Chapter 604 - 604: 576. Another Genius Targeted & Good Medical News

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!

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(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel a Dragon Age Inquisition novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)

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The Wright brothers were actively redesigning the mechanics of flight. Nikola Tesla was currently researching the atmospheric frequencies required to bounce energy across the Pacific Ocean. The greatest medical minds in America were packing their bags to move to Saint Denis, and the Model T automobiles were currently rolling off an assembly line in Michigan. Caleb stood on the steps of his mansion, his arm wrapped securely around his pregnant wife, listening to the faint, crackling sound of ragtime music drifting over the city walls.

For the next two days, the sprawling machinery of the Thorne Holding Company was deliberately kept at bay. Caleb had compartmentalized his empire, allowing his trusted man to manage the daily operations while he devoted his complete, undivided attention to the Garden District mansion and the woman residing within it.

The late summer heat was beginning to break, leaving the mornings pleasantly cool and wrapped in a soft, coastal mist. Caleb utilized this time to introduce Mary-Beth to a regimen that directly contradicted the archaic, often dangerous medical advice of the era. In 1900, high society doctors routinely prescribed absolute bed rest, heavy corsets, and enforced lethargy for expectant mothers, a cocktail of ignorance that frequently led to severe muscular atrophy and complicated, agonizing labors.

Caleb's Past Life Memory provided a much different, far more enlightened blueprint for maternal care.

"I still feel utterly ridiculous," Mary-Beth laughed, adjusting the loose, comfortable linen dress Caleb had specifically requested the tailors make for her. She was standing in the center of the manicured back lawn, her hands resting on her hips.

"You don't look ridiculous. You look like a woman preparing for a heavy physical activities," Caleb countered smoothly, walking alongside her on the soft grass. "Which is exactly what labor is. If you spend nine months lying on a velvet sofa, your muscles will forget how to work when you actually need them. We are building endurance."

He guided her through a series of light, modern exercises, gentle walking paces around the perimeter of the gardens, specific stretches designed to open the pelvis and alleviate the growing pressure on her lower back, and deep, rhythmic breathing routines to expand her lung capacity.

Mary-Beth, who possessed a naturally sharp mind and a growing disdain for the suffocating rules of high society, embraced the routine with surprising enthusiasm. She could feel the difference in her own body, the exercises chased away the lingering fatigue and left her feeling strong, grounded, and entirely in control.

"Inhale deeply, hold it for three seconds, and let it out slowly," Caleb instructed, matching her breathing as they stood beneath the shade of a massive, ancient oak tree. "It floods the blood with oxygen. It's good for you, and it's good for the child."

Mary-Beth exhaled a long, steady breath, her shoulders dropping in relaxed satisfaction. She turned to him, her dark eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and deep affection. "Where did you learn all of this, Caleb? Truly. The midwives in the city tell me I shouldn't even walk up the stairs unassisted, and yet my husband is out here teaching me exercises like a physical instructor."

"I told you," Caleb smiled, brushing a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. "The medical establishment in this century is operating in the dark. I prefer the light. I want you strong, Mary-Beth. When the day comes, I want your body ready to fight."

"I am ready," she promised softly, resting her hand over his.

Later that afternoon, they transitioned to the wide, shaded veranda wrapping around the rear of the mansion. Antonio brought out a silver tray laden with chamomile tea, fresh fruit, and small, baked pastries. Mary-Beth settled into a plush wicker chair, a new romance novel resting in her lap, completely at peace.

Caleb sat opposite her at a small wrought-iron table, a stack of heavy, leather bound corporate ledgers piled before him.

He was cross referencing the massive, terrifying influx of capital pouring in from the Thorne-Marlin firearm sales, the Model T advance orders, and the T&T Wave Co. radio subscriptions. The numbers were staggering. He was shifting decimal points, calculating compound interest, and projecting the financial trajectory of the holding company over the next decade.

But as he stared at the complex mathematics, tracing the intricate formulas required to balance an empire that spanned multiple industries, his mind began to drift. The raw numbers blurred on the parchment, triggering a cascade of the altering information from his Past Life Memory.

