Next, he moved to the wardrobe, its wooden doors groaning faintly as he opened them. Two more sacks sat neatly tucked beneath folded clothes. These he pulled free as well, laying them out beside the chest. Four sacks in total. Two of them bulged with the squared, glittering weight of gold bars. The other two, stuffed with crinkled dollar bills, smelled faintly of ink and dust.
Caleb exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Alright. Let's do this proper."
With a thought, he willed the system interface to open, the familiar bluish shimmer appearing before his eyes. His fingers brushed the sacks of gold first. One by one, the bars vanished into the inventory's void, sucked away into a space only he could access.
He glanced at the interface to confirm, and sure enough, the neat numbers ticked upward, row upon row of gold bars filling the expanded cube of his inventory.
The satisfaction was profound. A vault in his pocket, secure beyond the reach of thieves, Pinkertons, or even Dutch himself. No one could take this from him. Not unless they tore the soul out of his body.
Then came the sacks of bills. He untied them, fingers dipping into the stacks. Crisp, weathered, and bundled, money enough to buy and sell entire businesses. He carefully transferred them into his inventory too, though he kept the empty sacks aside. The bills disappeared like the gold, leaving the room's floor clear once more.
When it was done, Caleb leaned back against the side of the bed and let out a long breath. Relief washed over him. For the first time since hauling those riches from Blackwater, he felt truly secure. Not a man alive could stumble on his wealth now.
"This," he muttered to himself, "changes everything."
But security alone wasn't enough. Money rotting in a void didn't build empires. He needed influence, protection, legitimacy. And here in Valentine, that meant one thing, that is Sheriff Malloy.
Caleb drummed his fingers on his thigh, his mind already working. The Sheriff wasn't blind. He had knew first hand and from his previous dealing with him that business was booming at Caleb's business.
With cash on hand, now was the perfect time to strengthen the previous deal and their ties even more. Not through handshakes or hollow promises, but through cold, hard dollars, something that keeps everything running.
A "donation." A little extra to nake the Sheriff much more happy, his deputies well supplied, and the law's eyes conveniently blind when it came to some of Caleb's future business affairs, where maybe could broke the law we never know.
He smiled faintly. "Time to grease the right palms."
Pushing off the bed, he tucked the empty sacks into the chest, locked it, and straightened his coat. A man about business. That was the look he wanted. He left the room, the lock clicking shut behind him, and strode down the hallway.
The lobby passed in a blur. Soon, he was outside again, boots striking the dusty street. Valentine moved around him in its usual disorganized rhythm, wagons rolling, children running, townsfolk loud voices, but Caleb's path was clear. The Sheriff's office.
The small building sat near the edge of the main street near the Church, its porch shaded, and the building looks worn out as well. And there he was Sheriff Malloy. Hat tipped back, cigarette dangling between two fingers, smoke curling upward. Two deputies leaned nearby, repeaters propped against the wall.
The Sheriff spotted him first. "Caleb!" Sheriff Malloy called, grinning around the cigarette. "Didn't expect to see you 'round here so soon. Somethin' I can do for ya, son?"
Caleb chuckled lightly, tipping his hat. "As a matter of fact, Sheriff, yes. Got a little business I'd like to discuss. Just between us, if you don't mind."
Sheriff Malloy raised an eyebrow, his grin dimming into curiosity. He stubbed out the cigarette on the porch railing, flicked the butt into the dirt, and turned to his deputies. "Boys, I'll be inside talkin' private with Mr. Thorne here. If anyone comes lookin', tell 'em to wait their turn."
"Yes, Sheriff," the deputies replied in unison, settling back against the porch as if nothing unusual had happened.
"Come on in, son," Malloy said, holding the door open.
Caleb followed Sheriff Malloy into the office. The office smelled faintly of tobacco and old paper. Desks cluttered with ledgers lined the walls, and a wanted poster nailed to the board. Thankfully, the two jail cells were empty, ensuring their conversation would remain completely confidential. Privacy, just as Caleb had hoped.
Sheriff Malloy lowered himself into his chair behind the desk, creaking wood groaning beneath his weight, while Caleb sat opposite. For a long moment, the Sheriff studied him, sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Alright, Caleb. Door's closed. What's on your mind that requires all this secrecy?"
Caleb leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest but his eyes sharp. "It's not so much a problem, Sheriff, as it is an... opportunity. For the town. I'd like to make a donation. A private donation."
The word hung in the air. Sheriff Malloy's eyes flicked, searching Caleb's face. His jovial expression gave way to seriousness. "Private donation, huh? And just what kind of donation are we talkin' about here, Caleb?"
"Money," Caleb said plainly, his voice low. "A significant sum. To be used explicitly for upgrading the town's security. New rifles for your men. Plenty of ammunition. Perhaps even a bonus for the deputies who do the night patrols. And," he paused, letting the word hang in the air, "a separate, discretionary fund for you, Sheriff. To ensure the town's security budget isn't... strained by these necessary improvements."
The air in the room grew thick and heavy. Sheriff Malloy's face lost all traces of its earlier amiability, becoming a stern, unreadable mask. He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You do know what you're sayin', don't ya, son? This ain't a simple donation to the church social."
