Chapter Twelve #2
“There was something else about bailing on an expedition you organized.”
He groaned.
“Are you okay?” She stood. “Should I call a nurse?”
“I’m just disgusted that story is still around.”
She sat again. “What happened?”
“I did organize an expedition to climb Mount Khuiten, in Mongolia. And I did drop out at the last minute. Because my mother was in a car wreck and ended up in the hospital. People always leave out that part of the story.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Some of them lost a lot of money on airfare and stuff. I offered to reimburse them, but that wasn’t good enough for some of them. Money can do a lot of good things, but it can also make people mean.”
“Do you think any of them could be behind what’s going on in the canyon?”
“I doubt it.” He sighed. “I’ll make some calls, see if I can find out what Tyler and a couple of others who had it in for me are up to, and I’ll try to get a read on my dad’s attitude toward me these days. There’s something else I’ve been thinking about, though.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“Maybe these threats and vandalism and even the shot that was fired at me and Aaron aren’t related to the via ferrata at all but to us finding those skeletons,” he said.
“Gerald and Abby have been dead fifty years.”
“That doesn’t mean whoever killed them isn’t still alive. They’ve gotten away with murder for years because everyone who knew the Bostons thought they had moved away. I start work in the canyon and find those skeletons, and all of a sudden the killer might be discovered.”
“It wasn’t your fault that cave opened up. The mudslide a few months ago did that.”
“Right. But maybe there’s something else in the canyon the killer doesn’t want to come to light.”
“Or maybe they’ve heard we’ve been asking around about Abby and Gerald,” she said. “That might explain why I was threatened, too.”
“Or maybe the culprit really is a disgruntled climber who doesn’t want me to build the via ferrata.”
“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 phone rang 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.