Chapter 597 - 597: 569. Medical Geniuses

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"The sheer volume of capital moving through our accounts has inevitably attracted the attention of Wall Street. In the past month alone, I have been approached by representatives from J.P. Morgan, the Vanderbilt trusts, and three independent investment syndicates. They are offering massive infusions of cash in exchange for equity stakes in the Thorne Holding Company, specifically targeting the restaurant franchise and the bicycle manufacturing divisions. I have, in accordance with your strict, standing orders, politely but firmly rejected every single offer. They are growing frustrated."

Caleb let out a cold, sharp laugh.

He knew exactly how the Wall Street sharks operated. He had seen it play out a thousand times in his past life. The investment banks would offer a fortune to buy a thirty percent stake in a growing company. Then, they would use their board seats to demand a short term profit margins.

They would slash the quality of the materials, cut the wages of the workers, and hollow out the soul of the company just to drive the quarterly dividends up. Once the brand was ruined and the public lost trust, the bankers would sell their shares and move on, leaving a hollow shell behind.

Caleb of course was not going to let a bunch of soft handed men in Manhattan hollow out his empire.

He grabbed his pen and drafted a rapid reply to Strauss.

"Herr Strauss. Exceptional work on securing the Manhattan deeds. Regarding Wall Street: keep rejecting them. Do not let them buy a single fraction of a percent of this company. We do not need their capital, we generate our own. Tell the bankers that the Thorne Holding Company is fully private held, and the door is permanently closed. Let them be frustrated. If there's any aggressive movement by them, no need to worry and retaliat the same."

Caleb paused, thinking about the massive influx of cash generated by the radio patents and the firearms. He had capital to burn, and it was time to scale.

"With New York secured, it is time to expand the Thorne Crown footprint. Look beyond the state line. I want one flagship location established in Boston, one in Philadelphia, and one in Chicago. Same protocols. We buy the land, we build the restaurant, and we own the deed. Utilize your network to hire regional managers for these locations immediately. Find men and women of competence whom we can trust entirely. Pay them significantly above the market rate to ensure their loyalty. Execute the expansion."

He sealed the letter and tossed it into the outbox.

Caleb leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head, looking out the large window of his study at the sprawling, wealthy gardens of Saint Denis.

The scope of his reality was staggering.

He pulled the final summary reports from the various division heads, confirming what he already knew in his bones.

The Thorne Bicycles had officially surpassed Columbia and Pope Manufacturing. They were the undisputed number one bicycle brand in the entire United States, and massive crates of the tubular steel frames were currently being loaded onto steamships in the Saint Denis harbor, fulfilling lucrative new export contracts to Britain and France.

Thorne-Marlin Firearms was dominating the military and civilian markets. The Vanguard rifle was the gold standard for accuracy, and the M1911 pistols were flying out of the armories faster than Caleb could forge them. The name 'Thorne' was now universally recognized in every gun shop, military barracks, and hunting lodge across the continent.

And then there was the T&T Radio Wave Co.

The heavy, polished wooden receiver boxes were appearing in the parlors of the ultra rich in every major city. It was the ultimate status symbol, a box that plucked invisible voices out of thin air. But the true power lay in the infrastructure.

True to his word, President McKinley had authorized massive federal land grants. Relay towers, guarded by federal marshals and maintained by Thorne engineers, were actively being erected across the Midwest and the Eastern Seaboard, building the invisible web that Caleb controlled.

The reports didn't lie.

The Thorne Holding Company was no longer a regional success story. It was no longer just a rising star in the South.

From the luxury hotels in the mountains to the restaurants in Manhattan, from the firearms in the holsters of lawmen to the invisible radio waves bouncing across the country, Caleb had interwoven his empire into the daily fabric of American life.

It was a household name.

And in a locked vault in the swamps of Lemoyne mad also the open area of Lemyone, Nikola Tesla and the Wright brothers were preparing to give that household wings.

Caleb poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, the dark, rich liquid steaming in the quiet study. He took a sip, smiling as he looked at the map of the United States pinned to his wall.

