Page 18 of Canyon Killer
Ian moved toward him. “We need to talk,” he said.
Walt looked him up and down. He was at least six inches shorter than Ian and almost fifty years older, but he did his best to look intimidating. “I don’t think we have anything more to discuss.”
“I think it will be worthwhile for you to listen to me.”
Interest sparked in his eyes, and he opened his office door. “Come in.”
Walt settled behind his desk and didn’t say anything. Ian waited. He was good at this game, had seen his dad use silence to his advantage many times. Blowhards like Walt liked the sound of their own voice too much to keep quiet for long.
“So what do you want?” Walt asked at last.
“You’re head of the county commissioners,” Ian said.
“Yes.”
“So you’ll be voting on the operating permit for the via ferrata.”
“I will.”
“Then I want to invite you and the rest of the county commissioners to come to the canyon. See what I have planned there. See how it’s going to benefit this community.”
Walt leaned forward. “And what’s in it for me if I do?”
“You’ll be making an informed vote. One based on facts, not just public opinion.”
He laughed. “You don’t know anything about politics, do you, Mr. Seabrook? Public opinion is all that really matters.”
Ian remained silent. Walt sobered. “I’ve been doing my research on you. Your father has made billions in business. I figured he taught you a few tricks.”
“What do you mean?”
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “When you said it would be worthwhile for me to listen to you, I thought you were going to offer up cash. Isn’t that the way your old man does it?”
“You thought I was going to bribe you?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.” Ian stood. “The offer still stands to come see for yourself what I’m doing.”
“I don’t have to do that. If the voters don’t like it, then I don’t like it. And something else I don’t like is people coming in here and trying to change the way we do things. People move here because they like our way of life. They like being able to drive out to a canyon and climb or hike there.”
“They have plenty of public land where they can do those things,” Ian said. “Humboldt Canyon is private land, and it always has been.”
“Private land that climbers were allowed to use.”
“What do you think would have happened to that land if I hadn’t purchased it?” Ian asked.
“That doesn’t matter becauseyoupurchased it and you’re trying to change things. I’m on the side of the people who are against that.” He stood. “Quit while you’re ahead, son. That’s my advice.”
“You didn’t do enough research when you looked into me,” Ian said. “If you had, you’d know I’m not a quitter.”
CHAPTER SIX
At dinner with her family Saturday, Bethany picked at her plate and half listened as Dalton regaled them with the story of a woman on that afternoon’s tour who had been shocked to discover there were no coffee shops in the high country and the only restroom was a pit toilet beside the road. “She may never forgive her husband for signing her up for the tour,” Dalton said. “But he tipped me twenty bucks, I think for putting up with her.”
“It always pays to be nice to people, no matter how difficult,” Mom said. “Bethany, did anyone interesting stop by the office this afternoon?”
Bethany fumbled her fork. For a moment she wondered if her mother had heard about Ian’s visit. But no, Mom’s bland expression showed she was merely repeating the trick she had used when they were small, of asking each child to contribute something about their day. “As a matter of fact, Ian Seabrook stopped by,” she said.
