Chapter 98: A Ten Grand Library Pass
Back in the quiet upstairs office on Washington Street, the late afternoon light filtered softly through the glass panes. Outside, the steady rumble of horse-drawn drayage wagons and the distant clatter of electric streetcars hummed through the West Side.
Marek sat in the heavy leather armchair across from Ricky’s desk, staring blankly at his hands. He had been staring at them in silence ever since they returned from the Harrison & Bell building.
Ricky leaned back in his swivel chair, watching his friend with a slight grin. "Is it really that big of a deal, Marek?"
Marek looked up, his brow furrowed in genuine exasperation. "Of course it’s a big deal! You just handed me a six-story company! I’m supposed to be running an entire firm, Ricky! I don’t know the first thing about managing an import-export house!"
"It’s easier than what we’ve been doing," Ricky said, waving a hand dismissively. "Think about how we operate right now. We walk the damp docks, negotiate prices face-to-face with gruff saloon owners, and coordinate wagon routes through gang territory. With Harrison & Bell, you aren’t doing any of that."
Marek tilted his head, listening intently.
"Your job is mostly talking to high-society uptown gentlemen and corporate representatives," Ricky explained calmly. "You won’t be making deliveries yourself. The clients handle their own pickup, or the freight gets moved through third-party transport companies, long-distance rails, and steamships. All you and your clerks have to do is manage the inventory manifests, double-check the pre-shipping paperwork, clear customs, and file the bills of lading. It requires far less micromanagement than running our street routes. Plus, Atlantic Pacific Trading Company will be your single biggest client anyway."
Marek let out a quiet breath, leaning forward. "Wait... you’re still going to be in charge of everything as a whole, right?"
"Obviously," Ricky said with a dry chuckle. "Acquiring Harrison & Bell is just the public cover story for where our goods come from. In a couple of days, I’m also leasing a five-story building a few blocks away. That’s going to be the official headquarters for Atlantic Pacific Trading Company. It’s about a quarter smaller than the Harrison building, but it’ll belong directly to us."
Marek collapsed back into his chair, letting out a massive, dramatic sigh of relief. "Jesus... I thought you were throwing me out on a limb to run an independent company all by myself. I was sitting here losing my mind trying to figure out how to manage international shipping lines."
"No," Ricky smiled softly. "Every business owner we set up—whether it’s you, Danny running logistics, or Frank running a club—will legally appear as independent firms on paper. But under the surface, we all belong to the Syndicate. We’ll always be connected."
Marek nodded slowly, the color finally returning to his face. "So... is Tom coming with me?"
"Yes," Ricky said. "You can make Tom your Chief Executive Officer. He’s as sharp as Evelynn when it comes to inner administration and ledgers, which leaves you free to do what you’re best at—building relationships and making social connections uptown."
Ricky paused, resting his elbows on the desk. "Your compensation structures will be different, though. Tom will draw a high executive salary based on his administrative post. You’ll be taking a twenty percent profit share as the primary owner."
Marek’s eyes went wide. "Twenty percent?! Ricky, are you crazy? If that company pulls in tens of thousands of dollars a month, I’m going to have more money than I know how to spend!"
"Then learn how to spend it," Ricky said, amused by his friend’s panic over wealth. "Smart rich people don’t just sit on cash. They reinvest it back into businesses. You invest, take the profit, and invest again. Besides, I’m transferring Phill and James McClain over to your building as well. They need a proper, quiet office space to manage our broader paperwork."
"Alright, fine," Marek muttered, rubbing his temples. "Should I break the news to Tom, or..."
"No, I’ll talk to Tom myself later today," Ricky replied. "I’ll announce the acquisition of the new firm to the entire crew at the warehouse tonight, along with your official ownership."
Marek groaned, standing up from his chair. "It would’ve been much better if you kept it quiet. The boys are never going to let me hear the end of it."
Ricky scoffed. "You have no choice. They’d find out sooner or later anyway."
"Yeah, well..." Marek adjusted his vest, a dry smirk touching his lips. "Maybe you’ll find out soon enough too. Old Mr. Callahan told me last night that his grand scheme is for me to marry all three of the triplets."
Ricky froze, taken aback as he stared at Marek. "Wait... what? When did he say that?"
Marek laughed softly, shaking his head. "Last night at the hotel. He said it’s the only way to stop the three sisters from tearing each other apart over me. Those girls are spoiled right down to the soles of their shoes by their grandfather."
Ricky grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you even handle three of them?"
"Frankly? I have no idea," Marek admitted, picking up his flat cap from the desk. "But I’m a good listener. I told Mr. Callahan I’d look into marriage at a much later date since we’re busy building a business, but I have a feeling he’s going to push for a formal engagement soon. Especially once he finds out I’m now the official owner of an import-export firm on the Hudson."
"Good for you, Marek," Ricky teased smoothly. "Good for you."
