Chapter 588 - 588: 560. Another High Level Meeting In Executive Mansion To Decide Time To Head Back

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It was time to collect on the President's request. Caleb began drafting the confidential memorandum for President McKinley and Vice President Roosevelt, outlining the concrete, strategic steps Washington should take when the Boxer crisis in China inevitably escalated. He drew heavily upon his Past Life Memory, translating the historical hindsight of the twentieth century into the formal, diplomatic language of 1900.

He wrote methodically, structuring the geopolitical masterpiece into absolute, undeniable logic.

"First," he wrote, "the United States must approach Great Britain and France privately, before the first shot of a unified intervention is fired. We must present the preservation of Chinese territorial integrity not as a moral crusade, but as the only viable means of protecting British and French colonial interests from unchecked Russian and Japanese expansion. We bind their greed to our restraint."

"Second, American diplomats must coordinate with London and Paris to establish a unified trilateral position. We must enter the crisis with a predetermined agreement that prevents the intervention from degenerating into a chaotic land grab."

"Third, once the Boxers are militarily defeated and the foreign legations in Peking are secured, the allied powers must issue a joint, non negotiable demand that all foreign armies withdraw from Chinese territory. We must formally recognize the sovereign territorial integrity of the Qing Empire, explicitly outlawing the division of the country into permanent spheres of European conquest."

Caleb paused, letting the ink dry, before drafting the brutal, commercial hook that would sell the entire strategy to the career politicians in Washington.

"In return for American diplomatic and military assistance in preventing their empire from being partitioned, the Qing government will be required to grant the United States unprecedented concessions. Washington will secure vastly favorable commercial access to Chinese ports. American heavy industry will be granted priority contracts for railway and infrastructure construction across the mainland. We will demand expanded diplomatic privileges, absolute legal protection for American businesses, and the guaranteed safety of Catholic and Protestant missionaries. Furthermore, we will secure Chinese cooperation and intelligence regarding maritime security in the waters surrounding the Philippines."

Caleb leaned back, reading the final paragraph. It was a masterpiece of leverage.

He concluded the memorandum with a forceful, overriding philosophy, "The United States should not seek to own China. Colonial occupation is a decaying European disease that drains the treasury and invites endless rebellion. Instead, we must make China stable, open, and entirely economically tied to American industrial interests, permanently preventing any rival power from dominating the geopolitical balance of East Asia."

He signed his name, folded the thick parchment, and sealed it with wax.

Two days later, the summons arrived.

Caleb Thorne found himself walking back into the Executive Mansion, but this time, there was no tea service, no polite chatter, and no wives present. He was escorted by a stern-faced military aide into a heavily guarded, windowless conference room buried deep within the administrative wing of the White House.

The atmosphere in the room was suffocatingly dense with power.

President McKinley sat at the head of a long, polished oak table. To his right sat Vice President Roosevelt. But the rest of the table was occupied by the true, entrenched architects of American foreign policy.

Secretary of State John Hay, a brilliant, historically revered statesman, sat with his hands steepled, his eyes fixed on Caleb. Beside him sat Secretary of War Elihu Root, a handful of senior generals in immaculate uniforms, and the department heads whose offices would be directly involved in the logistics of an Asian war.

Caleb Thorne arrived as the absolute odd man in the room. He was a businessman holding no government title, possessing no diplomatic rank, and wielding no legal authority to dictate federal policy. Outside of McKinley and Roosevelt, the career officials at the table respected him primarily for his staggering success in manufacturing firearms and his wealth, nothing more. To them, he was an industrialist trespassing in the realm of high statesmanship.

Caleb took the only empty chair at the opposite end of the table. He did not look intimidated. He looked entirely in his element.

Without a word, Caleb slid the sealed memorandum down the length of the polished oak. McKinley caught it, broke the seal, and read the first two pages in absolute silence. The President's expression was unreadable.

Without commenting, McKinley handed the document across the table to John Hay.

