I watched until it reached the county road.
Then I faced Trish again.
For the first time, her confidence cracked.
Not much.
Just enough.
A little stiffness around her mouth.
A little calculation behind the sunglasses.
“How many tickets did you sell?”
She said nothing.
“How many?”
“This weekend’s event has been very successful.”
“That wasn’t a number.”
“Ticket sales are an HOA matter.”
“Not when the tickets are for my property.”
Her jaw tightened.
“One thousand eight hundred advance tickets.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the number was so outrageous that my brain briefly refused to treat it as real.
“Eighteen hundred people?”
“Across three days.”
“At what price?”
“That varies.”
“How much?”
“General admission was thirty-five dollars. Family packages were higher.”
I did the math silently.
At minimum, sixty-three thousand dollars.
Before concessions.
Before parking.
Before VIP packages.
Before vendor fees.
Before whatever else she had sold.