"Right," Marek chuckled. "Wait until my family back in Galicia finds out I married three wealthy American triplets at once."
"They’ll probably think you became King of New York," Ricky said.
"Anyway, I have to go find Evelynn," Marek said, walking toward the office door. "She gets terrifying when she’s kept waiting."
"Go on ahead," Ricky waved. "Don’t keep her waiting."
Once the door clicked shut and Marek’s footsteps faded down the hallway, complete silence settled over the office.
Ricky leaned back in his leather chair, staring up at the plain wooden ceiling beams. He let out a long, heavy sigh.
"I’m bored to hell," he muttered to the empty room.
He missed modern entertainment. In 1910, the popular literature available in the corner shops consisted almost entirely of heavy Victorian dramas, bleak realism, or dry historical texts. Ricky had grown up in the 21st century watching anime, reading fast-paced light novels, and scrolling through webnovels. Trying to force himself to read dense 19th-century prose was agonizing.
"Maybe the System Shop has something," Ricky mused aloud.
He focused his mind, summoning the translucent holographic interface of the System Shop into his vision. He tapped into the main catalog, scrolling through the established subcategories: Food & Beverages, Daily Household Items, Firearms & Ammunition, Raw Industrial Materials, Agricultural Supplies.
He kept scrolling, looking for a media or book section. There wasn’t one.
Ricky frowned. "Weird... It sells everything from fresh pork belly to raw copper, but it doesn’t carry books?"
As if responding to his thought, a crisp, blue notification window popped up in the center of the interface:
[Notice: Unlock System Library Category?]
[Cost: $10,000.00 USD]
Ricky paused, his eyebrows pulling together. Ten thousand dollars?
Every standard capacity upgrade or item unlock in the System Shop cost negligible sums—ten dollars here, a hundred dollars there to raise his daily purchasing limits. Demanding a steep ten-thousand-dollar fee just to unlock a single category felt suspicious.
"Ten grand just for books?" Ricky muttered, leaning over his desk as he stared at the screen. "There has to be a hidden feature behind that price tag."
He didn’t care about the money itself. Between his daily Greenwich liquor runs and the fresh cash from Owney Madden, his liquid reserves easily exceeded that amount. It was the reasoning behind the massive cost that intrigued him.
Ricky reached out and tapped [YES].
The interface flashed brightly. The simple text catalog expanded exponentially, reorganizing itself into massive, sweeping sub-directories:
[Literary] | [Non-Fiction] | [Documentaries] | [History] | [Magazines] | [Periodicals] | [Encyclopedias] | [Science & Technology] | [Economics] | [Schematics - Declassified / Classified] | [Ancient Records - LOCKED]
Ricky blinked, his breath catching slightly. He tapped into the [Periodicals] tab, then clicked on [Newspapers].
A timeline slider appeared at the bottom of the screen, ranging from 59 BCE all the way to 2026 CE.
Ricky’s jaw went slack. "Holy fucking shit..."
It wasn’t just a collection of cheap fiction novels. The System had just granted him direct, searchable access to the entire written historical record of human civilization up to the year he had left.
He sat up straight, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Does this update dynamically? he wondered suddenly. If I change history in 1910, do these future records change to reflect what I’ve done?
To test it, Ricky spent five dollars to purchase a digital reprint of The New York Times issue dated for the exact current date—August 31, 1910.
A fresh, crisp copy of the paper materialized on his desk.
Ricky picked up the physical newspaper he had bought off the street an hour ago—which contained subtle local reports about the sudden rise of an aggressive new wholesale group dominating the West Side docks—and laid it side-by-side with the paper generated by the System.
He quickly scanned the front page of the System newspaper.
There was no mention of the Atlantic & Pacific Trading Co. No mention of Richard Stevenson, no mention of the sudden collapse of Harrison & Bell’s Greenwich trade, and no mention of the Hudson Dusters’ changing supply lines. It contained only the baseline historical events of the original 1910 timeline.
Ricky let out a slow, quiet breath, leaning back into his chair with a mixture of relief and faint disappointment.
"So it doesn’t dynamically alter," Ricky muttered, staring at the paper. "It’s a static archive of my original timeline."
He stared at the vast interface hovering before him. Even if it didn’t update dynamically, holding the complete written records of humanity—including future corporate stock movements, declassified military schematics, scientific breakthroughs, and detailed historical biographies—was a terrifying power.
Altering minor local market trades in Greenwich was one thing. But if he accidentally introduced a piece of advanced technology or altered a major historical event using this library, he would be steering the world into completely unmapped territory. An unknown future was far more dangerous than a history he already knew.
Ricky shook his head, looking down at the crisp newspaper on his desk with a dry, ironic laugh.
"I just wanted a damn webnovel to pass the afternoon," Ricky whispered to the quiet room, "and the System hands me the entire history of the world."