CHAPTER THREE - Benjamin Spangler

C HAPTER T HREE

Benjamin Spangler

B enjamin was a curious child. He wanted to know how things were made. At six years old, he relished going to the lumberyards with his father, just as Milton did with his dad. Mill saw a lot of himself in his son. By the time Benjamin was twelve, he began taking scraps of two-by-fours to try making something. Anything. His first project was a stool that listed to one side. That’s when he discovered the use of a level. A few misses with the hammer caused shouts and black-and-blue fingernails, but he never whined or complained.

Patricia would sigh in frustration. She didn’t want her son to grow up to be a blue-collar carpenter. One afternoon while she was bemoaning her son’s future, Milton interrupted her. “Jesus was a carpenter.” She never uttered another word after that.

Besides woodworking, Ben had an ability to see the big picture. He learned by studying blueprints and was able to envision projects in three dimensions. As he grew older, he considered studying architecture, but business was also one of his interests. The best school was in Austin, Texas, but Benjamin had no interest in going that far south. Another option was Miami, which was also too many miles from home. He was accepted at Washington State University in Pullman, Washington, which suited him. It had a student population of 22,000, large enough to provide diversity without his having to leave the Pacific Northwest, a place where he wanted to stay.

Nowadays, Benjamin was a family man with a wife, Danielle, and three children, Logan, Addie, and Eva. Danielle had been an account executive at an advertising agency when she was assigned the Spangler account. She was twenty-six at the time and considered one of the brightest newcomers at the advertising firm. When she first met the Spanglers, she was prepared. She gave them an overview of how her firm could expand the Spangler Enterprises brand. She showed them a sketch for a new logo that was a die-cut fir tree, overlapped by a rooftop to signify the inns, and a wheel for the trucking line with the letters S.E.I. as the hub cap with the spokes tying all three together. The icon was surrounded by the slogan “Building a World Together.” Danielle also made several suggestions for increased community involvement. Milton was quite impressed, as was Benjamin. A year later, Danielle and Benjamin were married.

Shortly after the honeymoon, Milton offered Danielle the position of Director of Marketing for Spangler. With the increased visibility of S.E.I., the company had grown by leaps and bounds. Someone had to promote the company image. He wasn’t a fan of poaching employees, but in this case, it was a family matter, provided Danielle wanted to continue to work. She accepted the position and held it for two years until she and Benjamin had their first child, Logan.

Now, at forty-eight, Danielle was the mother of three teenagers: nineteen-year-old Logan, seventeen-year-old Addie, and fifteen-year-old Eva.

Benjamin’s kids were good students and active in sports. Logan had always been interested in computer science and was in his sophomore year at Stanford University. Addie was a high school senior and had been recently accepted at Pratt Institute in New York. Her plans were to pursue interior design. At fifteen, Eva was still on the fence between pursuing professional soccer and playing guitar.

They lived in a custom-built, four-thousand-square-foot, two-story home surrounded by nature’s beauty. The main level had floor-to-ceiling windows allowing the scenery to be the focus. Beautiful French doors opened to a wraparound deck for indoor-outdoor living and entertaining, with serene views of mountains and trees. The house was not at all ostentatious but beautifully appointed with simple lines and design.

On the second floor, each of the kids had their own room, with an adjoining bath for the girls to share. Growing up, Logan had a bathroom to himself, with a walk-in shower, which was just fine as far as the girls were concerned. They didn’t want boy cooties in their double-bowl vanity. The master suite included a stone fireplace, balcony, large marble-tiled bath, and dressing area.

The lower level of the house had a guest room and home office, and an ample entertainment area with a wet bar, pool table, and large-screen TV. It opened out to a meticulously landscaped yard and patio that surrounded a pool. On the opposite side was a pool house that served as Eva’s music room when she wasn’t playing soccer. It was a house that was built to live in and enjoy, not a museum piece on display.

Benjamin was like his father. He had a strong work ethic and was satisfied with an unpretentious vehicle. While his brother wore Rolex watches, Benjamin wore Seiko. Not that his wasn’t considered a luxury watch, but it cost ten thousand dollars less than his brother’s.

Benjamin rarely, if ever, pulled the S.E.I. card to get things done. He didn’t have to. People were always ready to please members of the family. The only time Benjamin or Danielle used the Spangler influence was to get donations for charity, such as the local animal rescue association, the children’s hospital, and the food pantry. Each year Danielle would chair fund-raising events for all three, and she made sure her children were involved. Community service was important, particularly if you had the means to do it. No one was allowed to take anything for granted. All in all, it was a relatively normal family, albeit a powerful one.