The Secretary of State put on a pair of wire rimmed reading glasses. As Hay read, the silence in the room grew heavy and sharp. The career diplomats exchanged subtle, skeptical glances.

What followed was not the polite, deferential consultation they had expected from a civilian.

"Mr. Thorne," John Hay began, his voice dry and clipped as he placed the memorandum flat on the table. "This is an exquisitely written document. It is also, from a diplomatic standpoint, bordering on fantasy. You are proposing that we politely ask the British Empire and the French Republic to abandon their colonial ambitions and join us in protecting a crippled, hostile Qing government from the Russians."

"I am not proposing we ask them politely, Mr. Secretary," Caleb countered, his voice steady and carrying effortlessly down the long table. "I am proposing we corner them economically and strategically. We use their own paranoia against them."

A senior general scoffed quietly. "You view international diplomacy as if it were a hostile corporate takeover, Mr. Thorne."

"Because it is, General," Caleb shot back without missing a beat. "Diplomacy is simply a market backed by artillery. And right now, you are misreading the market."

His position as the ultimate outsider suddenly became a massive, devastating advantage. Caleb wasn't bound by the archaic, polite traditions of European diplomacy, and he wasn't blinded by the career assumptions that the men in this room took for granted. He viewed the Boxer crisis entirely through the lenses of brute commerce, strategic leverage, and long term American influence.

One by one, the officials began challenging his proposals, attempting to dismantle the industrialist's logic.

"The British will never agree to limit their own expansion in the Yangtze valley," a senior State Department official argued sharply. "They have held the absolute monopoly on Chinese trade for fifty years."

"Fifty years ago, the Russian army did not have a trans Siberian railway capable of dumping two hundred thousand troops into Manchuria," Caleb countered instantly, leaning forward. "Britain's monopoly is already dying, sir. London knows they cannot fight a land war against the Tsar in Asia die to the lack of manpower. Their only play to stop Russian dominance is to freeze the board entirely. If you guarantee Chinese territorial integrity, the British will back you, because it is the only way they protect India."

"And the French?" Hay challenged, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the cold, terrifying accuracy of Caleb's assessment regarding the British. "Why would Paris defy their Russian allies to side with Washington?"

"Because the French care about Indochina, Mr. Secretary, not Manchuria," Caleb replied smoothly. "A militarized, expanding Japan terrifies Paris just as much as it terrifies us. You offer France a buffer state. We preserve China to keep the Japanese army away from the French colonial borders."

"It relies entirely on the Qing government acting rationally!" Elihu Root interjected, tapping the table. "You are asking us to bleed American soldiers to lift the siege of Peking, and then hand the keys back to an Empress who likely ordered the siege in the first place! The American public will demand blood, Thorne. They will demand territory as compensation!"

"Then you give the public railroads instead of blood, Mr. Secretary," Caleb fired back, his tone absolute iron. "You take the hundreds of thousands to probably millions of dollars of untapped commercial value in the Chinese interior. If we conquer a province, we have to garrison it. We have to tax a hostile population, fight constant insurgencies, and bleed our treasury dry for a century. It is a terrible investment."

Caleb locked eyes with Root. "But if we force the Qing government to grant us exclusive railway contracts, infrastructure concessions, and unrestricted open door trade in exchange for saving their empire... we extract all the wealth of China without firing a single shot to govern it. Let the Empress deal with the rebellions. We simply run the trains and empty the ports."

The room fell dead silent.

The career officials, the men who had spent decades navigating the polite, slow moving channels of international statecraft, stared at the twenty something industrialist.

They had tried to corner him. They had thrown their most complex, entrenched geopolitical objections at him, expecting the businessman to falter when faced with the realities of global war.

Instead, Caleb had effortlessly caught every single objection, dismantled it, and handed it back to them wrapped in undeniable, ruthless economic logic. He didn't speak of moral crusades. He spoke of leverage, buffer states, and colonial paranoia.

John Hay slowly took off his wire rimmed glasses, looking at Caleb with a fundamentally altered expression. The initial skepticism was gone, completely burned away. In its place was the slightly unsettling realization that the man sitting at the end of the table was a geopolitical genius and savant.