"Of course, I know exactly what I'm proposing Sheriff," Caleb replied, his gaze never wavering. "I'm proposing a partnership. My business is about to become a cornerstone of this town, something both you and I know. I want it protected. I want the law to have the resources it needs to keep Valentine safe, which in turn keeps my investment safe. In exchange for this... private funding... I would hope for an improvement of some degree for... even more attentive security around my establishment. And perhaps a degree of understanding, should any minor, non violent, breaking the law... irregularities... occur in the course of doing business."
He was careful with his words. He wasn't asking for carte blanche to break the law. He was asking for a buffer, for the benefit of the doubt. For the law to see his business as an asset to be protected, not a potential nuisance to be scrutinized.
Sheriff Malloy was silent for a long time, his eyes searching Caleb's face. He was clearly a man who had seen his share of bribes, but this was different. This wasn't a few dollars to look the other way on a drunk and disorderly. This was a substantial investment in his department, wrapped in the language of civic duty.
"'Irregularities'," Malloy finally repeated, the word tasting foreign. "You're askin' me to turn a blind eye."
"I'm asking you to see the bigger picture," Caleb corrected gently. "A prosperous business means a prosperous town. A well funded law's department means a secure town. I'm not asking you to be corrupt. I'm asking you to be pragmatic. This money ensures your men are the best armed in the territory. It ensures you can attract and keep good deputies. That isn't corruption, Sheriff. That's good governance."
He let the argument settle. He was not offering a bribe, he was offering a grant. The distinction, though thin, was crucial.
Finally, the Sheriff leaned back, exhaling through his nose. His eyes narrowed, but there was a glint there now, interest. "Well, I'll be damned." He chuckled, low and slow. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Most folks just come beggin' me for protection. You? You're offerin' me money."
Caleb smiled faintly. "Not offerin', Sheriff. Investing. I want my business to thrive. And if it thrives, so does Valentine. This way, everybody wins."
Sheriff Malloy tapped his fingers on the desk, thinking. "And just how much money are we talkin' about?"
Caleb allowed himself a small, internal smile. He had him. "For the department's equipment and bonuses? I'm willing to donate 1,00 dollars. For your discretionary fund? Another 500 dollars are in store."
Sheriff Malloy's eyes widened. Fifteen hundred dollars was more than his annual salary. It was an astronomical sum for a town like Valentine. He could buy new rifles for every deputy, cases of ammunition, and still have plenty left over.
He looked at Caleb, truly looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. This wasn't just a successful stall owner. This was a man with serious resources and even more serious ambition.
"That is... a very generous offer toward public safety, Mr. Thorne," Sheriff Malloy said, his tone formal, choosing his words with extreme care. "The town would be... grateful."
"And the understanding?" Caleb pressed gently.
Malloy held his gaze for another tense moment before giving a single, sharp nod. "Your establishment will become main priority for my men now. Day and night. And as long as your... business... remains peaceful and doesn't bring outright violence or federal attention to my town, we won't have a problem."
It was all Caleb could ask for. He extended his hand. "Then we have an agreement?"
Sheriff Malloy looked at the offered hand, then up at Caleb's face. After a heartbeat, he reached out and shook it, his grip firm. "We have an understanding."
Caleb immediately let out a satisfied chuckle as Sheriff Malloy gave his understanding, which was, in truth, an agreement in disguise. The words were formal, wrapped in a careful tone, but both men knew exactly what had just happened.
A handshake in Valentine was worth more than a signed contract in Saint Denis, especially when it came to matters like these. Trust wasn't written down. It was carried in the weight of a man's grip and the steadiness of his eyes.
"Glad we see eye to eye, Sheriff," Caleb said, his voice calm, steady, but tinged with satisfaction.
Sheriff Malloy smirked, leaning back slightly, the chair creaking under his weight. "You're a bold one, Caleb. Not many would try what you just did. But hell, I can respect a man who knows the value of makin' friends in the right places."
Their hands parted, the deal sealed. Caleb then reached for his satchel, though in truth his fingers moved through the motions only to disguise what he was really doing, drawing the promised sum straight from his system inventory.
A quick mental command, a flicker of that invisible interface only he could see, and crisp bills appeared within his satchel as though they had always been there.
He pulled out neat stacks, each bundle bound and precise, until the full 1,500 dollars lay before the Sheriff on the desk.
Sheriff Malloy's eyes widened, his usually steady composure slipping just enough to betray his shock. "Well, I'll be damned…" He leaned forward, slowly picking up one stack of bills, turning it over in his calloused hands as if to confirm it was real. "You weren't kiddin', son. This is… a mighty generous sum. More than I've ever been offered in one sittin', that's for certain."
Caleb gave a modest shrug, though inside, he was smiling ear to ear. This is how power is built. Not just through bullets and brawn, but through careful investments. Dutch never understood that.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 3)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 3)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 2)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 2)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 3)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 2)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,977 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 105,407 dollars and 43 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 4 gold rings, 2 silver rings, 4 silver pocket watches, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -