Chapter 622 - 622: 594. Takeover Done & Letters Back In Saint Denis

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Miller had stared at him, his knuckles white on the stock of his rifle, before the harsh, unyielding reality of the frontier broke his pride. He lowered the gun. Pierre stepped forward, sliding a crisp contract from his leather briefcase, and the deal was done on the hood of the carriage in the freezing rain. They moved like a slow, deliberate storm across the plains. They visited three more struggling ranches before nightfall, utilizing the exact same combination of overwhelming financial capital and terrifyingly accurate insider intelligence provided by Sheriff Malloy's ledger.

When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the Heartlands in a bruised, violet twilight, they did not return to the comfort of Valentine. They secured rooms at a modest, drafty inn near Emerald Station. While Vincenzo and Silvio slept in shifts with their revolvers on their chests, Caleb and Pierre sat by a flickering oil lamp in the small dining room, reviewing the ledgers, organizing the freshly signed deeds, and mapping the next day's targets.

By dawn, they were back in the carriage.

The second day focused on the bureaucrats and the minor logistical hubs. They visited a regional rail inspector who had been quietly holding up freight lines to extort kickbacks from local farmers. Caleb didn't offer him a buyout. He laid a copy of the man's illicit banking records on his desk and gave him thirty seconds to sign over his administrative rights to a Thorne appointed proxy, or face federal prison. The inspector signed in ten seconds.

As they drove further south through the lush, rolling green hills of the heartlands, the massive, sprawling complex of Emerald Ranch came into view. The massive green barns, the pristine white fences, and the sheer volume of high grade livestock were a stark contrast to the failing properties they had been buying all morning.

Pierre adjusted his spectacles, looking out the carriage window at the sprawling estate. "Emerald Ranch. The largest independent operation left in the state. Eugene Wegner runs it like a fortress."

Caleb stared at the distant ranch house, his eyes cold and calculating. "He does. He is wealthy, he is deeply paranoid, and he has successfully insulated himself from the banks."

"Should we pay him a visit, Boss?" Vincenzo asked, his hand resting on the grip of his pistol.

"No," Caleb replied, leaning back against the leather seat of the carriage. "Sheriff Malloy did not provide a ledger on Wegner because Wegner does not have any obvious financial vulnerabilities. If we walk in there today, we have no leverage. He will refuse to sell, and he will raise the alarm to the other independent holdouts. We leave him alone. For now."

Caleb watched Emerald Ranch disappear behind a rolling hill. "When we control every single drop of water, every ounce of feed, and every mile of railroad track surrounding his property... he will realize he is living on an island in the middle of our ocean. He will come to us."

By the late afternoon of the second day, the grueling marathon of negotiations was finally complete. Pierre's leather briefcase was physically bulging with property deeds, transfer agreements, and signed administrative proxies. The Thorne Holding Company had effectively purchased the entire New Hanover beef industry in under forty eight hours.

The carriage turned back north, the exhausted draft horses pulling them through the deep mud toward Valentine.

When they arrived in the center of the town, the rain had finally stopped, leaving the muddy streets reflecting the gray, overcast sky. Caleb left Pierre and Silvio to secure the carriage near the train station and walked with Vincenzo directly to the Sheriff's Office.

Sheriff Malloy was sitting behind his desk, nursing a cup of black coffee. He sat up straight the moment the heavy wooden door swung open.

"Mr. Thorne," Sheriff Malloy greeted, a nervous, eager energy radiating from him. "I saw your carriage rolling out of town yesterday. Did the ledger prove useful?"

Caleb walked up to the desk, his presence filling the small room with a suffocating, undeniable authority. He didn't sit down. He looked down at the corrupt lawman, a cold, satisfied smile touching his lips.

"Your information was flawless, Curtis," Caleb stated, his voice quiet but carrying the immense weight of a man who had just bought a county. "The Heartlands are secured. The deeds are signed. We control the supply lines."

Sheriff Malloy let out a heavy breath, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I told you I knew the pulse of this valley, sir."

"You did," Caleb nodded slowly. "And because of your efficiency, you have secured your position. But the acquisition was only the first phase. The transition of power is where the panic sets in. When the ranchers realize that a southern syndicate has effectively monopolized their entire economy, there will be anger. There will be men who feel they were cheated, and there will be men who want to cause trouble."

Caleb leaned over the desk, placing both hands flat on the cluttered wood.

"You are going to manage that panic, Sheriff," Caleb ordered, his eyes locking onto Malloy's. "You are going to be the grease in the wheels. When my foremen arrive from Saint Denis to take over the auction yards and begin construction on the slaughterhouse, you will ensure they face absolutely no local resistance. If a ranch hand gets drunk and tries to start a fight with my men, you lock him up. If a local politician tries to raise a grievance about the zoning laws, you silence him. You are the enforcer of the Thorne Holding Company in New Hanover."

"I understand, Mr. Thorne," Sheriff Malloy nodded rapidly, eager to prove his worth. "I will keep the peace. You have my word."

