordered, his voice echoing with absolute, terrifying finality. "Take him out to the deep swamps past Lagras tonight. Give the body to the alligators to be eaten. By tomorrow morning, I don't want a single bone left to prove he ever existed."
"It shall be done, sir. Flawlessly," Antonio nodded, his face impassive as he committed the dark order to memory.
Then, after that grim piece of underworld housekeeping was officially concluded, the carriage continued in silence. The stark, violent reality of Caleb's criminal empire faded away as the carriage pulled to a smooth, elegant halt along the most pristine, heavily guarded commercial avenue in Saint Denis.
They had finally arrived at the jewelry store.
Caleb stepped off the carriage, the biting winter wind immediately whipping at the tails of his overcoat. Antonio followed closely behind, gripping his cane as he scanned the bustling street for any potential threats.
The two men walked up to the towering, heavily armored glass storefront of L'Étoile d'Or, The Golden Star. It was an establishment that catered exclusively to the absolute wealthiest tier of American society, a place where the doors remained locked until a sharply dressed guard recognized the wealth of the patron standing outside.
As Caleb approached, the armed guard at the door took one look at his tailored suit, his imposing, terrifyingly confident demeanor, and the massive, scarred enforcer standing behind him, and practically scrambled to pull the heavy mahogany door open.
A small, brass bell chimed elegantly as Caleb and Antonio entered into the store.
The interior of L'Étoile d'Or was a masterpiece of hushed, intimidating luxury. The floors were polished white marble, and the walls were lined with heavy, velvet draped display cases illuminated by brilliant electric lighting. The air smelled of expensive polish and rich mahogany.
The owner of the establishment, an immaculately dressed, slightly balding French immigrant named Henri Rousseau, was currently showing a pair of diamond cufflinks to a wealthy railroad executive. But the absolute second Henri looked up and saw who had just walked through his doors, his eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated panic and profound eagerness.
Henri practically shoved the cufflinks back into the case, completely abandoning his current client, and rushed across the marble floor, bowing so deeply he nearly snapped in half.
"Don McLaughlin! Monsieur!" Henri Rousseau immediately greeted Caleb, his thick French accent trembling slightly with nervous, incredibly eager excitement. "Welcome back to L'Étoile d'Or! It is an absolute, profound honor to have you grace my humble establishment once again after last time! Please, please, how can I help you today?"
Caleb stood in the center of the room, completely ignoring the outraged glare of the railroad executive, who quickly decided to keep his mouth shut upon recognizing the mob boss.
"I am looking for a piece of jewelry, Henri," Caleb said smoothly, unbuttoning his overcoat and letting his sharp blue eyes slowly scan the glittering display cases. "A very specific, incredibly important piece."
"A necklace, perhaps, sir? A tiara?" Henri asked frantically, his hands fluttering. "I just received a shipment of the most flawless South African diamonds—"
"A ring," Caleb interrupted, his voice a low, commanding hum that instantly silenced the jeweler.
Caleb stepped closer to the primary display case, resting his leather gloved hands on the glass. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and he was not going to settle for anything less than absolute, uncompromising perfection.
"I need an engagement ring, Henri," Caleb stated, his gaze locking onto the nervous jeweler. "But I do not want one of your standard, pre-made pieces sitting in these cases. I want something entirely custom. I want a ring that is undeniably expensive, yes, but more importantly... I want a ring that perfectly embodies the woman I am giving it to."
Caleb's hyper intelligent mind had already designed the piece in his head. He began to dictate the requirements with the same exacting, ruthless precision he used to design the military firearms in his factory.
"It must be cast in pure, unblemished platinum, Henri. Gold is too common, and silver is too weak. I want the band to be strong, enduring, and timeless," Caleb explained, his tone leaving absolutely zero room for negotiation or error. "And the center stone will not be a diamond. She is a woman of profound depth, intelligence, and a rare, untamed beauty. A clear diamond is far too predictable."
Henri swallowed hard, pulling a velvet notepad from his pocket and frantically scribbling down the Don's demands.
"Then... what stone do you desire, Monsieur McLaughlin?"
"An emerald," Caleb commanded, a soft, incredibly genuine warmth entering his eyes as he thought of the dark emerald evening gown she had worn just hours ago, and the bright, fierce spirit she possessed. "I want the largest, most flawless, deepest green emerald you can possibly source in this entire city. I want it cut to catch every single sliver of light, surrounded by a halo of small, perfectly matched crushed diamonds to frame it."
Caleb leaned over the glass, towering over the jeweler. "It has to be a masterpiece, Henri. It has to be a ring that tells the entire world that she is the undisputed Queen of this empire. Do you understand me?"
Henri Rousseau was sweating profusely, completely overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude and pressure of the order. "Y-yes! Yes, Don McLaughlin! Absolutely! I know of a private gem broker who holds an emerald exactly as you describe. A magnificent Colombian stone, flawless in clarity! I will acquire it immediately and have my master jewelers begin casting the platinum band tonight!"
"Good," Caleb nodded, reaching into his tailored suit jacket whwre he actually goes to his inventory. He pulled out a thick, heavy stack of crisp hundred dollar bills, tossing it onto the glass display case with a heavy thump. It was easily one thousand dollars in raw cash. "That is the down payment. Money is absolutely no object. I do not care what it costs. I want the ring finished, polished, and securely resting in a velvet box by the end of the week."
Henri stared at the massive pile of cash, his eyes wide with sheer greed and absolute terror. "By the end of the week. You have my absolute solemn vow, Monsieur! It will be the greatest piece of jewelry this store has ever created!"
"See that it is," Caleb smiled, a sharp, dangerous expression that ensured the jeweler would not sleep a single wink until the ring was flawlessly completed.
Caleb turned on his heel, motioning for Antonio to follow him. He walked out of the hushed, opulent silence of L'Étoile d'Or and back out into the freezing, bustling streets of Saint Denis. As he climbed back into the waiting carriage, the cold winter wind whipping around them, Caleb felt a deep, profound sense of absolute peace settle over his heart. The platinum and emerald ring being forged in the heart of the city was the only prize he actually cared about now.
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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 Braithwaites Land Deed, 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: -