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After a final embrace, he hefted the empty leather suitcase from the Saint Denis bank. In the quiet hallway outside his room, he focused. From his inventory, 30,000 dollars in bundled bills materialized inside the case. He closed and latched it, the weight a satisfying promise.
Downstairs, the morning was bright. And waiting in front of the hotel wasn't Morgan, but a hired stagecoach, a clean, well maintained Concord coach with a pair of sturdy bays.
Strauss stood beside it, looking uncharacteristically dapper in a new suit of his own, a leather case in hand.
The driver, a man with a professional bearing, tipped his hat.
"Morning, sir. Ready when you are."
Caleb raised an eyebrow at Strauss. "A stagecoach? I was planning to ride."
Strauss gestured for him to enter the open coach door. "Please, Mr. Thorne. Appearances. We are not simply visiting. We are arriving. We are presenting you as a man of substance, of capital. A man who hires private coaches. It establishes the… hierarchy of the negotiation immediately."
Caleb saw the logic. He nodded, handed his suitcase to the driver to be stored, and climbed inside. Strauss followed, settling onto the plush bench opposite him.
The driver closed the door, climbed to the box, and with a call to the team, the coach lurched into motion, rolling smoothly out of Valentine and onto the road west towards the mountains.
Inside, the ride was quiet, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels and horses' hooves a calming backdrop. Caleb looked across at Strauss. "You've thought of everything."
"It is my function, sir," Strauss said, allowing a small smile. "Mayor Timmins is a desperate man, but he is also a proud one. He must see you not as a scavenger picking at a carcass, but as a savior descending with a plan and the means to execute it. The coach, the suit, the demeanor, they are all part of the presentation. Alongside, of course, the architectural plans and financial projections." He tapped his own case.
"How about the funds?" Strauss then asked.
"There's 30,000 dollars bills in the case I hold," Strauss confirmed. "More than enough to cover the purchase and signal immediate investment. The rest remains… discreet."
The sum hung in the air between them inside the gently rocking coach. Strauss's fingers paused on the leather handle of his own case. His eyes, magnified slightly behind his spectacles, widened almost imperceptibly
For a fraction of a secondz brief enough that most men would have missed it, his expression shifted. Not alarm. Not disbelief. Surprise, measured and carefully tucked away behind years of professional restraint.
"Thirty thousand," he repeated quietly, as if confirming a figure on a ledger rather than the contents of the suitcase resting near Caleb's boots.
Caleb caught it anyway. He always did.
Strauss had not expected that number. Not after the capital already sunk into the Marlins Firearm Company, not after the steady flow of legitimate expenses, payroll, acquisitions, the bribes disguised as donations to the law, and all the other invisible costs of becoming something stable. For a man who counted every dollar twice and trusted nothing without proof, the sum was… notable.
Strauss did not ask where it came from.
He did not ask how Caleb still possessed that kind of liquid capital.
He did not even raise an eyebrow further.
Instead, he nodded once, slow and deliberate.
"Then we are… well positioned," he simply while adjusting his glasses and gave a slight, deferential nod. "A most substantial sum, sir. More than adequate for our purposes."
Caleb watched him carefully. There it was, the line, unspoken but clear. Strauss understood what questions were useful and which were dangerous. He understood, too, that his place had shifted. Once, his loyalty had been to the gang by default, to survival by necessity.
Now, it had aligned itself elsewhere, toward structure, toward continuity, toward the man sitting across from him in a tailored Saint Denis suit with thirty thousand dollars in an impossible suitcase.
So long as the money flowed, so long as the work remained clean and clever, Strauss was content to remain silent.
Caleb gave a small nod of approval.
Satisfied.
He turned his attention to the window as the stagecoach rolled steadily westward.
Outside, the Heartlands stretched in familiar waves of gold and green. Open grasslands dotted with grazing cattle, distant riders cutting silhouettes against the horizon. The land felt wide here, forgiving, almost gentle. But slowly, gradually, the terrain began to change.
The grasses thinned.
The earth rose.
Pines appeared in clusters at first, then in dense ranks. The air cooled perceptibly, sunlight breaking into angled shafts through high branches. Rock faces jutted from the ground like the bones of something ancient, weathered smooth by time and water. Streams cut silver paths through the valleys, fed by unseen falls higher in the mountains.
Big Valley announced itself without fanfare, only presence.
Caleb breathed it in.
By the time the sun climbed higher and the shadows shortened, the hour edged toward ten in the morning. And then, between the trees, across a bend in the road, the first wooden buildings of Strawberry came into view.
Nestled deep within its dramatic, waterfall fed valley, the town looked almost painted into the landscape rather than built upon it. Timber structures, clean lines, an air of intentional design unlike the chaos of Valentine or the suffocating sprawl of Saint Denis.
Caleb felt it then.
A surge of genuine anticipation.
Not hunger. Not desperation. Excitement, the quiet kind that came when a plan aligned cleanly with opportunity. This wasn't a gamble. This was an acquisition. Caleb's anticipation was no longer just about acquisition, it was about the vision. He saw not the failing lodge, but the skeleton of his grand hotel.
The stagecoach rolled onward, its polished exterior catching the light as it crossed the bridge into town.
The stagecoach's arrival was an event in the sleepy town, aftwe all Strawberry was not accustomed to visitors like this. Fancy stagecoaches did not often pass through, and rarer still did they stop. The Concord coach's clean lines, well fed bays, and professionally dressed driver made it impossible to ignore.
Townsfolk slowed their steps. A few shopkeepers leaned out of doorways. Someone whistled low. Heads turned from the general store porch. Fishermen by the river paused to look.