"Do this right, Curtis, and you will not just be a sheriff of a muddy cattle town," Caleb promised, effortlessly playing on the man's deep seated ambition. "The capital I am injecting into this town is going to transform Valentine into the premier industrial transit hub of the Midwest. The population will triple. The wealth will skyrocket. And you will be sitting at the very top of the law enforcement hierarchy, backed by my money. You will hold more power than the governor."

Sheriff Malloy's eyes widened, the sheer magnitude of the promised power completely overriding any lingering moral hesitations. "I won't let you down, sir. The handover will be seamless."

"See that it is," Caleb said, stepping back from the desk. He turned on his heel and walked out of the office, Vincenzo falling into step right behind him.

They walked directly to the train station, where the Leviathan was fully pressurized and waiting. Within ten minutes, the massive armored locomotive was pulling out of Valentine, the heavy steel wheels grinding against the tracks as Caleb began the long journey back to his throne in the South.

The train ride was a quiet, exhausted affair. Pierre immediately went to sleep in one of the luxury passenger cars, utterly drained by the relentless legal marathon. Caleb sat in the parlor car, reviewing the stack of deeds, his mind already calculating the logistical supply chains required to move thousands of head of cattle from the northern plains directly into the kitchens of Saint Denis.

By the time the Leviathan rolled into the Saint Denis rail yard, the city was bathed in the warm, glowing light of the early evening. The contrast between the freezing, muddy desperation of the frontier and the pristine, electrified wealth of the Garden District was stark.

Caleb rode a waiting carriage back to the estate. As he walked up the marble steps of the mansion, he felt the heavy, bone deep fatigue of the past three days beginning to drag at his limbs.

Antonio was waiting in the grand foyer, holding a silver receiving tray. Resting on the polished metal were two sealed envelopes.

"Welcome home, Mr. Thorne," Antonio bowed smoothly. "A highly productive journey, I trust?"

"We own the beef, Antonio," Caleb replied, shrugging out of his dark overcoat and handing it to a waiting footman. "What do you have for me?"

"Two letters arrived via priority courier this afternoon, sir," Antonio reported, stepping forward and offering the tray. "One bears the crest of our agents that are in John Hopkins. The other was posted from the town of Strawberry, in West Elizabeth."

Caleb's exhaustion vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp spike of interest. He picked up the heavy, cream colored envelope from Baltimore first. He broke the wax seal and unfolded the thick parchment.

He read the elegant, academic script, a slow, brilliant smile spreading across his face.

"Good news, Boss?" Vincenzo asked, standing nearby.

"Dr. Simon Flexner," Caleb announced, his voice ringing with triumph. "The finest pathologist on the eastern seaboard. He has officially tendered his resignation to the board at Johns Hopkins. He has accepted our offer in full and is currently packing his laboratory equipment to relocate to the Thorne Medical Institute. The dam is breaking, Vincenzo. With Howell and Flexner secured, the rest of the Baltimore titans will inevitably follow."

"That's massive," Vincenzo grinned. "The hospital is going to be packed with geniuses before the paint even dries on the walls."

Caleb nodded, folding the letter and placing it in his vest pocket. He then picked up the second envelope. The paper was rougher, standard frontier stock. The handwriting was strong, precise, and immediately recognizable.

It was from Charles Smith.

Caleb walked into the drawing room, holding the letter to the light of the gas sconces, and began to read.

'Caleb. I hope this letter finds you and Mary-Beth well in the city. The Grand Hotel in Strawberry is operating flawlessly. The rich tycoons and aristocrats cannot seem to spend their money fast enough to look at the mountains. But I am not writing to you about the hotel ledgers.'

'Three days ago, a small group of Native Americans came down from the mountains of Ambarino. They are from the Wapiti Indian Reservation. They walked for a week because they heard rumors from the trappers that an Indian man was running the largest business in Strawberry. They came looking for help.'

'Caleb, the situation up there is desperate. The reservation is a frozen, barren rock. The federal government, specifically a man named Colonel Favours, is actively starving them out. They are cutting their rations, denying them medical supplies, and trying to force them into a conflict so the army has an excuse to wipe them out and take the land. The chief of the tribe, a man named Rains Fall, is a peaceful man. He is doing everything in his power to keep his young men from going to war, but they are dying of cold and starvation.'

'I received a letter from Arthur two days ago. He mentioned that you were moving to buy up the ranches and the cattle industry in New Hanover. Caleb, the Wapiti people are masters of the land. They know horses, they know livestock, and they are the hardest working people on this earth. They just need a chance to survive.'

*I am asking you, as a friend. Could you use your political influence to have their reservation status dissolved? Could you bring them south? If you are building a ranching empire, you will need a massive workforce. I know it is a huhe request, and I know it puts you in the crosshairs of the federal army, but they are my people. They are going to die up there on that rock. Think it over. — Charles.'

Caleb slowly lowered the letter, staring blankly at the crackling fire in the hearth.

The name hit him like a physical blow. Rains Fall.

