Chapter 583 - 583: 555. Attention Of The Country

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It would transform journalism, dictate elections, reshape entertainment, command armies, and shrink the vast, lonely expanse of the globe into a single, connected room. Caleb looked at the heavy wooden receiver still resting on the table, and then looked down at his wife. "I think I have, Mary-Beth," Caleb admitted quietly, a complex, terrifyingly ambitious smile touching his lips. He pulled her close, staring out into the empty hall, knowing exactly what the future held.

Meanwhile, the news did not remain confined to the humid air of Saint Denis for more than an hour. Reporters practically sprinted out of the hall, flooding the local Western Union offices. Telegraph operators worked through the night, their fingers blistering as they tapped out thousands of words of breathless copy to the northern syndicates.

By the following morning, the world had changed.

Newspapers across the country splashed the astonishing invention across their front pages. The New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, the Boston Globe, and the Washington Post carried massive, bold headlines that seized the imagination of the American public.

VOICES FROM THE ETHER!

THORNE AND TESLA SEVER THE WIRE!

THE INVISIBLE MIRACLE IN LOUISIANA!

Photographs and reproduced lithograph illustrations of Caleb and Tesla standing proudly beside the humming receiver box appeared in dozens of publications. The public reaction was enormous, varied, and fiercely divided.

In the coffee houses of Philadelphia and the salons of New Haven, some were profoundly amazed, recognizing immediately that they were witnessing the birth of a new century. Others were violently skeptical. Several prominent academic rivals published angry editorials insisting the demonstration was a parlor trick, that Caleb Thorne must have buried heavy copper wires beneath the floorboards of the exhibition hall, utilizing simple magnetic induction to fool the press.

But the men who controlled the levers of American industry did not care about academic jealousy. They immediately grasped the terrifying commercial implications.

Shipping magnates in Boston read the reports and realized they could eventually coordinate with their naval fleets while they were days out at sea. Railroad barons in Chicago recognized that wireless communication could seamlessly coordinate locomotives across vast, empty territories without relying on fragile telegraph poles that snapped in winter storms.

Doctors wondered if remote communication could allow specialists in New York to instantly consult on surgeries in rural hospitals. News organizations salivated at the prospect of transmitting headlines across the globe at the literal speed of light.

And in the center of the storm, Caleb Thorne's public identity underwent a massive upward shift.

Until that morning, the national public had known Caleb primarily as a ruthless, highly successful industrialist. He was the man behind the Thorne-Marlin firearms monopoly, the architect of the Thorne Bicycle boom, the owner of a luxury hotel in Strawberry, and the financier rapidly colonizing New York with the Thorne Crown restaurant empire. He was viewed as a titan of capital.

But as newspapers and rival businessmen dug into the invention, they made a shocking discovery at the United States Patent Office. The airtight patents shielding the radio's selective tuning mechanisms and directional antenna arrays did not just list Nikola Tesla. They explicitly listed Caleb Thorne as a co-inventor.

The revelation caused a secondary wave of intense, obsessive interest. The public began asking how a man known for forging rifle barrels and selling fast food possessed the advanced theoretical understanding to co-invent wireless electrical communication.

Caleb's importance magnified exponentially. Wealthy industrialists, politicians, and bankers began placing him at the absolute top of their ledgers of powerful men. Some admired him as an unparalleled American genius. Others feared him, viewing the sheer breadth of his empire as monopolistic and unnatural.

Competitors and investigative journalists began quietly digging into his history, trying to determine exactly how a man seemingly without a past had accumulated such staggering wealth and technological dominance in just over a year. The shadows Caleb had once operated in were permanently stripped away. He was now a visible, historical figure.

Three days later, the aftershocks of the demonstration reached the highest office in the land.

Inside the Executive Mansion in Washington, President William McKinley sat behind his heavy desk, carefully reviewing a thick intelligence dossier prepared by his cabinet.

