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The language was precise, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Satisfied, they dipped pens in ink and signed their names, Caleb Thorne, Mahlon H. Marlin, John Howard Marlin. The scratch of the pens was the only sound. When it was done, Caleb shook their hands again, the grip now one of partners, not negotiators.
"You will receive the formal stock certificates and proof of ownership once we return to New Haven and have my father sign the company transfer documents, his signature are the binding one for it."
"I understand," Caleb replied. "And I trust you.""
"Thank you. You have our word. This contract," he tapped the paper, "is binding. We are not fools to jeopardize such a partnership for the sake of short term chicanery. The long term value you bring… your ideas… are worth far more."
Caleb believed them. They were industrialists, not bandits. They understood scale.
With final handshakes and arrangements to meet at the bank the following afternoon, the Marlin party took their leave, their bodyguards falling into step behind them, the air around them crackling with renewed purpose.
When they were gone, Strauss let out a long, controlled breath. "A monumental deal, Mr. Thorne. Truly historic. If I may ask… how do we gather the funds? From the restaurant reserves? We would need to liquidate nearly everything, and it would cripple our operations here and the construction."
Caleb turned to him, his expression unreadable. "No, Strauss. Not from the restaurant. This is a personal investment. The funds are… elsewhere. Secure. You needn't worry about the source. Just prepared a fake bank draft that looks like I make the withdrawal tomorrow. I will provide the cash."
Strauss stared at him, his professional composure cracking for the first time, revealing pure, unadulterated shock. Personal funds of that magnitude? It implied a private fortune that dwarfed even the successful business they were standing in. Who was this man he had pledged himself to?
"As you wish, sir," Strauss managed, his mind clearly reeling as he bowed and hurried off to arrange the banking particulars.
After that meeting, Caleb returned to the hotel quietly as the day have turned night.
The room was dim, curtains drawn against the late afternoon light. Mary-Beth already lay asleep on the bed, one arm draped loosely across the pillow, breathing slow and even. Several notebooks were stacked neatly on the desk, pages marked, corners folded.
Caleb's expression softened.
He set his hat aside, moved closer, and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. She stirred but didn't wake. Caleb then take off his boots and gun belt, before laying beside Mary-Beth in the bed, the weight of the day settled in.
The next day, the morning light filtered through the thin hotel curtains, painting soft stripes across the bed. Caleb awoke not to a sound, but to a gentle shifting beside him. Mary-Beth had turned onto her side, her eyes already open and watching him, a sleepy, affectionate smile on her lips. She leaned in and kissed his cheek.
"Good morning," she murmured, her voice still husky with sleep.
Caleb smiled, the residual tension from the high stakes meeting melting away in her presence. He turned his head and captured her lips in a proper, lingering good morning kiss. "Mornin'."
She settled back against the pillow, her curiosity sparking. "So? How was it yesterday? All those important men in suits? Was it… fruitful?"
Caleb's smile widened into a grin of genuine triumph. He propped himself up on one elbow. "Fruitful doesn't begin to cover it, darlin'. It was a damn harvest."
That earned a spark of curiosity in her eyes, and Caleb turned toward her fully now, awake in earnest. He began at the beginning, exactly as she asked, who the Marlin brothers were, where they came from, their family's standing in New Haven, and how deeply rooted they were in American industry.
He described how the meeting goes, the bodyguards, the careful politeness, the way the conversation had felt less like a gamble and more like two sides measuring how much ground they could take together.
He told her about the negotiations, the numbers, the cautious probing questions about production scale and logistics, about patents and supply chains. He explained how his designs had changed the tone of the room, how skepticism had slowly given way to interest, then to excitement, and finally to certainty.
He detailed his audacious counter proposal, not a simple investment, but a merger. His voice was calm but vivid as he explained the 35,000 dollars for a fifty one percent stake, the new Marlin-Thorne Firearm Company, the guaranteed positions for the Marlin family, and his own role as the driving visionary force.
He lastly describes the contract itself, the weight of the paper, the language precise and merciless in its clarity, the moment when pens touched ink and names were signed.
Mary-Beth listened, her eyes growing wider with each revelation. When he finished, she was silent for a long moment, simply staring at him as if seeing him for the first time.
"So…" she said slowly when he finished, "you're telling me that you now own a gun making company. Or at least part of one."
"In some sense," Caleb admitted with a faint chuckle. "Yes."
She shook her head, almost laughing, then stopped as something else caught up with her. "And 35,000 dollars…" she said, the number itself seeming to awe her. "You just… had that? I know you've been successful, with the restaurant and… other endeavors. But that's… that's a big ransom. You've given hundreds to the camp, lived modestly… where did all that come from?"
He could see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. Questions forming. Worries, maybe. Not about legality, she knew the life they lived, but about scale, about what kind of risks he was shouldering alone.
