The Fine Print: Chapter 4

Dreamland might be in the business of selling fairy tales, but it brings me nothing but nightmares and bitter flashbacks. The energy surrounding this place chokes me as much as the Florida humidity. Despite the raging summer sun, a chill runs down my spine as I stare up at Princess Cara’s Castle. The architectural monstrosity that put my grandfather’s park on the map nearly five decades ago reminds me of a past life I’ve long since forgotten.

Get over it, you worthless piece of shit. Focus on what matters.

I’m not sure why my grandfather tasked me with fixing a theme park that has run seamlessly for forty-eight years. Tickets are always sold out, and we meet maximum capacity every single day. With the park outperforming each quarter, I question how I can make improvements.

To put it simply, this place is perfect. Almost too perfect. I’ve dealt with more issues in one day as the chairman of our streaming service subsidiary than this park manages in a whole year. But with my twenty-five-billion-dollar shares on the line, I’ll turn over every single rock in this entire place if it means exposing weaknesses and building upon Dreamland’s strengths. There is no other option. My brothers are counting on me to do my part in securing our future, and I don’t plan on letting them down.

I abandon my spot on the wooden drawbridge. My breathing becomes easier as I add some distance between the castle and myself.

Think of how much better life will be once you get the hell out of this town.

That’s the thought that keeps me sane in a world built on nothing but haunted memories and broken dreams.

My patience is thinning with each roadblock I hit. After back-to-back pointless meetings with Dreamland staff, I’m desperate for news about where the park is underperforming. I’ve learned nothing worth noting since I arrived forty-eight hours ago.

On paper, Dreamland is hitting new goals with every financial quarter. The demand for more is the only common theme I’ve heard from employees. More rides. More lands. More hotels. More space.

There’s only one team that can help me with this kind of grand-scale expansion. Dreamland’s Creators are world-renowned in the theme park business. If there’s an attraction, venue, souvenir, or consumer experience at Dreamland, the Creators helped design it. So they’re the people I plan on working side by side with for the next six months. My micromanaging approach will be a significant change from the laid-back attitude they’re used to from the previous Director, but quite frankly, I don’t care. It helped me turn a start-up streaming company into a billion-dollar empire, and it’ll help me here.

I enter my office and shut the door behind me. The two head Creators jump in their seats before regaining their composure. Sam, the male who has the common sense to mix a plaid shirt and a polka dot tie, can barely look me in the eyes. The top of his brown curly hair is the only image I get as he scribbles in his notebook. Jenny, the brunette co-manager, sits straighter than a needle beside him as if one kink in her posture will set me off.

I take a seat. “Let’s get started.”

They nod in unison.

“I am expected to come up with a new plan for the park that identifies our weaknesses. Together we will evaluate the performance of Dreamland’s attractions and determine how we can better serve our guests. That includes renovating current rides, creating new lands, updating skits and float parades that will increase Dreamland’s ROI by five percent, at the very least.”

Sam’s eyes somehow double in size while Jenny’s face remains stoic.

“Based on my preliminary analysis, our competitors have been growing fiercer over the years. And although Dreamland performs above average each quarter, I’m looking to obliterate our competition and steal their profit margins.”

Sam’s throat bobs while Jenny scribbles in her notebook. I appreciate their silence, given my limited time between meetings with each department.

“Projects like these take years to go from blueprints to live-action rides. That being said, I’m expecting your two teams to develop the initial plans that I will then present in front of a board in six months.”

It was Declan’s idea to keep my real reason for being here a secret. He thinks that if I revealed my less-than-altruistic intentions for a project of this magnitude, people might sabotage me for the right price. So no one will be the wiser about my temporary position here for the next six months. In their eyes, I will be the Director they always dreamed of. In reality, I can’t wait to crawl out of this hellhole and go back to Chicago to replace Declan as the CFO.

“Six months?” Jenny croaks. Her cheeks lose all their coloring.

“I assume that won’t be a problem.”

She shakes her head, but the hand clutching onto her pen trembles.

“I’m looking to package this whole idea as a fiftieth-anniversary celebration and generate a buzz that pulls at people’s heartstrings. The project should appeal to the new and old generations who grew up with Dreamland characters. I want it to emulate everything my grandfather loved about this park while also moving us toward a brighter—and more modern—future.”

Sam and Jenny are nothing but two bobbing heads, hanging on to every word as they scribble in their notepads.

“So whatever needs to be done, do it. Time is not our friend.”

“What is our budget?” Sam’s eyes shine.

“Keep it reasonable—so around ten billion for the entire park. If you need more, my accountants will review the numbers.”

Sam nearly chokes on his tongue.

“I expect results. If not, then you’re better off applying for the traveling carnival.”

Jenny stares at me while Sam’s eyes drop to the carpet.

“Sir, may I speak freely?” Jenny taps her pen against her notepad in the most irritating fashion.

I check my watch. “If you find it absolutely necessary.”

“Based on your rapid timeline, I was wondering if we could open up the annual employee submissions early this year? That way, the Creators could work with fresh ideas rather than starting from ground zero.”

I blink at her. Annual submissions are nothing but a headache meant to boost employee morale. We have plenty of Creators who have worked at Dreamland for decades already. They don’t need the useless input from low-paid employees who don’t know the first thing about how to design a park.

But what if someone submits something the current Creators haven’t considered?

I work through the pros and cons before determining that I don’t have much to lose. “Open up the applications for two weeks only. I want you to personally review the submissions and deliver only the best ones to my desk.”

Jenny nods. “Of course. I’m sure we have a good idea about what you’re looking for.”

Doubtful but I don’t bother wasting any words correcting her. “Get to work.”

Jenny and Sam exit in a rush, leaving me behind to answer emails and prepare for the next meeting of my day.

“Son.”

I instantly regret answering my father’s unusual personal call. Stupid curiosity got the better of me because he’s been too quiet about the whole Dreamland business. Something about his silence makes me wonder what he’s planning behind the scenes.

I settle into a leather couch across from my desk. “Father.” Our titles are nothing but a front developed over the years for public appearances.

“How’s everything in Dreamland? I assume you’ll be attending our board meeting on Monday regardless of whatever plans you’ve got going on.” His tone remains light and indicative of the calm facade he’s perfected across decades.

My molars grind together. “Why do you care?”

“Because I’m intrigued by your sudden interest in becoming the Director after your grandfather’s passing.”

Does he think so little of my intelligence?

Of course he does. He’s done nothing but mock you for the entirety of your existence.

“Is there a purpose to this phone call?” I ask with a faux indifference.

“I was curious about your progress after reviewing the funding request you put in. Ten billion dollars isn’t a joking matter.”

Every muscle turns rigid in my body. “I don’t need your advice.”

“Good. I wasn’t offering it.”

“God forbid you acted like a father for once in your pathetic life.”

“Interesting word choice from my weakest son.”

My fist tightens around my cellphone. It was stupid for me to answer my father’s call because of some budding curiosity. I should have expected that nothing would change, even after my grandfather’s death. The only thing my father is interested in is reminding me how inept he thinks I am.

He’s trying to screw with your head. That’s all.

“I’ve got to go. I have a meeting that I can’t be late for.” I hang up the phone.

I take deep breaths to lower my blood pressure. I’m not that hopeless boy anymore that craved a real relationship with my father. Because of him, I turned my mind into a weapon rather than a weakness. No matter how hard he tries to poke at me, I’ll always come out on top because the child he once knew no longer exists. I made sure of that.