Caleb's Past Life Memory flooded his mind with vivid, heartbreaking images from the original timeline of the game. He remembered the tragic, dignified Chief who had tried so desperately to save his people. He remembered the fiery, doomed rebellion of his son, Eagle Flies. He remembered how the destruction of the Wapiti tribe had been one of the darkest, most agonizing chapters of the story.

And more importantly, Caleb remembered Arthur. In the original timeline, it was Rains Fall who had helped guide Arthur Morgan toward his final, tragic redemption. The quiet conversations on the mountainside, the desperate attempts to secure medicine, the Wapiti had brought out the absolute best in Arthur when the rest of the gang was falling apart.

Caleb gripped the letter tightly. He had changed the timeline. Arthur was not dying of tuberculosis. The gang had not fractured. But the Wapiti were still suffering, trapped in a historical nightmare engineered by a corrupt federal government.

Caleb's mind, always operating on the razor's edge between ruthless industrialism and fierce, protective loyalty, instantly began to calculate the angles.

Charles was right. If Caleb was going to vertically integrate the entire beef supply of the Midwest, he needed hundreds of skilled, dedicated ranch hands to manage the massive herds across the Heartlands. The local cowboys were often unreliable, prone to heavy drinking, and transient. The Wapiti Native Americans, however, possessed a generational mastery of livestock and the land. They were a brilliant, untapped workforce currently being starved to death by federal bureaucracy.

But bringing an entire Native American tribe off a federal reservation and moving them across state lines to work in a corporate monopoly was a logistical and political powder keg. Colonel Favours and the United States Army would be furious. The federal government would view it as a massive overstep.

Unless Caleb framed it in a language the government understood: raw, unfeeling capitalism.

Caleb folded the letter. His decision was made.

He walked out of the drawing room and headed directly for the dining room.

Mary-Beth was already seated at the long mahogany table, looking radiant in a soft, dark green evening dress. The table was set with fine china, and the rich, savory scent of roasted lamb and rosemary filled the room.

She stood up immediately as Caleb entered, a bright, relieved smile on her face. She crossed the room, throwing her arms around his neck.

"You are back exactly when you promised," she whispered, kissing him deeply.

"I always keep my promises to you," Caleb smiled, holding her close, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. "The Heartlands are ours. The deeds are signed."

"Then sit down, my conquering husband," Mary-Beth laughed, guiding him to his chair. "You must be absolutely starved."

Caleb sat down, allowing Antonio to pour him a glass of dark red wine. As they began to eat the exquisite roasted lamb, Caleb reached into his pockets and placed the two letters on the table.

"We had a highly eventful afternoon in the mailroom," Caleb said, sliding the first letter toward her. "Dr. Simon Flexner from Johns Hopkins. He has accepted the position. He is moving to Saint Denis."

Mary-Beth read the elegant script, her eyes widening in absolute delight. "Caleb, this is magnificent! With Dr. Howell and Dr. Flexner both at the institute, you truly have broken the eastern monopoly. The hospital is going to be the absolute pinnacle of modern medicine."

"It is," Caleb agreed, a warm smile touching his eyes. "But the second letter requires a much more delicate touch."

He handed her the rough parchment from Charles.

Mary-Beth wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin and began to read. As her eyes scanned the lines detailing the starvation and the desperation of the Wapiti tribe, the joyful smile faded from her face, replaced by a profound, heartbreaking empathy. She knew Charles Smith well. She knew the quiet, stoic pain he carried regarding his heritage. To hear him begging for help for his people was jarring.

She lowered the letter, looking across the table at Caleb.

"They are starving them to death on a frozen mountain," Mary-Beth whispered, her voice thick with sorrow. "Charles sounds so desperate, Caleb. I can only imagine the rage he is holding back, sitting in that luxurious hotel in Strawberry while his people freeze."

"I know," Caleb said quietly. "If we do not intervene, the young men of the tribe will inevitably rebel out of sheer desperation. The army will use it as an excuse to slaughter them all. It is a tragedy waiting to happen."

"Then we have to help them," Mary-Beth stated firmly, leaning forward, her dark eyes flashing with absolute conviction. "Caleb, you just bought an entire county in two days. You are building hospitals to save lives. What is the point of wielding this much absolute power if we do not use it to protect people who have none?"

Caleb looked at his wife, his heart swelling with a profound, overwhelming love for her fierce, unyielding compassion. She was the absolute moral anchor of his empire.

"I agree completely, my love," Caleb said softly. "I intend to bring them down from the mountain. I intend to dissolve their reservation status and offer the entire tribe employment and housing on our newly acquired ranches in the Heartlands."

Mary-Beth smiled, a radiant look of pure relief. "Oh, Caleb, that is wonderful. Charles will be overjoyed. They will finally have a safe place to live."

"But," Caleb raised a finger, his tone shifting into the calculating, pragmatic reality of his corporate strategy. "We must be incredibly careful. If the federal government, specifically the Bureau of Indian Affairs, believes I am stepping in as a savior to rescue a tribe they are actively trying to oppress, they will block the transfer. They will use the military to keep the Wapiti on the reservation out of pure spite."

...

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: -