He had won the century before it even truly began.

The map of the United States pinned to the wall of Caleb's study was covered in red ink, railway lines, radio relay towers, and factory locations marking the undisputed territory of the Thorne Holding Company. But as Caleb sat in the quiet, dim light of his study, his eyes were not on the map of his empire.

They were fixed on a set of architectural blueprints spread flat across his mahogany desk.

It was a design for a hospital. More specifically, a private, modern maternity ward and surgical pavilion.

The impending birth of his child had suddenly shifted Caleb's perspective. He had conquered steel, steam, and radio waves, but none of that mattered if he could not conquer the microscopic terrors of 1900s medicine. He knew the terrifying statistics of the era. He knew about puerperal fever, sepsis, and the sheer, arrogant ignorance of physicians who still believed hand-washing was a tedious formality.

He had already drafted the basic protocols of antisepsis, forging stainless steel surgical tools and designing high pressure steam autoclaves. He knew the theoretical concept of Penicillium mold from his Past Life Memory, but he was a manufacturer, an industrialist, and a tactician. He was not a biologist. He did not know how to chemically isolate and stabilize an antibiotic strain without killing the patient.

To bridge the gap between 1900 and the modern era, Caleb needed more than just his own fragmented historical knowledge. He needed the finest, most brilliant medical minds of the generation. He needed pioneers who possessed the foundational understanding of human anatomy and pathology to take his crude directives and turn them into scientific reality.

Two weeks prior, he had dispatched Vincenzo's most sophisticated, articulate scouts, men posing as wealthy philanthropists and academic headhunters, to scour the prestigious universities and hospitals of the Northeast. Their orders were absolute, find the geniuses. Find the mavericks. Find the men and women who were pushing the boundaries of medicine, and bring their names back to Saint Denis.

Caleb was deep in thought, tracing the layout of an operating theater with his pen, when the heavy, polished wooden receiver on his desk suddenly hummed to life. The glass vacuum tubes glowed a vibrant, hot orange as the mechanical tuning fork locked into the restricted federal frequency.

"Saint Denis, this is the Executive Mansion," the radio crackled, the static filtering out to reveal the distinct, measured voice of President William McKinley.

Caleb set his pen down and picked up the heavy microphone, depressing the brass lever. "This is Thorne. Good evening, Mr. President."

"Good evening, Caleb," McKinley replied, a faint trace of dry amusement coloring his tone. "I am calling to confirm that your... administrative assistant... has arrived safely in Washington. She has been officially inducted into my personal staff."

Caleb smiled, leaning back in his leather chair. "I appreciate you indulging me, Mr. President. Has she settled in?"

"She has," McKinley noted. "I will admit, Caleb, when you proposed the idea, I thought you were being overly dramatic. But having seen her in the West Wing today... your psychological assessment of the Washington elite was entirely accurate. The senators, the cabinet secretaries, the press corps, they look right through her. They see a polite young woman taking notes in a gray dress, and they immediately dismiss her from their calculations. It is rather remarkable."

"The arrogance of powerful men is their greatest blind spot, sir," Caleb said smoothly. "May I speak with her?"

"Hold the line," McKinley said. A moment of muffled movement echoed through the speaker, followed by the familiar, sharp voice of Sadie Adler.

"Caleb?" Sadie's voice came through the radio, sounding clear despite the thousand miles of atmospheric interference.

"I'm here, Sadie," Caleb answered, a genuine warmth in his voice. "How is the capital treating you?"

"It's full of hot air and men who love the sound of their own voices," Sadie grumbled, though a fierce edge of amusement laced her words. "And these shoes are a damn medieval torture device. But you were right, Caleb. I stood three feet behind the President during a meeting with the Secretary of the Navy today, and the man didn't even glance at me. I could have drawn a weapon, filed my nails, and poured a cup of coffee before anyone in that room realized what was happening."

"That is exactly why you are there," Caleb reminded her, his tone shifting into a serious, commanding register. "Do not let the boredom dull your instincts, Sadie. The moment you think you are safe is the moment you miss the blade. You watch the hands. You watch the eyes. You assume everyone in that room is a threat until proven otherwise."