He was looking at the foundational math of his current empire, but his mind instantly leaped to the foundational math of the universe.

1900.

Caleb lowered his fountain pen, his eyes narrowing as he stared out at the gardens.

Right now, in Europe, the old guard of classical physics was beginning to fracture. Within the next five years, the world would experience the Annus Mirabilis, the miracle year. A young, largely ignored patent clerk sitting in a cramped office in Switzerland was about to publish a series of papers that would completely shatter humanity's understanding of space, time, mass, and energy.

Albert Einstein.

Caleb's pulse quickened, a cold, calculating thrill washing over him. He remembered the historical timeline with terrifying clarity. Einstein was currently a young man, likely fresh out of the Zurich Polytechnic, struggling to find a teaching position, unrecognized by the academic titans of Europe.

But Caleb knew exactly what that young man's mind contained. He knew about the photoelectric effect. He knew about special relativity. And most importantly, Caleb knew about the terrifying, inevitable conclusion of that mathematics: $E=mc^2$.

That single equation was the key to the atomic age. It was the undeniable foundation that would eventually lead a man named J. Robert Oppenheimer to the deserts of New Mexico, where the sky would catch fire and the world would forever live under the shadow of nuclear annihilation.

If Caleb truly wanted to control the twentieth century, he could not simply control the steel, the skies, and the radios. He had to control the atom. He had to possess the mind that would unlock it.

"I need him," Caleb murmured aloud, his voice dropping into a low, predatory register.

Mary-Beth looked up from her novel, blinking in mild surprise. "Need who, darling?"

Caleb looked at his wife, the sheer magnitude of his realization settling into his bones. "A physicist. A young man currently living in Europe. He is going to rewrite the laws of the universe, Mary-Beth, and I cannot allow him to do it for anyone else. I need him here. In Saint Denis. Working for me."

He pulled a blank sheet of heavy parchment toward him, dipping his pen into the inkwell. He began drafting an immediate classified directive for Vincenzo. They needed to send people that they can trust to Switzerland and Germany. They needed to scour the academic registries, the patent offices, and the universities to locate a young German born physicist named Albert Einstein.

But as Caleb wrote out the recruitment parameters, he hit a massive, insurmountable logistical wall.

How do you recruit the greatest scientific mind in human history?

You couldn't just send a telegraph. A few lines of staccato text typed out by a bored telegraph operator would never convince a man of that intellect to pack up his life and cross the Atlantic Ocean. Einstein was notoriously skeptical of authority and corporate greed. A simple letter offering a massive salary would likely be ignored or dismissed as a scam.

Caleb needed to speak to him. He needed to convey the raw, visionary scope of the Thorne Holding Company. He needed to debate the physics of light and energy with the young genius in real time, to prove that Saint Denis was not just a corporate headquarters, but the future epicenter of human scientific achievement.

But real time communication across the Atlantic did not exist. The undersea telegraph cables could only carry Morse code, and the telephone lines ended at the shoreline.

Caleb stared at the letter, his jaw tightening.

He couldn't reach Europe. Not yet.

The realization instantly elevated the urgency of Nikola Tesla's current project from a long term goal to an immediate, absolute necessity. If Caleb was going to recruit the architects of the atomic age, he needed the Wardenclyffe style transmitting tower fully operational. He needed the ability to bounce a human voice off the ionosphere, across the ocean, and directly into the ears of the European continent.

"I have to go to the swamps," Caleb announced abruptly, standing up and closing the ledger.

Mary-Beth sighed, a knowing, affectionate smile touching her lips. She had watched the sudden, intense spark ignite in his eyes. "You built the runway for the flying machines, Caleb. What are you building now?"

"A bridge," Caleb answered, walking over to kiss her deeply on the forehead. "A bridge to Europe. I will be back for dinner."

Within the hour, Caleb's carriage was tearing down the dirt roads leading to the western edge of the city. He bypassed the roaring civilian radio factories entirely, pulling up to the heavily electrified chain-link gates of Tesla's private laboratory.

Caleb strode into the massive, corrugated iron warehouse, shrugging off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves before the door even swung shut behind him.

