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They took seats at a side table. Bodyguards positioned themselves nearby, alert but unobtrusive. Jasper appeared as if by magic, setting down a tray with a bottle of good brandy and three glasses before melting away again.
Once they were seated, John Howard leaned forward. "My father, John Mahlon Marlin, founded our company. We manufacture firearms in New Haven. Reliable, well made revolvers and rifles."
"I'm familiar with the reputation," Caleb said truthfully. The Marlin name was legendary.
Mahlon took over. "The industry is changing, Mr. Thorne. It's not just about craftsmanship anymore. It's about scale, patents, and new designs. We have plans. A new, lever action rifle design that's stronger, faster. But tooling up, securing patents, marketing against established names like our rival Winchester… it requires investment. Substantial investment."
John Howard then added. "That investment will be used to expand our production and distribution. Innovation. Firearms aren't just about weapons anymore. They're about reliability. Most importantly reputation."
Caleb poured the brandy, his mind racing. This wasn't just an investment, it was a chance to buy a piece of history, to have a legitimate stake in an iconic American company. The profits could be staggering. More importantly, it was another layer of legitimacy, a connection to the industrial heart of the nation.
Caleb smiled faintly. "Which is where I come in."
"Precisely," Mahlon replied. "Strauss mentioned your… unique position."
Caleb glanced at Strauss briefly, then back to them. "I'm willin' to listen. But I invest carefully."
"As do we," Mahlon said. "Which is why we're here in person."
"What are you looking for?" Caleb asked, his tone neutral.
Mahlon and John Howard exchanged a glance. "We are looking for 25,000 dollars," Mahlon stated. "In exchange for a thirty percent equity stake in Marlin Firearms, and a seat on the board for your representative."
It was a colossal sum. More than the entire chest they'd dug up. But Caleb didn't flinch. He had the Blackwater money, a secret reservoir of wealth beyond anyone's imagination, and also his own income as well. He could do this.
"The figure is considerable," Caleb said slowly, swirling the brandy. "Your designs. Your patents. I'd need to see the plans. The business projections. My man Strauss would conduct a full audit. But…" He let the word hang, watching their faces. "I believe in American ingenuity. And I believe in backing winners."
He leaned forward, his gaze locking with Mahlon's. "I'm prepared to commit, more money than that. Subject to due diligence, of course. But I don't just want to be a silent partner. I want Marlin to be the best, I want to be involved even further. I have… insights. Ideas about materials, about manufacturing processes that might be of interest."
John Howard's eyes widened. "You're familiar with firearms manufacture?"
Caleb allowed a small, knowing smile. "I'm familiar with it and also efficiency. And with what men who use tools in difficult circumstances truly need. Let's just say I have a unique perspective."
From there they talked for hours. Where Caleb wanted to impress the Marlins, and considering their father ris still alive, he wanted to make sure he can impress that they will accept more money for more stake.
Design improvements. Distribution routes. Supply chains. Discretion. Caleb listened, asked precise questions, offered suggestions that surprised even the Marlins, ideas rooted in future knowledge, framed carefully as intuition and observation.
They settled deeper into the discussion, the low murmur of voices blending with the quiet clink of glass as Jasper returned, almost ghostlike in his efficiency. Without interrupting, he placed a large wooden tray at the center of the table.
Burgers, thick and steaming. Fries piled generously beside them. And three bowls of ice cream, beads of condensation already forming along the ceramic.
The smell alone caused John Howard to pause mid sentence.
"…What in God's name is that?" he asked, blinking.
Caleb smiled faintly. "Food."
Mahlon let out a surprised chuckle. "It smells far better than anything we've had on the road."
Jasper inclined his head politely. "House specialties, gentlemen."
They didn't need encouragement.
John Howard took a bite of the burger first, then froze. His eyes widened in genuine disbelief as he chewed, slowly at first, then faster.
"…This is," he swallowed, "…remarkable."
Mahlon followed, less outwardly expressive but no less impressed. He set the burger down carefully after a few bites, as if reassessing reality itself. "I've traveled from New Haven to Chicago and back. I've eaten in fine establishments. This, this is something else."
Caleb poured himself a measured sip of brandy, watching their reactions with practiced calm.
"It's yours?" John Howard asked suddenly.
"It is," Caleb confirmed with a modest nod. "I believe in building things that last. Whether it's a good meal or a good rifle."
Mahlon looked around the closed dining area with new eyes. "This isn't just good food. This is innovation. Simplicity refined. Something familiar made exceptional."
John Howard laughed quietly. "You really are full of surprises, Mr. Thorne."
This revelation, coupled with the hours of surprisingly insightful conversation, was having its intended effect. Caleb had subtly activated his Acting and Persuasion skills, not to manipulate in a crude sense, but to project an aura of unimpeachable competence, visionary thinking, and trustworthy gravitas.
Every suggestion he made about metallurgy. "A stronger, lighter alloy for the receiver, perhaps?"
Production line efficiency. "What if the workstations flowed in a sequence, rather than men walking parts between stations?"
Or even marketing. "Don't just sell to armies. Sell to the rancher, the homesteader, the explorer. Sell the promise of reliability on the frontier."