Before she could spiral any further, Caleb pushed himself upright into a sitting position and gently pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. She came willingly, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Hey," he said softly, his lips near her ear. "Don't you go thinkin' too deep on where the money came from. All you need to know is that I earned it. Every dollar. And it's all for this. For a better life. For the gang. For a future where we don't have to look over our shoulders. For the home we're building right now. For the gang's future, and for ours."
She turned to look at him, her cheek still resting against his shoulder. "Our future?" she echoed.
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "A life beyond running and hiding. A life where we don't have to worry about safety and if we have enough money or not. A place of our own someday. And…" He paused just long enough to make her breath hitch. "Maybe a child. Like John and Abigail."
Mary-Beth's breath hitched. She pulled back slightly, her face flushed a beautiful pink, and swatted his arm. "Caleb Thorne! Don't you go ambushin' a girl with thoughts like that first thing in the morning!" But her eyes were shining, and the protest was feeble. She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "You're impossible."
Caleb laughed, the sound low and genuine, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "Sorry, just planning ahead that's all," he said, though the grin said he wasn't sorry at all.
After a few more minutes of quiet, domestic bliss, Caleb disentangled himself. The practicalities of the day awaited. He pulled on his boots, buckled his gun belt around his hips with practiced ease, and settled his hat on his head. He was no longer the negotiator in a fine suit, but the man of action ready to seal the deal.
"I have to go handle the transfer," he said, leaning down to kiss Mary-Beth one more time. "The Marlin brothers will be waitin'."
"Be careful," she said, her hand lingering on his cheek. "That's a lot of money to be carryin' around, even in Valentine."
"I will," he promised.
From a small chest at the foot of the bed, he retrieved a sturdy, nondescript canvas sack, the kind used for grain or feed. It was empty, but it wouldn't be for long. He gave Mary-Beth a final wink and left the room.
Downstairs, he nodded to the clerk, stepped out into the crisp morning air, and mounted Morgan. He didn't ride to the bank. Instead, he guided the mare south, past the bustling livestock auction yard and the chuffing train station, out of the town proper and into the scrubland that bordered the Dakota River.
He found a secluded dip in the terrain, shielded by a stand of cottonwoods and a rocky outcrop, a place of absolute privacy.
Dismounting, he took the empty sack and laid it open on a flat rock. Then, focusing inward, he accessed his system inventory. In that secret, intangible space rested the fortune that had once been the Van der Linde gang's curse and was now becoming their salvation, the Blackwater money. With a thought, he began to withdraw it.
Neat, bound stacks of high denomination bills materialized in his hands. He placed them methodically into the sack, building a solid, heavy brick of currency. 35,000 dollars. It was a staggering amount of physical wealth.
He arranged it neatly, ensuring the stacks were uniform and tight, so it would look like a professional bank withdrawal. When the last stack was placed, he tied the top of the sack securely with a thick cord. The weight was substantial, a tangible representation of the future he was buying.
He secured the sack behind Morgan's saddle, checking the knots twice. Remounting, he rode back into Valentine, the ordinary sounds of the town now feeling like a cloak for his extraordinary cargo.
Back at the hotel hitching post, he found Strauss waiting for him on the porch, looking uncharacteristically anxious. The accountant hurried down the steps as Caleb dismounted.
"Mr. Thorne," Strauss said, his voice low. He produced a single, official looking piece of paper from inside his coat. It was a bank withdrawal note, stamped with the Valentine Bank's seal and signed by a clerk. The amount was listed as 35,000 dollars. To any casual observer, it was perfectly legitimate.
Caleb took it, examining the impeccable forgery. He raised an eyebrow. "How did you manage this?"
Strauss allowed himself a small, tight smile. "A modest bribe to a junior clerk. A mere 50 dollars. He was… amenable, especially once I clarified we were not robbing the bank, merely creating a paper trail for a private transaction. The bank loses nothing, and he gains a month's wages. A simple calculus."
Caleb chuckled, clapping Strauss on the shoulder. "You did good work, Leopold. Truly."
At that moment, the hotel door opened, and the Marlin brothers emerged, followed by their ever watchful bodyguards. Both men looked rested but intent, the gravity of the day's transaction clear in their bearing.
"Mr. Thorne," Mahlon greeted, his hand extended.
Caleb shook it firmly, then John Howard's. "Gentlemen. I trust you found Valentine's accommodations adequate?"
"Adequate and… enlightening," John Howard said, a hint of a smile touching his lips, likely remembering the burgers and ice cream.
"Shall we conclude our business?" Mahlon asked, his eyes flicking to the bulky sack still tied to Morgan.
"Of course," Caleb said. He kept his voice low, for their ears only. He handed Mahlon the forged bank note. "For your records and corporate funds." Then, with a gesture, he indicated the canvas sack. "And the substance of our agreement. All there. You're welcome to count it, though I'd suggest a more private venue than the main street."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 4)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 4)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 4)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 4)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 4)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,526 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 77,892 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 65 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 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
Bank: -