Benjamin didn’t like his brother very much. He never felt a connection with him. Granted, Benjamin was nine when Oliver was born, so by the time Oliver could play with other children, Benjamin was a teenager. Now Benjamin was forty-eight, and Oliver was thirty-nine. They were almost a generation apart. Oliver had a more entitled viewpoint, and with Patricia’s doting, that wasn’t about to change any time soon.

Oliver

Oliver’s story was not unique. Born into a wealthy family associated with high-ranking politicians, he was afforded luxuries and special treatment at every turn. He was entitled in a way that most overindulged children expect. Patricia had doted on him from the time he was born, making excuses for his bad behavior and often rewarding it. Her theory was that eventually, Oliver would begin to appreciate everything that was handed to him. But that wasn’t the case. As he grew bigger, so did his expectations, and his expectations became more expensive. Between his senator grandfather and his pampering mother, Oliver was spoiled rotten.

When Oliver turned eighteen, his grandfather bought him a Porsche. It was a status symbol he cherished. He drove it across the country to Towson, Maryland, his mother’s alma mater, where he was to begin his college education. It was the only school that accepted the less-than-average-grade student with few extracurricular activities to speak of. A huge donation from his mother’s family might have played a role in his acceptance, but no one uttered a word about the endowment.

Towson had a reputation of being a “party school,” and Oliver felt compelled to uphold the college’s status. Before the holiday break, Oliver slammed the Porsche into a tree after slugging down a bottle of tequila. The local authorities didn’t want to incur the wrath of a senior politician who believed Oliver’s story: it was a prank that had gone bad; some of his buddies had slipped him a mickey and let him drive home. Oliver had the good sense to claim he couldn’t remember who he was with. His grandfather was outraged and insisted on knowing who was responsible, but Oliver stuck to his story. “I don’t remember, Gramps. It’s all a blur.” Senator Oliver Wakeman took his grandson at his word, dropped the subject, as did law enforcement.

During his freshman year, he was failing miserably and was put on probation. He had one more semester to redeem himself if he wanted to return. It was a struggle, but he managed to squeak by with a C average. A little bit of cheating helped.

As his sophomore year began, he quickly jumped back into party mode, and his grades began slipping once again. Out of fear of embarrassing the family, his mother hired a tutor to help him improve. But Oliver had a better idea. He’d pay someone to do his homework, and in the two-hundred-plus classes, he’d pay someone to take the tests for him. Unless someone was trying to get the professor’s attention, the instructors were not scanning the students’ faces. They were busy lecturing, writing on a whiteboard, or doing PowerPoint presentations. They were not policing the class for truancy, a fact Oliver readily noticed and appreciated.

In those large lecture halls, he always wore the same clothes and baseball cap to class. When it came time for tests, he hired a brainiac with similar build and bought him the exact same outfit. It worked for all of his final exams. His mother was proud of his B average, but Milton wasn’t convinced and suggested Oliver transfer to a school closer to home. Oliver objected, as did his mother. They won the argument.

When the time came for Oliver to declare his major, he picked Communications. He was a good-looking, five-foot-eleven-inch athlete with a thick head of hair, piercing blue eyes, and a very expensive, dazzling smile. His years of playing lacrosse and skiing made him quick and agile. He had a lot of charm at the time and thought broadcasting was a good path for him. As the saying goes, “He had a face for television.” His well-connected grandfather promised to lean on his media connections to help secure a position for Oliver. Oliver understood it would begin as a low-paying internship but assumed he would be fast-tracked to a well-paid, visible position.

Upon graduation, as promised, he got a job at a local television station, and his grandfather bought him a new car. This time, it was a Range Rover. The senator thought it would be a better choice than a sports car. Oliver needed to be taken seriously. Once he had his foot in the door and gained popularity, he could drive whatever he wanted. For now, Oliver had to put on a show, literally and figuratively. Perception was everything.

After a few weeks of summer vacation, Oliver began his internship at station WWDC. The job lasted for three years. He resented doing local stories about new bakery openings, or cute classroom activities. He thought it was time he should be covering major stories or sitting behind the news desk. He clashed with his boss many times, and ultimatums were finally laid out for him. “Do the assignment or get out.” His grandfather got wind of his self-important behavior and encouraged him to resign. It was ironic that his grandfather had contributed to Oliver’s attitude and now had to do something about it.

The senator spoke to Mill and explained that things weren’t quite working out in the capital, and Oliver was going to go back to Oregon to work for the family business. Mill could easily find something for Oliver to do. Once again, the senator reminded everyone that perception was everything. As much as Oliver Wakeman loved his grandson, he didn’t want the young man to sully the family reputation.

