novelnext Chapter 473 473: 446. Meeting The Three Head Of Publishing Houses
Chapter 473 473: 446. Meeting The Three Head Of Publishing Houses
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These were men who usually broke kneecaps and collected gambling debts, now tasked with a literary errand. They were dispatched to personally send his "invitation" to the three of them, the executives of the Saint Denis Times Literary Press, the Lemoyne Heritage Publishing Group, and the Grand Corinthian Bindery.
The capos had walked directly into the plush, legitimate corporate offices of these publishing magnates, bypassing their terrified secretaries, and had politely, yet firmly, informed the executives that Don McLaughlin requested their immediate presence at his Garden District estate for a highly lucrative business meeting. It was an invitation that simply could not be declined without risking one's life and livelihood.
And so, as Caleb took a slow sip of his black coffee, he knew it was only a matter of minutes before the terrified, bewildered publishing executives arrived at his gates.
Once they were escorted to the back porch, Caleb planned to execute a masterclass in aggressive corporate negotiation.
The executives would be given all of these books to read or at least to review the first few chapters and understand the sheer, unparalleled quality and marketability of the prose sitting on the glass table.
Caleb would not ask for a publishing deal, he would dictate it. Utilizing his Max Level Business and Persuasion Skills, Caleb would begin the ruthless negotiation of the royalties. He wouldn't accept the standard, exploitative rates given to first time authors.
He would demand an astronomical, completely unprecedented percentage of the gross profits for Mary-Beth, retaining the absolute entirety of the intellectual property rights and the distribution control.
Furthermore, he would personally dictate exactly how many books would be copied and published in the initial printing run. He wanted thousands of copies bound in the finest leather and gold leaf, distributed not just in Saint Denis, but loaded onto his newly acquired trains and shipped to Blackwater, Valentine, Rhodes, and then to the entire country.
He was going to use the absolute, terrifying leverage of the Italian mafia to forcefully launch the greatest literary empire the Gilded Age had ever seen, ensuring that the name Mary-Beth Gaskill, or whatever brilliant pen name she chose to adopt, would be etched into the annals of history forever.
And as they waited in the serene morning sunlight, staring at the massive stack of paper that held their future, Caleb smiled, entirely ready to make the publishing world bow to his Queen.
As they waited for the summoned titans of the publishing industry, Mary-Beth was thoroughly enjoying a delicate, highly refined mid-morning snack that the estate's private chef had prepared exclusively for her.
Sitting on the pristine glass topped wrought iron table, right beside the towering, intimidating stacks of their finalized manuscripts, was a multi tiered silver tray loaded with fresh, buttery French pastries, exquisite fruit tarts, and delicate, sugar dusted macarons.
She took a small, delighted bite of a strawberry tart, her dark eyes closing briefly in pure culinary bliss. The contrast between the terrifying, blood soaked realities of the mafia empire they now controlled and the sheer, idyllic luxury of this quiet morning was not lost on her. As she chewed, a tiny, almost imperceptible smudge of powdered sugar and fruit glaze caught on the corner of her lips.
Caleb, whose sharp, hyper observant blue eyes never missed a single detail when it came to the woman he loved, let out a soft, deeply affectionate chuckle. With a grace that completely belied the lethal violence his hands were capable of, Caleb reached across the small space between their wrought iron chairs. He picked up a crisp, perfectly folded small white linen cloth from the table.
Gently, with the tender care of a man handling spun glass, Caleb helped her and smoothly wiped her mouth with the small white cloth, clearing away the smudge of sugar. Mary-Beth blinked, her cheeks flushing a beautiful, rosy pink at the intimate, incredibly sweet gesture. She offered him a radiant, loving smile, entirely comfortable and secure in the absolute safety of his presence.
Exactly at this time, the quiet, romantic bubble of their morning was seamlessly interrupted. The sharp, polished sound of leather dress shoes clicking against the marble tiles of the garden pathway echoed toward them.