Tesla was standing atop a twenty foot wooden scaffolding, wrestling with a massive, heavy gauge copper coil that would serve as the primary grounding matrix for the scaled down prototype tower they were building in the center of the lab.

"Nikola!" Caleb shouted, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

Tesla looked down, wiping a smear of grease from his forehead. "Caleb! You are early! I thought we agreed on ten o'clock!"

"The schedule just speed up," Caleb declared, walking over to a pair of heavy leather work gloves and pulling them on. He looked up at the terrifying, complex architecture of the prototype transmitter taking shape in the warehouse. "I need the oceanic bounce, Nikola. I need to be able to broadcast a voice from this room to a receiver in Switzerland, and I need to do it before the year is out."

Tesla's eyes widened, his manic energy instantly matching Caleb's fierce intensity. The inventor practically scrambled down the wooden ladder, landing heavily on the concrete floor.

"Switzerland?" Tesla gasped, his mind already running the staggering mathematics required for a transcontinental atmospheric bounce. "Caleb, the curvature of the earth between Lemoyne and central Europe is massive! The signal degradation over the Atlantic will be catastrophic unless we can generate a primary oscillation of at least four million volts!"

"Then we build a generator that produces five million volts," Caleb countered, walking over to a heavy wooden spool of copper wire. "We do not compromise on the power. If the signal degrades, we push harder. Tell me what you need."

"I need absolute precision in the primary and secondary coils!" Tesla demanded, gesturing wildly to the wooden scaffolding. "The resonant frequency must be a perfect mathematical match to the natural electrical capacitance of the earth! If the winding is off by even a fraction of an inch, the wave will scatter into the atmosphere instead of reflecting off the ionosphere!"

"I will wind the coils," Caleb stated, his Max Level Crafting skill burning in his muscles. "Show me the math."

For the rest of the afternoon, the laboratory became a crucible of raw, unrestrained scientific obsession. Caleb and Tesla worked in perfect, terrifying tandem. Caleb scaled the wooden scaffolding, hauling massive spools of heavy copper wire. His hands moved with unnatural, flawless speed, utilizing his supernatural crafting abilities to wind the primary coils with a geometric perfection that defied human limitation. He didn't just build the machine; he sculpted it, ensuring every single loop of copper was spaced to the exact microscopic tolerance Tesla's algebraic equations demanded.

They worked until their hands bled and their muscles screamed, driven by the absolute necessity of breaking the oceanic barrier. The prototype was growing. The bridge to Albert Einstein was physically taking shape in the Louisiana swamps.

Several days passed in a relentless, exhausting cycle. Caleb adhered to his strict boundary, leaving the laboratory at exactly five o'clock to return to Mary-Beth, but during the working hours, he drove the construction of the prototype tower forward with ruthless efficiency.

On a bright Thursday morning, the intense focus on the radio tower was momentarily broken by a massive victory on an entirely different front.

Caleb was sitting in his study, reviewing a stack of metallurgical reports from the Thorne-Marlin foundries, when Vincenzo and Pierre walked through the heavy oak doors. They didn't look like men bringing bad news. They looked like men who had just robbed the federal reserve and gotten away with it.

"Boss," Vincenzo grinned, dropping a thick, heavily stamped architectural folio onto the desk. "The bricks are laid."

Caleb opened the folio. It contained the latest structural reports from the construction site of the Thorne Medical Institute.

"Fifty percent completion," Pierre reported, adjusting his spectacles, a smug, highly satisfied smile on his face. "The primary surgical pavilion is fully framed, the roof is sealed, and the seamless ceramic tiles are actively being installed in the operating theaters. The high pressure steam lines for the autoclaves have been plumbed into the basement. It is no longer just a blueprint, Boss. The hospital is physically standing."

Caleb ran his hand over the architectural sketches, a profound sense of relief washing over him. The fortress against the diseases of the twentieth century was becoming a reality.

"That is excellent news," Caleb said, looking up at his underbosses. "But a building is useless without the minds to run it. Tell me we have movement in Baltimore."

Vincenzo's grin widened into a full, predatory smile. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a single wax sealed envelope.