Unlike his brother Benjamin, Oliver felt no real kinship to his family or the business. He wanted to travel and see the world. But Mill wasn’t going to pay for his son to gallivant without pulling his weight. Milton was not a fan of the mollycoddling Oliver had experienced all his life. Patricia overruled her husband at every turn, but with the senator supporting him in this particular case, Mill had won a battle. Oliver moved home, where his father gave him a job as director of transportation.

* * *

Ditching the Range Rover for a new Porsche was Oliver’s first order of business. He moved into a swanky apartment, where he lived for five years until his grandfather passed away. Much to the family’s surprise, the senator left Oliver a sizable inheritance that he had no trouble spending.

Oliver was single and considered himself the most eligible bachelor in the county. He played the Spangler card at every opportunity. He was full of flash, and full of himself. But he had charm and money, so many people overlooked his arrogance.

He lived in a 2500-square-foot condominium with a deck and a hot tub. It was the supreme bachelor pad. His wardrobe consisted of high-end designer clothes—Italian silk shirts from Todd Snyder, tailored Ferragamo jeans, Ferragamo sneakers and shoes, and several Tom Ford suits. If it didn’t have a luxury label, he didn’t wear it. He had a special drawer in his walk-in closet just for his Rolex watches. He went to the most expensive barber. He even smelled expensive.

With a new sports car every two years, he was considered quite a catch. But Oliver didn’t like to share, unless he was showing off in front of friends. He’d reach for the check when his pals were at The Underground, a hip speakeasy bar. He’d date a girl for a few months until she began expecting perks like Valentino handbags or vacations to Cabo. He’d have fun for a while, and then break another heart. His goal was to find someone who came from a family with more money than his. Considering the Spanglers were the wealthiest family in the area, it was an ongoing crusade. He’d take vacations to expensive resorts in search of a single, monied woman. He didn’t care about her age as long as she was well-heeled. Oliver had several affairs with older women. One in particular could have set him up in a penthouse suite, but she was too demanding, and not really much fun, so he continued to play the field until another opportunity presented itself.

He never hesitated to mention that his grandfather was once a senator. Rarely, if ever, did he refer to his other grandfather, who was killed on the job. As far as Oliver was concerned, Harold Spangler was a blue-collar worker with bad luck. What he didn’t seem to comprehend was that it was his grandfather’s accident that had spurred his father’s determination to succeed. Oliver only focused on the senator, the one who lavished him with gifts, but his inheritance was dwindling, and the indulgence train was about to come to a grinding halt. If Oliver wanted to maintain his lifestyle, he would have to devise a money-making plan that went beyond his salary. So he did.

Before the money dried up, Oliver took what he thought might be his last excessive vacation two years before. It was a trip that would change everything.

* * *

Benjamin hadn’t received the same kind of bequest from his grandfather as his brother because the senator believed Benjamin had the capability to succeed on his own. When the will was read, Benjamin didn’t know if he should be flattered, disappointed, or dismayed. He took it on the chin and put the token inheritance into a trust fund for his kids’ college.

From an outsider’s point of view, Oliver appeared to be the wealthier of the two. People surmised Benjamin lived modestly because he had a family to support. In contrast, Oliver’s lifestyle was lavish. The family knew the amount of money Oliver received, and what he spent was obvious. They assumed Oliver had made investments that gave him the cash to flaunt. But Oliver wasn’t that business savvy, at least not at S.E.I. His management skills were unimpressive, and Benjamin often had to cover for his brother’s mistakes and faux pas. Benjamin thought it was his duty to protect the younger Spangler. Oliver expected it. Benjamin was always his fallback guy. It was surprising that Benjamin had the patience for it, but Oliver was family.

* * *

Oliver and Benjamin were as different as night and day. Oliver’s focus was always on how much money he could put into his own pocket, not necessarily into the company or its future. He and his brother had a recurring argument about reforestation. Benjamin loved the land, the air, the lakes. He appreciated the trees. For every tree the company cut down, thirty were planted in its place, even though the law required only twenty. By Benjamin’s calculation, they were increasing the new growth by fifty percent.

Oliver thought company policy was too generous. “Why do we have to do more than required?” was Oliver’s battle cry.

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“But we’re only required to plant twenty,” Oliver would come close to whining.

“Correct. But we can do more. The company can afford it, and it’s good for the planet.”

That conversation would occur almost every month when the company had its budget meeting. Milton had begun adding more trees several years before, and Benjamin was not about to change his father’s policy.

“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 Gerard was minding 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, really wanted 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.