Page 46 of Canyon Killer
“Let’s hope the sheriff’s department comes up with something.” She stood. “I’ll step out for a few minutes so you can get dressed. Then I’ll take you home.”
While he was focused on seeing the via ferrata project through to completion, she would do a little more digging into the history of the area and the people associated with it on her own.
When Ian’s phonerang Monday afternoon, he debated not answering it. He was almost at the point where he couldn’t deal with one more thing. But he knew better than to think ignoring this particular caller would give him any peace. He clicked to answer. “Hello, Dad.”
“I heard you’re up to your elbows in alligators with this iron road project of yours.” Phillip Seabrook had a sharp, clipped way of speaking, emphasizing each word and talking a little louder than necessary. “I called to see if you were ready to cry uncle and let me bail you out.”
“You heard wrong,” Ian said. “Everything is going smoothly.”
“Ha! Don’t ever try to beat me in a poker game, son. You’re a terrible bluffer,” he said. “I can read, you know, and that little newspaper in Eagle Mountain reports that the locals have been protesting against your climbing playground and one of them almost died. Not to mention two skeletons found in a cave up there before you even broke ground. You’ve had enough bad publicity already to sink this project. I’m offering you a chance to get out while you’re ahead. Go back to climbing mountains in Peru.”
“No, thanks, Dad.” He tried to sound snide, but no one could layer on the disdain like his old man.
“You haven’t even heard my offer.”
“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
“You won’t get an offer like this from anyone else,” Phil said. “Of course, I’ll give you less than you paid for the place, but that’s to be expected since the property has a negative history now, what with finding dead bodies and people being almost killed.”
I was one of those people, he wanted to point out but didn’t. “If you think people in Eagle Mountain are going to welcome your mining project more than they’ve welcomed my plans for a via ferrata, you’re dreaming,” he said.
“The difference, son, is that I don’t care what the locals think. I’ll promise a lot of jobs and deliver on that promise, and I’ll be sure to contribute a lot of money to every local cause. They’ll hate me for a while, but by the time I’m done pouring on the cash, they’ll love me. I’ll own them and I’ll own their politicians, and I’ll be even richer from all the rare earth metals I’m going to pull out of the ground.”
“What happens when you’ve mined all the metals from the canyon?” Ian asked.
“I’ll throw more money their way to do what they want to about cleaning up the problem, and I’ll move on.”
“I’m staying right here,” Ian said.
“You’re so transparent,” Phil said. “I can sense your disapproval through the line. But you’re not any better than I am, deep down. You’re building your own climbing playground in the canyon and deigning to share it with the locals. At least the things I do feed more than my ego.”
“Why are you calling about this now, Dad?”
“Isn’t that clear? I thought you’d be ready to sell out.”
“But why call today? Did you know I just got out of the hospital?”
“The sheriff’s deputy who contacted me might have mentioned it. Did you really think I’m the one behind your accident?”
The sheriff’s department was leaving no stone unturned in their search for the person responsible for the vandalism. “I don’t know, Dad. You always said you did whatever it takes to succeed.”
“That doesn’t include harming my own son, even if you don’t have sense enough to give up on a bad idea. Sell out to me and go back to roaming the world. There must be a few peaks you haven’t climbed yet. Or you could finally wise up and come to work for me.”
They were back to an old argument, one Ian would never win. “I have to go, Dad.” He didn’t wait for an answer and ended the call.
His hands were shaking. He laid aside the phone and tried to focus on his breathing. He shouldn’t let his dad get to him like this. But it still galled that while his father had raised him, he didn’t know Ian at all.
He tried to focus on the computer screen and the presentation he was making to the county commissioners when they considered his operating permit. Despite a few setbacks, Ian thought the via ferrata would be ready in a couple of weeks. But his dad’s voice crowded out everything else.
If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you weren’t even my son.The incident that had prompted this outburst? Ian’s winning the top prize at a regional climbing competition when he’d been fifteen. Though he and his dad had had their share of disagreements over Ian’s devotion to climbing by that point, Ian had been sure his father, who liked nothing better than beating out the competition, would appreciate that he had come in first.
According to Phil, climbing rocks—even if the rocks were mountains—was a pastime for kids and losers. Phil had wanted Ian to come to work for him, to learn the ins and outs of dealmaking and leveraged buyouts, gamesmanship and climbing to the top of the business heap, by any means possible. When Ian had said he wasn’t interested, a wall had gone up between father and son that Ian had never succeeded in scaling.
He knew his dad would never love climbing. Ian only wanted the man to respect that the sport was important to him. Climbing had introduced him to the sensation of conquering something greater than himself, triumphant yet also humbled by the vastness of creation. He wanted to introduce others to that feeling. He wanted to shape Humboldt Canyon to a purpose yet respect it. That was something his father could never understand.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bethany had offered to bring dinner for herself and Ian Monday evening and to help him with any paperwork relating to the via ferrata project, but he’d turned her down. “I wouldn’t be very good company right now,” he’d said. “I’m going to rest and take it easy.”