"I know how to hunt, Caleb," Sadie replied, the gravelly, lethal confidence of the frontier returning to her voice. "I've got the perimeter secured. Nobody is touching him on my watch. You just make sure things don't fall apart down in the swamps while I'm gone."

"I'll do my best," Caleb laughed softly. "Stay sharp, Sadie. Thorne out."

He released the lever, the radio clicking back to a low, standby hum. He felt a profound sense of relief knowing the deadliest woman he had ever met was currently standing in the blind spot of the American presidency. He hoped his bad feeling about the coming year was nothing more than historical paranoia, but he was not a man who left things to chance.

A sharp knock at the heavy oak doors of the study pulled Caleb from his thoughts.

"Enter," Caleb called out.

The doors swung open, and Hosea walked in, followed closely by Vincenzo. Vincenzo was carrying a thick, heavy leather satchel bulging with files. The underboss looked exhausted, having spent the last two weeks coordinating a massive, silent intelligence-gathering operation across half the country.

"We have the reports, Caleb," Hosea said, taking a seat in one of the leather armchairs across from the desk. He gestured to Vincenzo, who stepped forward and placed the heavy satchel on the mahogany surface.

"My men have combed every major medical institution from Boston to Baltimore, Boss," Vincenzo reported, unbuckling the leather straps and pulling out several thick, manila dossiers. "They spoke to hospital administrators, medical students, and rival physicians. We didn't just look for men who knew how to amputate a leg. We looked for the architects. The men who are writing the textbooks."

"Show me," Caleb ordered, leaning forward.

Vincenzo laid the first four dossiers in a neat row across the desk. They all bore the same institutional heading in Vincenzo's sharp handwriting: Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore.

"If you want to build a medical empire, Caleb," Hosea began, tapping the first file, "Baltimore is the center of the universe. Johns Hopkins is currently harboring the most formidable concentration of medical intellect in the country. Our men identified four primary targets. They are the leaders of their respective fields."

Caleb opened the first dossier. It contained a photograph of a distinguished, sharp eyed man with a thick mustache.

"Dr. William Osler," Vincenzo provided the briefing, standing at attention. "He is widely considered the most respected physician in America. His clinical judgment is legendary. He is currently revolutionizing the way medicine is taught, dragging the students out of the lecture halls and forcing them to learn directly at the patient's bedside. He is practically a deity at Hopkins."

"A man like that doesn't move for a slight bump in salary," Caleb noted, scanning the reports of Osler's prestigious tenure. "He already has wealth and absolute respect."

"Correct," Hosea agreed. "If you try to simply buy him, he will be insulted. Our agents recommend an entirely different approach. You offer him something that codul gain him power and influence. You offer him the position of Chief Physician and Head of Medical Education at the new Thorne Medical Institute. You guarantee him unquestioned authority over clinical education, a massive operational budget, unlimited research funding, and a custom built, fully staffed department. You aren't offering him a job, Caleb. You are offering him the chance to build the greatest medical facility on earth from the ground up, with your blank check backing him."

"Draft the proposal," Caleb said immediately, his mind already assembling the pitch. "Give him whatever he wants. Housing, staff, autonomy. Tell him I want to redefine the future of clinical medicine."

Vincenzo nodded, sliding the second dossier forward. "Dr. William Halsted. He is the first surgeon at Hopkins. The man is a fanatic for precision. He is pioneering radical new surgical techniques, utilizing absolute, meticulous control over bleeding, and he is a tyrant for cleanliness in the operating room."

Caleb's eyes locked onto the file. 'Cleanliness in the operating room.' This was exactly the man he needed to implement his stainless steel, autoclaved vision of modern surgery.

"Halsted is a difficult man," Hosea warned, crossing his legs. "He is incredibly demanding, obsessive, and his reputation for absolute surgical perfection makes him the most valuable surgeon on the eastern seaboard. He will not abandon his theater at Hopkins easily."