"The Open Door," Hay murmured softly, looking down at the memorandum, unwittingly coining the phrase that would define American foreign policy for the next forty years. "We force the door open, and we refuse to let the Europeans close it behind them."

Roosevelt was grinning so widely it looked like his jaw might unhinge. He slapped his hand flat on the oak table. "It is brilliant, John. It is absolutely brilliant. We don't conquer the territory. We conquer the market."

President McKinley, who had remained entirely silent during the fierce debate, slowly leaned back in his chair. He looked at his cabinet, watching the expressions of his most trusted advisors shift from dismissive arrogance to grudging, absolute respect.

Then, the President looked down the length of the table at Caleb Thorne.

The room no longer regarded Caleb merely as a wealthy arms manufacturer with an interesting, amateur opinion. They saw him for exactly what he was, a terrifyingly competent maverick, a man whose unconventional, pragmatic perspective was genuinely capable of outmaneuvering the oldest empires on earth.

"Mr. Thorne," McKinley said, his voice quiet, carrying the ultimate, supreme validation of the United States government. "I believe your memorandum will serve as the foundational framework for the State Department's immediate strategy regarding the Pacific."

Caleb did not smile. He simply offered a slow, respectful nod, knowing that he had just rewritten the future of the world.

"I serve at the pleasure of the President," Caleb said quietly.

A brief, heavy silence hung in the windowless conference room following Caleb's flawlessly delivered declaration. And then, President William McKinley let out a low, genuine chuckle.

Within seconds, the tension in the room shattered. Elihu Root barked a laugh, shaking his head, and soon the rest of the cabinet ministers and generals were chuckling along with the President. It was not a mocking laughter, but rather the weary, amused sound of seasoned men recognizing a perfectly executed political bluff.

"You serve at the pleasure of the President, Mr. Thorne?" McKinley asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners with sharp amusement. "I think we both know that the only thing you serve with absolute, unwavering devotion is the American dollar."

"A man can serve two masters, Mr. President," Caleb replied, allowing a faint, knowing smile to finally touch his lips. "Provided they are walking in the same direction."

"You follow the capital," Secretary of State John Hay noted, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, the sheer audacity of Caleb's economic pragmatism having completely won him over. "Firearms, bicycles, restaurants, motorcars, and now the geopolitical destiny of the Qing Empire. Your portfolio is terrifyingly irrelevant to itself, yet you seem to master every sector you touch."

"I simply look for inefficiencies in the market, Mr. Secretary," Caleb answered smoothly. "Whether that market is a steel foundry in Connecticut or a colonial standoff in the Pacific."

McKinley leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished oak table, his expression sobering into one of genuine consideration. He looked at the young industrialist who had just casually outmaneuvered the combined diplomatic experience of his entire cabinet.

"Caleb," McKinley began, his voice dropping into a serious, executive register. "The federal government is expanding rapidly. We are wrestling with all kinds of laws, interstate commerce, and the logistics of maintaining a newly acquired overseas presence. We lack men who understand the brutal, mechanical reality of modern industry. I am seriously considering creating a new advisory position within this cabinet, and I want you in Washington to fill it."

The offer hung in the air like a thunderclap. A direct appointment to the President's cabinet. It was the kind of political ascension that men spent their entire lives, and millions of dollars, trying to achieve.

The career politicians at the table stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Caleb hearing that did not even blink.

"I am deeply grateful for the honor, Mr. President," Caleb said, his voice laced with the utmost respect. "But I must respectfully decline."

McKinley raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You don't want a seat at the table?"

"I already have a seat at the table, sir," Caleb replied gently, gesturing to the chair he was currently occupying. "But more importantly, my empire requires my constant undivided attention. If I step away from the Thorne Holding Company to become a federal official, the factories will stall, the supply chains will fracture, and the innovations Mr. Tesla and I are currently developing will die in the drafting room. I simply do not have the time to govern this great country while I am busy trying to build it."

