They’re not good.
According to this report, day two brought in only marginally better numbers than day one. Ticket sales are down nearly twenty percent from last year. Concessions revenue is flat. Merchandise is barely moving.
I frown. That doesn’t match what I saw yesterday. The stands were packed. The lines at the food vendors stretched around corners. People were buying shirts and hats and programs left and right.
“Strange,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “It looked pretty busy yesterday.”
Holden’s smile tightens almost imperceptibly. “Appearances can be deceiving. The numbers don’t lie.”
“I was there.” I tap the paper. “Day two had way more people than this suggests.”
Pete nods, stroking his chin. “I thought the same thing, actually. The crowd seemed much larger than the first day. And with the Brutus event flyers going out, we’ve had a lot of excitement building. People are already talking about buying tickets for the final day specifically.”
“That’s encouraging,” my father adds, though his tone suggests he’s not encouraged at all. “But these figures tell a different story.”
“Unfortunately, perception doesn’t always match reality.” Holden spreads his hands in a gesture of helpless resignation. “I can only report what the data shows. And the data suggests that perhaps this town is… growing tired of the rodeo circuit.”
My father’s jaw tightens. I know that look. It’s the one he gets right before he tears someone a new one.
He sets down the paper with deliberate care. “The circuit has been coming to this town for years. We’ve brought millions of dollars in revenue to local businesses. We’ve put Honeyspur Meadow on the map.”
“Of course, of course.” Holden holds up his hands. “I’m not diminishing the value of your business. I’m simply presenting the facts as they are.”
“Facts.” My father practically spits the word. “You know what I think? I think if you’re just going to sit there and tell me we’re failing, then you clearly aren’t serious about our relationship. I’ve had interest from other towns, bigger ones, with committees that actually seem to want our business.”
Pete shifts in his seat, his face going pale. “Now, now, that’s not what Holden means at all.” He shoots a sharp look at the finance director. “Your business is crucial to Honeyspur Meadow. Absolutely so. Without the rodeo circuit, so many local businesses would suffer. The hotels, the restaurants, the shops, everyone depends on the revenue this event brings.”
“Then why does it sound like your finance man is trying to push us out the door?”
“He’s not.” Pete’s voice is firm, trying to smooth over the tension. “Holden is a numbers person. Not the best with words, perhaps, but excellent with data. What he means is that we need to find ways to boost attendance, not that we’re giving up.”
Holden nods quickly, seizing the lifeline. “Exactly. And I’m convinced the Brutus event will help tremendously. A legendary bull coming out of retirement? That’s the kind of spectacle that brings people in droves.”
I watch him as he talks. The way his eyes dart around, never quite meeting anyone’s gaze for long, and the slight tremor in his hands as he shuffles his papers again.
He’s nervous. Hiding something.
But he’s also smart, as he knows exactly what to say to keep Pete on his side, to make my father doubt his own instincts. He’s playing a long game here, and I’m only just starting to see the shape of it.
After a few more minutes of back-and-forth, Pete smoothing feathers, my father grumbling, Holden deflecting, the meeting wraps up. I stay quiet for most of it, just watching. Filing away every nervous twitch and evasive answer.
When we finally stand to leave, Holden extends his hand to me. “Good to have you involved, Seth. I hope we’ll see you at more of these meetings.”
I shake his hand. Grip it maybe a little harder than necessary. “Count on it.”
The morning air hits my face as we step out onto the sidewalk, and I take a deep breath to clear the stench of Holden’s bullshit from my lungs.
My father walks beside me, his boots heavy on the concrete. We’re both quiet for a moment, processing.
Then he says, “You don’t trust him.”
It’s not a question.
“No.” I glance over at him. “Do you?”
He’s silent for a long moment, his weathered face unreadable. Then he sighs. “In business, you deal with a lot of people you don’t trust. It’s part of the game. The key is knowing how to keep on top of them, watching everything, verifying the numbers, never taking anything at face value.” He pauses. “But no. I don’t trust him. Something about that man has always rubbed me wrong.”
“Then why do you work with him?”