Secretary of War Elihu Root stood near the windows, watching the President read. The dossier contained comprehensive reports on the Saint Denis radio demonstration, detailed summaries of the Thorne-Tesla patents, and a staggering logistical breakdown of the potential applications of wireless technology.

McKinley was a thoughtful, politically astute leader managing a country undergoing violent industrial growing pains. He set the report down, looking thoughtfully at a photograph of Caleb Thorne clipped to the final page.

"If this technology functions over hundreds of miles as they claim, Elihu," McKinley noted quietly, "the implications for the Navy alone are incalculable."

"It is entirely real, Mr. President," Root confirmed, stepping forward. "Our observers in Saint Denis witnessed the demonstration firsthand. The man has achieved what the Europeans only theorized."

McKinley tapped his fingers against the desk, his mind drifting back to the agonizing logistical nightmares of the recent war against Spain in 1898. Coordinating troops in Cuba and the Philippines across vast oceans had been a brutal, slow-moving disaster of communication.

"And this is the same Caleb Thorne currently fulfilling our infantry arms contracts?" McKinley asked.

"The very same," Root nodded. "Thorne-Marlin Firearms. He completely overhauled their manufacturing base. If our boys had carried his Vanguard rifle up San Juan Hill instead of the Krag-Jørgensen, the casualty reports would have been cut in half."

McKinley looked back at Caleb's photograph. The President did not view Caleb as an infallible savior, he was inherently wary of men who amassed too much un elected power, but he recognized that Thorne possessed an uncanny, almost unnatural ability to produce technologies that were decades ahead of contemporary industry. McKinley needed to understand how this man thought, and more importantly, what else he was quietly building in the swamps of Louisiana.

"Draft a formal invitation, Elihu," McKinley ordered, sliding the dossier back across the desk. "I want Mr. Thorne and Mr. Tesla brought to Washington. I want to see this radio for myself, and I want to speak with the man arming our military."

While the heavy machinery of the federal government turned its eye southward, Caleb was already moving to the next objective in Saint Denis.

Tesla's electrically assisted manufacturing machinery was finally ready for deployment. Caleb refused to let the momentum stall, he immediately began installing the automated milling systems into the massive Thorne-Marlin factories, followed quickly by the Thorne Bicycle manufacturing facilities.

It was a grueling, highly complex transition. The revolutionary machines could not simply be dropped onto a factory floor and expected to perform magic.

Caleb spent days physically walking the factory lines, stripping off his suit jacket to coordinate the installations. Older brick buildings required massive, expensive electrical retrofitting to handle the intense voltage of Tesla's polyphase motors. The physical layout of the assembly lines had to be entirely reorganized to optimize the flow of raw steel to the new automated lathes.

Furthermore, the workforce had to be retrained. Master gunsmiths who had spent thirty years hand filing receivers were initially terrified of the humming electrical motors. Caleb stood beside them, patiently demonstrating how the standardized templates and automated guides did not replace their craftsmanship, but rather amplified it, allowing them to produce identical, flawless components in a fraction of the time.

The first successful tests sent shockwaves through the corporate ledgers. The electrically assisted machines drastically reduced human error and fatigue. Output at the Saint Denis firearms plant skyrocketed, allowing Thorne-Marlin to fulfill its massive War Department quotas weeks ahead of schedule without sacrificing a single ounce of quality. The bicycle factories began churning out components fast enough to completely flood the national market. The machinery became one of Caleb's most closely guarded internal advantages.

But industrial expansion required space, and space required politics.

Later that week, Caleb arranged a private meeting with the Mayor of Saint Denis in the opulent, wood paneled office of City Hall.

Caleb sat across from the politician, entirely at ease, projecting the quiet, overwhelming authority of a man who effectively employed a quarter of the city.

"The Thorne Holding Company is expanding again, Mr. Mayor," Caleb stated smoothly. "I intend to construct three new, state-of-the-art manufacturing facilities. However, I want to build them five miles west of the city limits, out toward the river."