Antonio, the impeccably dressed head butler, arrived at the edge of the shaded porch. He stood at perfect attention, his posture rigidly professional, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
"Forgive the intrusion, Don McLaughlin. Madam McFarlane," Antonio said, his cultured voice breaking the morning silence with flawless respect. He bowed his head slightly, saying to the two of them that the highly anticipated guests had finally been brought to the gates. "The three heads of the primary publishing houses here in Saint Denis have arrived. They were escorted precisely as you commanded by the capos, and they are currently waiting in the main foyer."
Caleb, hearing that, felt the warm, domestic affection instantly recede into the depths of his mind, completely replaced by the cold, calculating, and ruthlessly ambitious persona of the corporate Don. He turned to face Antonio, his blue eyes hardening into chips of pure ice.
He didn't want them waiting in the foyer, sweating on his marble floors for hours. He wanted them off balance, yes, but he also wanted to strike while the iron was scorching hot. He says to him, his voice a low, commanding rumble, to have them immediately enter the back garden so they could begin to talk business as soon as possible.
"Do not keep them waiting, Antonio," Caleb instructed, adjusting the cuffs of his light grey three piece suit. "Escort them out here to the porch immediately. We have an empire to print, and I have no desire to waste the morning."
Antonio nodded his head swiftly, accepting the command without a single wasted movement. "Right away, Don McLaughlin."
Before then, he turned on his heel and took his leave, disappearing back into the cavernous, shadowy depths of the mansion for a couple of minutes.
Caleb turned back to Mary-Beth, offering her a confident, highly reassuring wink. "Showtime, Alice. Remember who you are."
Mary-Beth took a deep, steadying breath, her posture instantly straightening into the haughty, untouchable elegance of her aristocratic persona. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, ready to play her part.
Soon, the sound of multiple footsteps echoed from the mansion corridors. Antonio returned, stepping out onto the sunlit porch, leading three incredibly nervous, sweating men who were the absolute heads of the most prestigious publishing houses in the state of Lemoyne.
The three men all wore very expensive, impeccably tailored suits. One wore a heavy tweed jacket imported from London. Another wore a dark, pinstriped suit with a solid gold pocket watch chain. And the third, a slightly older, balding man, wore a crisp, high collared Victorian tailcoat.
They were men of immense legitimate wealth, men who routinely dined with senators and dictated the literary culture of the entire Gilded Age.
But as they were led out into the open air of the mafia stronghold, surrounded by the invisible but absolute presence of armed killers, all of their high society arrogance completely evaporated.
When they stood before Caleb, they trembled a bit. It was entirely involuntary. The sheer, suffocating aura of Caleb's max level Leadership Skill, combined with the terrifying, bloody reputation of the man who had just violently overthrown Angelo Bronte overnight, hit them like a physical wall of pressure.
They knew exactly whose property they were standing on. They knew that the capos who had "invited" them carried heavy revolvers under their coats.
They greeted the Don incredibly respectfully, their voices shaking, entirely eager to appease the apex predator.
"Good morning, Don McLaughlin," the man in the pinstriped suit stammered, removing his silk top hat and bowing deeply.
"An absolute honor, sir," the older man echoed, practically bowing from the waist.
Caleb let out a small, highly disarming smile as he remained seated, projecting an image of total, unshakeable control. He returned their greeting with a slow, magnanimous nod, engaging his max level Persuasion Skill to slightly lower their absolute terror, just enough to make them functional for a business negotiation.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Caleb said smoothly, his voice a calm, resonant baritone that paradoxically made him seem even more dangerous. He gestured casually toward the three empty, plush wrought-iron chairs that had been arranged on the opposite side of the glass table. "Please. I told the three of you to take a seat on the chairs already prepared for you."
The three executives hurriedly complied, practically scrambling into the chairs, the wrought iron legs scraping nervously against the stone tiles.
Caleb leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, completely dominating the physical space. He looked at their pale, sweating faces and offered a masterclass in psychological manipulation.
"Breathe, gentlemen. There is absolutely no need to be afraid," Caleb assured them, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic cadence. "I know my men can be... overzealous with their invitations. But I assure you, I wouldn't do anything to harm you, nor am I here to ask for anything unreasonable."
He let that promise hang in the air for a fraction of a second before pivoting instantly to extreme, undeniable corporate ambition.