The coach rolled to a smooth stop directly in front of the Welcome Center Lodge, its wheels crunching on the gravel.
On the lodge's porch, two men had just emerged. Mayor Nicholas Timmins, a man whose once optimistic face was now etched with weary desperation, and his clerk, Cecil, who perpetually looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon. Mayor Timmins's eyes lit up at the sight of the coach.
"Cecil," he murmured, unable to keep the pleased note from his voice, "have we had any… inquiries?"
Cecil followed his gaze, eyes widening just slightly at the sight of the coach. He shook his head. "No, sir. No formal offers. Other than that German gentleman I just told you about, came by over a week ago. Just asking questions. Name was Leopold Strauss, if I recall correctly. Haven't heard from him since."
The mayor nodded thoughtfully. "Then these are either guests or potential clients."
His smile widened. "Either way, we welcome them properly. Strawberry shows its best face."
"Of course, Mayor," Cecil said.
The driver hopped down with practiced efficiency, placing a step and opening the door wide.
Caleb stepped out first.
Caleb emerged first. The charcoal herringbone suit was perfect for the setting, prosperous but not gaudy, authoritative yet approachable. He carried the leather suitcase casually, as if it weighed nothing. Strauss followed, his own new suit making him look less like a bookkeeper and more like a serious financial advisor.
Cecil's eyes flicked immediately to Strauss.
He leaned in, whispering urgently. "That's him, Mayor. The man with the glasses. The German fellow who was asking questions. Strauss, I think he said."
"And the other?" Mayor Timmins whispered back, his heart hammering with hope.
"His employer, undoubtedly. Look at the cut of that suit."
Mayor Timmins's eyebrows rose. "Well then," he said, "let's go meet them."
Mayor Timmins practically scurried down the porch steps, his hand outstretched, his politician's smile firmly in place, though it trembled at the edges with hope. He bypassed Strauss entirely, aiming for the clear man in charge.
"Welcome! Welcome to Strawberry, sir! A true pleasure. I am Nicholas Timmins, mayor of this little slice of heaven." His grip was firm, overly eager.
Caleb took his hand, his own shake confident but not crushing. He activated his trinity of skills. Acting to embody the poised, benevolent investor. Persuasion to infuse his words with convincing warmth. Business to project an aura of unimpeachable competence.
"Mayor Timmins. A pleasure. Caleb Thorne. Your town has been highly recommended. It's… remarkably perfect. This place is quiet, quaint, and perfect. A rare thing these days. Ideal for rest… or for enjoying clean air and finer scenery." He gazed around, taking in the stunning vista of the valley and the cascading water, his expression one of genuine appreciation.
Mayor Timmins swelled with pride. "It is, isn't it? A hidden gem! And it's very kind of you to say, sir. Very kind indeed. We take great pride in Strawberry. We're so glad you found us. And how did you come to hear of our little community?"
Caleb gestured to Strauss, who gave a small, formal bow. "My associate, Herr Leopold Strauss. He has a keen eye for undervalued potential. He identified Strawberry not just as a town, but as an opportunity. And I must say, upon seeing it, I believe he may be right."
Mayor Timmins laughed, delighted. "Mr. Strauss speaks the truth! He is a man of impeccable taste, I must say. I've always said Strawberry is only waiting for the right people to see its worth."
Behind him, Cecil nodded emphatically. He caught Strauss's eye and mouthed, thank you.
Strauss merely nodded once, expression neutral.
Caleb continued, voice thoughtful. "I was also told the lodge is currently… available."
The mayor's smile sharpened with interest. "That is correct."
Caleb glanced up at the building. "Its location is excellent. Center of town. Near the general store. Near the sheriff's office. Close to the mail station. With proper investment and vision…" He let the sentence trail. "It could attract a great many guests."
Mayor Timmins nodded eagerly. "Absolutely! You see it, then."
"I do."
"But please, gentlemen, you must be weary from your journey. Why don't we step inside? We can talk more comfortably." The mayor offered quickly.
"A fine idea," Caleb agreed.
They followed Timmins and Cecil into the lodge. The interior was exactly as Caleb remembered from another life, yet more depressingly real. The air was stale.
The decor was a tragic hodgepodge of moth eaten taxidermy, mismatched rustic furniture, and faded prints of fish. The centerpiece was a grotesque, mummified bear posed in a perpetual, dusty roar. It was the very antithesis of luxury.
Caleb didn't hide his critical assessment. He let his gaze travel slowly over the room, his expression politely puzzled. "I see the… natural theme is quite… comprehensive."
Mayor Timmins flushed, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "Yes, well… we wanted to embrace the local flavor. Perhaps it's a bit… overwhelming."
"Authenticity has its place," Caleb said diplomatically, leading them to a grouping of worn leather armchairs near the cold stone fireplace. "But in hospitality, comfort must be paramount."
Once they were seated, Caleb set the suitcase on the floor beside his chair with a soft, weighty thud. The sound was not lost on Timmins. Caleb leaned forward, his demeanor shifting from pleasant visitor to serious businessman.
"Mayor Timmins, let's speak candidly. My time is valuable, and I suspect yours is as well. Mr. Strauss's investigation, and now my own eyes, tell me this lodge is operating below its potential. Significantly so. It's a drain on the town's resources and a missed opportunity for growth."
Mayor Timmins's smile vanished, replaced by a look of pained honesty. "It's… it's been a challenge Mr. Thorne, I won't lie to you. My big dream and vision for Strawberry…"
...
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 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 1)
- Leadership (Lvl 1)
Money: 3,465 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 251,892 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, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, & Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co.
Bank: -