The Mayor raised an eyebrow, steepling his fingers. "West of the city? That land is entirely undeveloped, Mr. Thorne. Why not build in the existing industrial district?"

"Because the existing district is choking on coal smoke and congestion," Caleb replied reasonably. "I want to pull the heavy smog away from the populated areas. I want to build modern facilities with proper electrical grids. But laying the rail spurs, the roads, and the utilities out to the western perimeter requires municipal cooperation. I want favorable municipal financing and long term tax deferments to support the infrastructure."

The Mayor hesitated, recognizing a negotiation that could make or break his political career. "Municipal bonds of that size require justification to the city council, Caleb. They will argue I am simply handing public funds to a private empire."

"Then you will explain to the council that these three factories will instantly create two thousand new jobs for the citizens of Saint Denis," Caleb countered softly, leaning forward. "You will explain that the infrastructure I build out west will open up entirely new residential zones, drastically expanding the city's long term tax base. And I give you my word, the people of Saint Denis will receive priority access to the employment lines before we hire a single man from out of state."

The Mayor looked at him, doing the political math. If he agreed, Saint Denis would become the undisputed industrial crown jewel of the South. But he also understood perfectly that the arrangement placed Caleb Thorne in an even more unassailable economic position. Caleb would effectively become the landlord of the region's prosperity.

Caleb let the silence hang for a moment before subtly reminding the Mayor of reality. "My businesses are the heartbeat of this city, Mr. Mayor. We grow together, or I take the factories to New Hanover."

The Mayor sighed, a smile of polite surrender touching his lips. "I will have the municipal bonds drafted by Friday."

"Excellent," Caleb smiled.

As Caleb stood to leave, Vincenzo stepped forward, placing a heavy, beautifully polished rosewood box on the Mayor's desk. The Mayor opened it carefully. Resting inside on black velvet was a breathtaking, custom engraved solid gold pocket watch, accompanied by a sterling silver cigar humidor.

"A token of my deep appreciation for your civic vision, Mr. Mayor," Caleb said warmly.

It was an incredibly expensive, perfectly respectable gift. There were no crude envelopes of cash, no overt threats. But the political undertone was absolute. Everyone in the room understood that Caleb was cementing his kingdom through a flawless application of influence, money, and mutual benefit.

With the municipal government secured, Caleb immediately turned his sights on the city's elite.

Three nights later, Caleb rented the entire grand ballroom of the Grand Thorne Hotel. He summoned the leading businessmen of Saint Denis, the shipping magnates, the senior bankers, the real estate barons, the wealthy merchants, and the old money plantation heirs.

Over a hundred men gathered in the opulent room, drinking expensive champagne and speaking in hushed, nervous tones, wondering why the most powerful man in the state had called them all together.

Caleb stepped up to a small podium at the head of the room. The silence was immediate.

"Gentlemen," Caleb began, his voice echoing off the crystal chandeliers. "Saint Denis is entering an era of unprecedented, explosive growth. The railroads, the shipping lanes, and the factories are expanding faster than the old laws of commerce can handle. But growth without coordination is simply chaos."

Caleb looked out over the crowd, meeting the eyes of the most powerful men in the room.

"I am officially announcing the creation of the Saint Denis Business Club," Caleb declared. "A formal, unified alliance of this city's most important financial figures. Our purpose will be absolute cooperation. We will exchange vital information, pool our resources for massive local investments, coordinate industrial development, and ensure that the economic engine of this city never stalls."

The words sounded like a beautiful, cooperative utopia. But the deeper, ruthless purpose was instantly obvious to every intelligent man in the room.

By creating the club and anchoring it around his own holding company, Caleb was effectively establishing a regional economic cartel, with himself sitting at the absolute head of the table. Joining the club meant direct access to Caleb's terrifyingly successful network, incredibly lucrative investment tips, favorable shipping connections, and the protective umbrella of his political influence.

But refusing to join meant economic exile. It meant being locked out of the infrastructure Caleb was building, isolated from the banks Caleb influenced, and ultimately crushed by the unified weight of the men who *did* join.