"He will if I build him a theater out of the future," Caleb countered, his voice cold and calculating. "I want him. Offer him total, absolute control over the Surgical Institute in Saint Denis. Tell him I will build him operating rooms lined with seamless white ceramic tile, illuminated by Tesla's arc lighting. Tell him I will provide him with high pressure steam autoclaves, stainless steel instruments, and an unlimited budget for surgical assistants and research. He wants perfection? Offer him a ten year exclusive contract and tell him the Thorne Holding Company will eliminate every single financial and logistical barrier standing between him and surgical perfection."

"It's a terrifying offer," Hosea smirked. "He won't be able to sleep knowing a facility like that exists without him running it."

"Next," Caleb ordered.

"Dr. William H. Welch," Vincenzo read from the third file. "The foremost figure in pathology and medical research in America. He is the man who truly understands the microscopic nature of disease. He is deeply entrenched at Hopkins, but our scouts noted a vulnerability. He is constantly fighting the university board for funding and laboratory space."

"Then we exploit the vulnerability," Caleb said without hesitation. "Money without institutional restrictions. We offer Welch absolute control over the Research Division. I will build him a dedicated, state of the art pathology laboratory. He gets his own assistants, his own independent funding, and the unilateral authority to recruit any scientist he wants without having to beg a university board for a dime. We remove the bureaucracy so he can focus entirely on the science."

Vincenzo slid the fourth Hopkins file forward. "Dr. William H. Howell. A brilliant physiologist and an exceptional medical educator. If you are building an institute, you need someone to organize the curriculum and manage the academic structure."

"Offer him the position of Dean of the Saint Denis College of Medicine," Caleb commanded smoothly. "Give him the authority to design the entire curriculum from scratch, select his own professors, and establish the clinical training protocols. I want him to build a modern system of medical education that makes Harvard look like a primitive apothecary."

Hosea raised a hand, stopping the rapid-fire dictation. His sharp, con man instincts were flaring.

"Caleb, hold on," Hosea warned, his voice grave. "You are talking about decapitating Johns Hopkins. If you try to lure Osler, Halsted, Welch, and Howell away all at once, you are going to trigger a national academic war. The Hopkins board has deep pockets and powerful political friends. If they realize you are attempting a wholesale raid of their founding physicians, they will lock them down with injunctions, smear your reputation in the medical journals, and turn the establishment against you."

Caleb leaned back, steepling his fingers, staring at the four dossiers. He knew Hosea was absolutely right. You couldn't just walk into the premier medical institution in America and steal its heart in one night.

"We don't approach them all at once," Caleb decided, his mind shifting into a strategic, long term acquisition phase. "We approach them individually. We start with the man whose ambitions are most aggressively restricted by the current Hopkins bureaucracy, likely Welch or Halsted. We hit them with a highly tailored confidential offer. Once we secure the first signature, we use his defection as leverage to recruit the second. We let the gravity of the Thorne Institute build until it becomes utterly irresistible. It is a domino effect."

Hosea smiled, satisfied with the brutal, calculated patience of the plan. "Surgical. I like it."

"What else do we have?" Caleb asked, looking at the remaining files in Vincenzo's satchel. "Hopkins gives me the clinical foundation, but I need specialized researchers. I need men and women who are willing to look at bizarre theories."

Vincenzo pulled a file marked Philadelphia.

"Dr. Simon Flexner," Vincenzo reported. "He is a young and highly respected pathologist currently at the University of Pennsylvania. Our agents note that he is incredibly ambitious, brilliant, and hungry to expand his independent research. Because he is younger, he isn't as deeply entrenched in the old guard establishment as the men in Baltimore."

"Young and ambitious," Caleb mused, a predatory spark in his eyes. "That makes him dangerous, and easy to recruit. Offer him a massive, fully funded laboratory in Saint Denis. Guarantee him complete, unhindered scientific freedom. Give him the finest equipments to date, a dedicated staff, and a ten year exclusive contract. Pay him double what Pennsylvania is paying him. I want young wolves in my research division."

...

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: -