Page 5 of Backwater Justice

“But we could be making more money,” Oliver would argue.

“The company is doing well,” Milton would intervene. “We are up almost seventeen percent over last year, and as long as we continue to show profits like that, we shall continue what I started.” Milton would repeat each and every time, “I’ve turned that part of the business over to Benjamin, and he shall continue to make those decisions. You, Oliver, are supposed to be overseeing the transportation division and the hotels. How are you doing with that?” Milton pulled the spreadsheets closer.

“Fine, Dad. We’re doing just fine,” Oliver replied with a slight tinge of resentment, sliding his paperwork before his father. “The five hotels are showing a small profit after the renovations.”

Milton pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “I suppose two percent is better than none.” He slid the paper back to Oliver, but he wasn’t about to pat Oliver on the back. He knew Benjamin had funded the renovations from the millwork part of the business, but he didn’t want to humiliate Oliver by pointing that out.

The millwork supervisor cleared his throat. “Mr. Spangler, will the monies from the millwork used for the renovations impact our profit sharing?” And there it was. On the table for all to see.

Oliver’s face turned red, and he resisted the temptation to tell Gerard to mind his own business. But Gerardwasminding his business. He was responsible for the day-to-day management of the millwork.

Milton looked up. “Gerard, as long as Spangler Enterprises is making a profit, everyone will share in it.”

A few years prior, Milton had initiated a profit-sharing plan for his employees. It would serve two purposes: it would assure retention of employees, and it would ensure solid work ethics if employees had more to gain. It was a win-win for everyone. Oliver was the only one who objected.Why did they have to give away some of their profits to the workers?Again, Milton would repeat his reasoning, and Oliver would pout. He really,reallywanted to graduate from a Porsche to a Lamborghini. The senator had passed away seven years before, so he couldn’t count on him for a new birthday present.

For Oliver, it was all about how much money wasn’t going into his own pocket. Less profit for the family meant less money he could squander. What he didn’t understand was the motivation profit sharing would promote in the employees, creating a more enthusiastic workforce and thereby more profit. His resentment was palpable. But until Milton fully retired, the company was run by Milton’s rules. Oliver knew he would have numerous conflicts with his brother, but he’d deal with those later. For now, he had to maintain the status quo, even if it meant cooking the books from time to time. It could be years before anyone discovered the inconsistencies, if ever. He had to mind his p’s and q’s if he wanted that new Lamborghini he had been eyeing.

* * *

Oliver’s responsibilities at the family firm were supervised by his brother. Oliver didn’t care that Benjamin was technically his boss. Benjamin would always save Oliver’s hide when necessary, like the time he wrecked his latest Porsche after slugging down a bottle of tequila. The police called Benjamin, who put up the bail money, and an unspoken agreement was set in motion: nothing that Oliver did would reach Milton, or the press, for that matter. Ignoring bad behavior had become an ordinary state of affairs when it came to the Spangler boy.

* * *

Benjamin never expressed resentment about the bountiful lifestyle Oliver led, or that Benjamin had been slighted by his grandfather. If anyone resented those things, it was Mill. When he didn’t want to indulge Oliver, Patricia would override his decision and give their son her own money. Patricia’s grandfather had also been a politician and had left her, his only grandchild, a tasty little sum. Mill never knew the exact amount and never pursued it. It was none of his business, except when it interfered with conventional parenting. Even against her husband’s wishes, Patricia would bend and give Oliver what he wanted. And everything he wanted, he came to expect.

* * *

Mill started awake from a deep sleep. He was a little disoriented, but then he realized he was in the hospital and thought back to his last thoughts before drifting off. He was proud of Benjamin. He was loath to admit it, but Oliver was a huge disappointment.

Mill sighed as the heart monitor reminded him that he was still alive.

CHAPTERFOUR

Pinewood

Myra Rutledge cocked her head when she heard the landline ring in the kitchen. Very few people had that number, and whoever did usually called when there was an emergency. She quickly ran down her list of Sisters and where they were and who it could possibly be. She called out to Charles, who was making one of his gourmet dinners. “Charles, can you answer the phone, please?”

“Tried but got my hands in mitts.” He was in the middle of basting his masterpiece.

“Can’t you pick it up?” Myra tossed the newspaper aside and scrambled to the far end of the kitchen, whizzing past Charles in his chef’s apron. The yellow phone was dangling from the receiver that was hanging on the wall. “Coming!” she shouted at the swinging telephone, taking a moment to inhale the aroma of coq au vin. “Smells delish.”

She rescued the dangling object and pulled it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Myra?” A familiar but not-so-recognizable voice was on the other end.

“Speaking.” She waited.

“This is Patricia Spangler.”

Myra’s heart dropped. This wasn’t going to be good news.

“Yes, Patricia.” She waited.

“Milton had a heart attack and is in the hospital.”

“Oh, dear.” Myra’s mood dropped as she waited for Patricia’s next sentence.

“He’s in stable condition,” Patricia said evenly.

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