A heavy, calculating tension filled the ballroom.

A prominent shipping magnate near the front cleared his throat. "And the leadership of this club, Mr. Thorne? How are the directives chosen?"

"By consensus, of course," Caleb smiled warmly, though his eyes remained sharp as glass. "But the Thorne Holding Company will naturally provide the administrative framework and the primary capital backing to ensure our collective ventures succeed."

Several older, established merchants exchanged nervous glances, realizing they were being politely asked to bend the knee. But a younger, aggressive banker immediately stepped forward, demanding a membership charter, eagerly recognizing the staggering profits to be made in Caleb's shadow.

Hosea stood quietly near the back of the room, sipping a glass of wine, observing the masterful psychology at play. Strauss, standing beside him, was already mentally calculating the sheer, devastating financial leverage Caleb had just secured. Vincenzo and Silvio guarded the doors, ensuring the atmosphere remained entirely civilized.

Caleb remained perfectly calm, answering questions and making the offer sound absolutely irresistible. He didn't threaten a single man. He didn't have to. The businessmen were not fools surrendering because they were helpless, they were choosing to participate because the rewards of standing beside Caleb Thorne were simply too massive to ignore.

By the end of the evening, the Saint Denis Business Club was forged in iron. Caleb controlled the city.

The ensuing weeks were a chaotic blur of unprecedented attention.

The consequences of the radio invention cascaded into Caleb's daily life with relentless force. The mansion was flooded with mail. Newspaper editors begged for exclusive interviews. Famous scientists requested deep technical correspondence. Rival businessmen demanded private demonstrations. The major telegraph companies, terrified for their monopolies, sent frantic, probing inquiries trying to discern the exact range of the technology.

Caleb had to establish a rigid filtration system, assigning three of the clerks just to sort the legitimate, highly valuable opportunities from the thousands of opportunists simply trying to gain access to him.

Nikola Tesla was entirely overwhelmed. He loved the vindication, but the sudden, blinding spotlight grated on his eccentric nerves. He frequently hid in the swamp laboratory, refusing to speak to journalists who didn't understand alternating current.

Mary-Beth found the entire situation highly amusing.

"You went from hiding in a freezing Detroit warehouse to having half the country begging for ten minutes of your time," Mary-Beth teased Caleb as they sat in the drawing room, watching Antonio carry in yet another silver tray piled high with telegrams.

"I admit, the impact was slightly more immediate than I anticipated," Caleb sighed, rubbing his temples and picking up a letter from a shipping conglomerate. "But this is exactly why we locked the patents down so aggressively."

The intellectual property was now functionally priceless. Caleb spent hours meeting with Pierre, explicitly instructing the young lawyer to aggressively defend the patents against any infringement, while remaining strictly within federal law. Caleb had no intention of manufacturing every single radio on earth himself. He discussed a brilliant, long term strategy with Tesla, they would license the technology to select, approved manufacturers, taking a massive royalty percentage off every unit sold.

Tesla enthusiastically agreed, though the inventor was far more interested in building the next tower than arguing over licensing percentages.

"You manage the markets, Caleb," Tesla waved a hand dismissively during one meeting. "I must perfect the vacuum tube shielding!"

"Someone has to pay for the vacuum tubes, Nikola," Caleb laughed, shaking his head.

The chaos of the expanding empire felt relentless, but thrilling. A few days later, Caleb stood by the tall windows of the mansion's study. The afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the immaculate gardens.

Antonio stepped into the room, his posture incredibly rigid, holding a single, heavy envelope sealed with thick red wax. It did not look like the standard yellow telegraphs. "From Washington, Don Thorne," Antonio said quietly, handing it over. "Delivered by federal courier."

"From Washington, Don Thorne," Antonio said quietly, handing it over. "Delivered by federal courier." Caleb broke the heavy wax seal. He unfolded the thick, cream colored parchment, his eyes scanning the elegant, formal script.

...

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, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall

Bank: -