All of it was delivered with the calm certainty of a man who knew. This was underpinned by his Past Life Memory, feeding him instincts drawn from another century of industry, finance, and branding, the momentum was unmistakable. And his Firearms Knowledge skill, allowing him to speak their technical language fluently with confidence that bordered on uncanny.
By the time the plates were cleared, Caleb could see it in their eyes, the initial assessment of a potential money man had been replaced by the recognition of a potential partner, a rare one who understood both ledgers and lathes.
John Howard leaned back, rubbing his chin. "Some of these ideas… we've brushed against them, but never articulated them this clearly."
"That's because you're craftsmen," Caleb replied easily. "I think like a user. And like someone who hates inefficiency."
Mahlon nodded slowly. "Winchester doesn't beat us on quality. They beat us on scale. On money. On reach."
"And on narrative," Caleb added. "They sell reliability as identity. You need to own that space harder. Not just tools, trust."
Mahlon steepling his fingers. "You have given us much to consider, Mr. Thorne. More than we anticipated."
Caleb saw his opening. The seed of a grander ambition had been planted and was now ready to be watered. He let a moment of respectful silence pass before speaking.
"I've been equally impressed," he began, his voice low and sincere. "With your vision, your dedication to the craft. And I hold the highest respect for your father and what he's built."
He paused, letting the compliment settle. "Because of that respect, and because I believe so strongly in what we could achieve together, I'd like to propose a different deal. One that truly merges our strengths."
Both brothers leaned forward, intrigued and wary.
"Instead of 25,000 dollars for a minority stake," Caleb said, his gaze steady, "I propose an investment of 35,000 dollars."
Mahlon's breath caught. John Howard's eyes went wide. It was an astronomical sum, enough to make any businessman's heart race.
"In exchange," Caleb continued, "for a fifty one percent equity stake in Marlin Firearms. We would merge our interests. The company would be renamed the Marlin Thorne Firearm Company. Your family's legacy is preserved, you and your father would retain executive positions on the board in perpetuity. Your name remains on the product. But I would become Chairman and majority owner. More than that, I would be the Chief Visionary, directing the innovation and expansion we've discussed."
The room went utterly silent. The bodyguards might as well have been statues. The proposal was a thunderclap. They had come seeking an investor, not a new owner.
Caleb let them absorb the shock. He took a slow sip of brandy, his demeanor one of calm certainty, not aggression. He was offering a lifeline, not launching a hostile takeover.
"35,000 dollars," Mahlon finally whispered, the number itself seeming to hold weight. "Injected directly into the company funds… It would… it would change everything."
"It would allow for the new factory wing," John Howard said, his mind racing with possibilities. "The specialized machinery from Germany we've been eyeing… we could buy it outright. We could out produce, out innovate…"
"Winchester," Caleb finished for him, the name dropping like a gauntlet. "You're losing not because your designs are inferior, but because they have deeper pockets for marketing and distribution. This levels that field. More than levels it. It gives you a catapult."
He saw the conflict warring on their faces, pride in their family's independent legacy versus the cold, hard logic of survival and domination. Their father was ill, his strategy conservative, playing not to lose. This was a gamble to win everything.
The two brothers locked eyes, having a silent, frantic conversation comprised of slight nods, tightened jaws, and almost imperceptible shrugs. Caleb waited, the picture of patience, though inside, his focus was razor-sharp. His skills were fully engaged, reinforcing his image as the sure bet, the inevitable future.
Finally, Mahlon turned back to him. His expression was serious, but the resistance had bled away, replaced by a grim, excited resolve. "A majority stake… it is a significant concession. Our father…"
"Will see a company not just surviving, but poised to become the definitive American firearms manufacturer for the next century," Caleb interjected gently. "He built the foundation. We're offering to build the skyscraper upon it. And your family's name will be engraved on the cornerstone. Forever."
That did it. The vision was too potent to refuse.
"We would need guarantees of what you just promised," Mahlon said, his voice firming. "In writing. Iron clad. The Marlin family retains its executive roles. Our positions are unassailable."
"By my honor, and by the contract," Caleb said, placing a hand over his heart. "Strauss will draft it immediately. Every protection you require."
He turned slightly. "Strauss."
Caleb then gave the meticulous accountant the broad strokes, a 35,000 dollar investment for 51% equity, the new company name, the guaranteed hereditary board positions for the Marlins, and Caleb's roles as Chairman and Chief Visionary.
Strauss's eyes gleamed behind his spectacles, he saw the sheer audacious brilliance of it. He withdrew to a the restaurant where he have a small working area. to craft the document.
While they waited, Mahlon posed the practical question. "Such a sum… how would the transfer be made?"
Caleb smiled. "In full. Cash. I will provide it to you tomorrow. I suggest you enjoy Valentine's… rustic charms for the rest of the day. Consider it a celebration."
The brothers were stunned anew. Cash. 35,000 dollars in cash. It spoke of reserves of wealth they hadn't dared to imagine.
Strauss returned with two copies of a densely worded agreement. It was a masterpiece of legal protection for both parties. Caleb and the Marlins brothers read it carefully.
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.
...
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: 112,892 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: -