"Rather," Caleb continued, a sharp, brilliant light entering his eyes, "I have brought you here because I have a very big, entirely unprecedented, and massively lucrative business opportunity. An opportunity that would exponentially benefit both sides in the deal. I am here to make you all very, very rich."
The three men, who took their seats with trembling hands, hearing that sudden pivot from mafia intimidation to massive corporate profit, turned to look at one another. They were highly intelligent businessmen, but they were completely out of their depth.
They began speaking with their eyes, darting frantic, silent glances back and forth, asking each other if they knew what kind of deal was being proposed by Caleb.
Does he want to buy our printing presses? Does he want to force us to print mafia propaganda? Is he extorting our distribution networks?
To which, of course, none of them knew. Their silent eye conversation was filled with absolute, panicked confusion.
Caleb, utilizing his max-level Perception, caught every single micro expression of their silent panic. He just ignored what they were doing, allowing them to stew in their own uncertainty for a few moments longer to ensure they were completely pliable.
As he leaned back in his chair, he then says to the three of them to formally introduce themselves.
"Before we begin the finer points of commerce," Caleb instructed smoothly. "Let us establish who is sitting at my table. Introduce yourselves."
The three men practically tripped over their own words to comply, taking turns with desperate eagerness.
"I-I am Archibald Vance, Don McLaughlin," the man in the tweed jacket stammered first. "Executive Director of the Saint Denis Times Literary Press."
"Arthur Sterling, sir," the man with the gold pocket chain said quickly. "Head Publisher at the Lemoyne Heritage Publishing Group."
"And I am Thaddeus Beauregard," the older, balding man finished, wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief. "Managing Director of the Grand Corinthian Bindery."
"Vance, Sterling, Beauregard," Caleb repeated, committing their names to his flawless memory. After that, Caleb, of course, shifted the focus of the table entirely. He gestured gracefully toward the stunning woman sitting perfectly composed by his side.
He says to them, his voice laced with a subtle, protective warning, that they already knew his Madam.
The three of them vigorously nodded their heads. Of course they had known her, or at least recognized her terrifyingly high status. They had seen her during the massive, opulent celebration the day before. They had watched from the crowds as the new Don had formally introduced her to the entire underworld and the political elite.
"Yes, yes, of course, Don McLaughlin," Mr. Sterling nodded frantically, offering a deep, seated bow toward Mary-Beth. "It is a profound honor to be in your presence again, Madam McFarlane. You were the absolute vision of the banquet yesterday."
"A true delight, Madam," Mr. Vance echoed, his voice shaking.
Mary-Beth offered them a slow, regal nod, her face a perfect, unreadable mask of aristocratic superiority. "Gentlemen," she murmured, her voice cool and utterly unimpressed by their flattery.
Caleb nodded his head, entirely satisfied that the hierarchy of the table was completely understood. No one would dare disrespect her.
"Excellent," Caleb stated, his tone sharpening into the ruthless edge of a billionaire CEO. "Then we don't need to waste the morning exchanging pleasantries. You are busy men, and I am a busy man. We could just go right to the point."
The three men swallowed hard and nodded their heads in absolute, terrified unison. "Of course, Don McLaughlin. Right to the point."
So Caleb began talking business with the three heads of the publishing world. He reached out and placed his large hand flat on top of the massive, meticulously tied stacks of handwritten manuscripts that completely dominated the center of the glass table.
"These manuscripts," Caleb announced, his eyes sweeping across the three executives. "Represent a total of nine completed books. Six of them belong to a sprawling, serialized fantasy epic unlike anything currently printed in the modern world. The other three are standalone, sweeping romantic dramas of unparalleled emotional depth. I want them published. All of them."
He leaned forward, his max level Business Skill projecting an aura of absolute financial guarantee. "And I assure you, gentlemen, it will be a massively big hit. It will fundamentally alter the literary economy of this state."
When the three men heard what Caleb said, the atmosphere on their side of the table shifted entirely. The raw, primal terror of the mafia boss was suddenly clashing violently with their deeply ingrained, highly cynical instincts as veteran publishers. At first, they, of course, inwardly wanted to mock Caleb. Their minds immediately jumped to the most obvious, cliched conclusion.
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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: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 285,392 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 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, 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: -