"We don't just have movement, Boss. We have a defection," Vincenzo announced, sliding the envelope across the mahogany desk. "Dr. William H. Howell. The brilliant physiologist and the man you tapped to be the Dean of the Thorne College of Medicine. He formally resigned from Johns Hopkins yesterday morning."

Caleb picked up the envelope, feeling the heavy, definitive weight of the paper. He broke the seal and pulled out the signed, notarized contract. It was flawless.

"He agreed to all the terms," Pierre confirmed smoothly. "The generous salary, the complete autonomy over the curriculum, and the private estate in Saint Denis. He was incredibly eager to escape the stifling academic politics of the old guard. He and his family are currently packing their belongings. They will be boarding a private train south by the end of the week."

Caleb leaned back in his leather chair, a slow, triumphant breath escaping his lips.

It was a staggering strategic victory. He hadn't just recruited a doctor, he had recruited the organizational architect of the entire medical institute.

"This is exactly what we needed," Caleb said, his eyes scanning Howell's elegant signature. "Dr. Howell isn't just going to teach. He is going to build the administrative foundation of the college before the construction is even finished. He can begin drafting the curriculum, organizing the clinical rotations, and designing the modern system of medical education from his estate."

"And it triggers the domino effect," Vincenzo added, leaning against the edge of the desk. "The moment the Hopkins board realizes that one of their premier educators just defected to a private institute in Louisiana, the shockwaves are going to hit Osler and Halsted. They are going to realize this isn't just southern corporate posturing. This is a legitimate, unstoppable medical revolution."

"Let the shockwaves hit," Caleb ordered, his eyes cold and calculating. "Have the capos prepare the estate for Howell's arrival. I want it fully staffed, stocked with the finest provisions, and guarded. When he steps off that train, I want him to know he made the greatest decision of his life. We treat him like royalty."

"Consider it done, Boss," Vincenzo nodded.

With the medical institute rapidly gaining momentum, the following week settled into a highly productive, meticulously balanced rhythm. Caleb was a master juggler, keeping the various, massive spheres of his empire spinning in perfect harmony.

He spent his mornings in the swamps with Tesla, scaling the wooden scaffolding and fine tuning the massive copper coils of the prototype Wardenclyffe transmitter. The machine was nearly complete, an imposing, terrifying monument to raw electrical potential.

He spent his early afternoons checking in on the Wright brothers at the Lemoyne aviation testing grounds. Following the successful, if slightly bruised, test flight, Wilbur and Orville had completely dismantled the flyer and were actively rebuilding the lower frame using Thorne's tubular steel.

Taking Caleb and Tesla's advice to heart, they were also designing a revolutionary pressurized fuel-injection system for the aluminum engine block, completely bypassing the gravity fed carburetor that had caused Orville's stall.

But no matter how demanding the factories, the radios, or the airplanes became, Caleb's late afternoons and evenings belonged entirely to Mary-Beth.

Another week slipped by in this relentless, beautiful cadence. The late September air grew crisp and cool, signaling the true arrival of autumn in the South.

Caleb and Mary-Beth were spending a quiet, peaceful Friday afternoon in the grand drawing room of the mansion. The French doors were thrown wide open, allowing the cool breeze to sweep through the room. Mary-Beth was sitting on a plush velvet sofa, a cup of herbal tea resting on the table beside her, while she read a draft of her latest novel aloud to Caleb.

Caleb was sitting in a heavy armchair opposite her, his eyes closed, genuinely enjoying the cadence of her voice and the rich, descriptive prose she had crafted. The chaos of the twentieth century felt a million miles away.

The quiet intimacy of the moment was suddenly interrupted by the sound of rapid, heavy footsteps echoing down the marble hallway.

Antonio, the typically unflappable head steward of the Thorne household, appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. He did not look calm. His eyes were wide, his usual composed posture slightly rigid, and he looked entirely unsure of how to process the information he was about to deliver. "Mr. Thorne. Mrs. Thorne," Antonio bowed quickly, clearing his throat. "I apologize most sincerely for the interruption. But... there is a situation in the main driveway."

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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: -