Caleb paused, ensuring the refusal did not sound like a rejection of the President himself. "However, you have my solemn word. If you, the Vice President, or any of the honorable gentlemen in this room ever require my insight, my capital, or my logistical support... my door is always open to Washington."

A subtle, collective exhalation of relief rippled down the length of the oak table.

The cabinet officials nodded slowly, their faces projecting somber understanding, though their internal relief was palpable. They admired Caleb's brilliant intellect, but they were even happier that this ruthless and competent apex predator was not going to be swimming in their political pond every single day. He would have been a terrifying competitor for their own influence and position.

"A loss for the government office, but a victory for the country economy," McKinley sighed, though he looked pleased that Caleb was willing to remain an unofficial asset. "Very well, Mr. Thorne. We will proceed with the diplomatic framework you have outlined regarding Britain and France, we call it The Open Door project. I will personally inform you if there are any significant updates from the legations in the Qing Empire, or if we require your unique perspective again."

"Thank you, Mr. President," Caleb said, preparing to rise.

But before the meeting fully adjourned, Caleb stopped, turning his gaze toward John Hay and the President. It was time to deploy the final piece of leverage he had secured in the capital.

"If I may, Mr. President, before I depart," Caleb said casually, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. "As you look to solidify your political alliances in the Northeast ahead of the coming legislative sessions, I would highly recommend consulting closely with Senator Pendleton of Lemoyne."

Hay frowned slightly, recognizing the name. "Pendleton? He is a capable man, certainly, but hardly the perfect man to be the senior voice in New York."

"He is a man of exceptional vision," Caleb corrected smoothly, planting the seed with surgical precision. "He was entirely instrumental in clearing the bureaucratic hurdles for my company's expansion into Manhattan. He understands the necessity of aligning government policy with aggressive industrial growth. He is a man the Thorne Holding Company trusts implicitly. If the administration is looking for a strong, reliable surrogate to champion federal initiatives in New York... Pendleton is your man."

McKinley and Hay exchanged a brief calculating glance. The endorsement of Caleb Thorne, a man they had just decided was a strategic genius,ninstantly elevated Pendleton from a mid level senator to a vital political asset.

"We will certainly keep the Senator in mind, Caleb," McKinley promised.

Caleb offered a final, respectful bow, knowing he had just purchased the absolute, unshakeable loyalty of a New York Senator without spending a single dime of his own money.

He left the Executive Mansion feeling the immense, intoxicating rush of total victory. When he returned to the lavish master suite at the Willard Hotel, he found Mary-Beth reading by the window, while Vincenzo and Hosea reviewed a stack of telegraphs from Strauss in the sitting room.

"Pack the trunks, Vincenzo," Caleb ordered, pouring himself a short glass of bourbon. "We are going home."

Mary-Beth looked up, closing her book with a smile. "Did you conquer the government, Mr. Thorne?"

"I gave them a roadmap, sweetheart," Caleb corrected, walking over to kiss her forehead. "And they bought it wholesale. But our work up here is finished. It is time to return to Saint Denis."

He turned to his underboss. "Vincenzo, send word to the rail yard. Have the locomotive stoked and the armored cars prepped for departure tomorrow morning. And tell Nikola to start loading his equipment."

"Understood, Don Thorne," Vincenzo nodded, gathering the papers. "I will inform the train crew to prepare for a three day run down the coast."

"It isn't going to be a three day run," Caleb said, his eyes gleaming with a relentless, driving ambition. "We are not riding straight through."

Hosea looked up from his ledger, his sharp eyes narrowing. "What are you planning, Caleb?"

"The President gave us the permissions we asked for," Caleb explained, setting his glass down. "We are going to build the communications corridor. We are going to stop the train at strategic intervals along the Appalachian foothills, the Shenandoah, and the deep South. We are going to purchase the leasing rights from the landowners on the spot, and we are going to erect the radio relay towers all the way back to Louisiana."

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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: 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: -