Shortly afterward, a nurse wheeled Paul Montgomery, Sr., into the room and helped him into bed. She advised them that he’d be going down for surgery in about twenty minutes, then left. Maxwell offered no greeting or acknowledgment of his father’s presence.
His mother broke the loud silence. “Paul, your son drove down for the surgery. Christine is here too,” she told her husband, rubbing his arm.
Paul Sr. responded, “Okay,” without looking in his son’s direction.
Maxwell dug his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ve got to get back to the office,” he announced as he turned to leave the room.
His mother grabbed his forearm and led him over to his father’s bedside. She squeezed Maxwell’s arm and rested her hand on top of her husband’s. “This has gone on too long. It’s time for our family to be whole again. That starts with the two of you.” Her gaze bounced between her husband and her son.
Maxwell didn’t make eye contact with his father. Instead, he glanced out the window and let his thoughts drift back in time. His mom couldn’t possibly think a hospital visit was going to turn into a family reunion. Memories, old hurts, disappointments, and anger pricked at Maxwell like needles underneath his skin. The heart monitor made a sharp beep and interrupted his time of reflection. He glanced at the squiggly lines that tracked his father’s heartbeat.
The phone in his pocket vibrated. He reached for it and read a text message from Garrett: Call me.
Maxwell excused himself. “I have to make a phone call,” he stated and then made a hasty dash to the waiting room. He pressed the number one on his speed dial. Garrett answered on the second ring.
“What’s going on, man?” Maxwell’s interest was apparent from the tone of his voice.
“Hey, how soon can we get together? I was able to check into Mr. Layne’s claims. You’ll be interested to hear what I’ve found out.”
“Gosh, that was fast. We just spoke last night, and you’ve already made contact?”
“This was a quick one.”
The news was encouraging. Finally, Maxwell had a ray of hope shining into his otherwise gloomy start to a day. He was energized and ready to wield a hefty dose of justice to the most deserving man in the area. Pastor Harris, senior pastor and founder of Faith Temple, was arguably the most respected clergyman in the tristate area. In seven years the ministry had grown from twenty people meeting in the basement of a local beauty salon to a multimillion-dollar operation with a facility the size of a small community college.
Maxwell couldn’t wait to do to Pastor Harris what he’d done successfully to many others, and that was to shove those greedy hypocrites out of their despicable pulpits and into bankruptcy or prison. Maxwell wasn’t choosy. He’d gladly take either. His last case against Greater Metropolitan and the big-time bishop there had resulted in both. Maxwell was pleased. If his luck continued, the same fate awaited Faith Temple. Maxwell was intent on heaping as much disgrace onto Pastor Harris as he could. Garrett’s call had him invigorated and ready to dash back for the update.
“I’m tied up with something at the moment, but I expect it to wrap up shortly. I’ll call you as soon as I can break away, and we can meet at my office,” Maxwell informed him. He ended the call, then dialed his assistant to get his messages before going back to his father’s room.
Against his personal preference, he stayed at the hospital until his father’s three-hour surgery was completed. The moment they found out Paul Sr. was in recovery, it was time for Maxwell to leave. His mother was unable to convince him to stay a minute longer. He had been out of his comfort zone far too long. He needed to put the hospital in his rearview mirror and reestablish the thirty-mile buffer separating him from his family. Once he was behind the wheel, Maxwell pressed down on the accelerator, intent on getting far away from the Montgomery family clutches. His restlessness dissipated as he crossed the state line. He was close to home and was relieved to be back on his own turf. His first love, work, was waiting.
Chapter 4
Maxwell got downtown in much less time than it should have taken. He didn’t even mind the speeding ticket he’d gotten for driving twenty-five miles over the limit. Now he was where he should be, in his office, sitting in his Italian leather high-back chair, surrounded by law books and mounds of case files. His chair swiveled from side to side as his eyes explored each corner of the room. Why had he bothered to rebuild his four-bedroom house three years ago when this really was his home?
He kept checking his watch, expecting Garrett to roll in any minute. Maxwell had called him right after pulling out of the hospital’s parking lot and had agreed to meet with him in an hour. That was fifty minutes ago, and Maxwell was anxious to get going with Faith Temple. He shut his eyelids and rubbed his hand across his brow.
“Looks like you’re deep in thought,” Garrett said, bopping into the office.
“Hey, just the guy I want to see,” Maxwell said. “Have a seat.” Before Garrett could sit, Maxwell was already talking business. “Please tell me that Mr. Layne has something we can use.”
Garrett shifted his gaze away, which didn’t give Maxwell a warm feeling. “Not a single thing. That man is a nut, and you’d be a fool to build a case around him.”
“What about him getting fired? Anything we can get out of that?”
“Nope.”
Intuitively, Maxwell agreed. He’d represented and sued a boatload of liars. He could practically smell them a mile away. Mr. Layne didn’t have the full stench of deception, but there was definitely a foul element in his story. Yet Maxwell wasn’t ready to concede. Even in the midst of a pile of garbage, there was bound to be valuable nuggets. It was Garrett’s job to find the nuggets. Maxwell maintained a measure of hope.
“Trust me when I tell you that you want to stay clear of this guy,” Garrett added. “He is not credible. Did he tell you about his family?”
“Yes. I think he mentioned a wife and three or four kids.”
“How about a wife, two girlfriends, and two children outside the marriage?”
Maxwell’s hope was eclipsed. “Are you kidding?”
“Wish I was. A real class act,” Garrett joked. “I don’t know what he told you, but apparently, Pastor Harris found out and tried to keep it quiet.”
“I knew it. That’s what those snakes do. Lie and hide.”
“Maybe that’s true for others we’ve investigated, but wait. I’m not finished. Pastor Harris was concerned about Layne’s family being ridiculed. So the preacher required Layne to step down, confess to his wife, and go to counseling.”
Maxwell didn’t want to be impressed. He’d wait. There had to be more. “Then why did Mr. Layne end up fired?”
“Because he didn’t want to confess to his wife, or at least that’s the story.” Garrett laughed. “If you ask me, he didn’t want to give up the other women.”
Maxwell normally laughed it up with Garrett. Not this time. He was too disappointed that nothing incriminating had materialized. “Forget about that lying Layne. What else do you have? There has to be something wrong with Faith Temple and Pastor Harris. Please, tell me you have something else . . . anything,” Maxwell pleaded, shaking his fist in the air.
“I’ve scoured records, interviewed a ton of folks, and checked source after source. I can’t even find an unpaid parking ticket for Pastor Harris . . . nothing.”
“What do you mean?” Maxwell shouted. “Everybody has skeletons somewhere, everybody,” he said, slurring. “You just have to know where to look.”
“And I’ve looked. They’re not there,” Garrett said, rearing back in his seat.
“I can’t believe this,” Maxwell said, shoving papers to the side. “He’s a preacher, for goodness sake. There’s always dirt, shady dealings, and a trail of lies leading from their mouth to the pulpit.” Maxwell stood and pressed his knuckles against the desk. “Don’t tell me this Pastor Harris is the lone exception.”
Garrett tilted his head slightly to the side and smirked. �
��Maybe.”
“Oh, come on,” Maxwell snarled. “I don’t believe this crap.”
“What do you want me to tell you? A bunch of manufactured lies?”
“I want you to tell me that we’re close to getting the evidence needed to bring down this pastor. That’s what I want you to tell me.” Maxwell’s volume was elevated.
Garrett stood, frowning, but didn’t approach the desk. Maxwell couldn’t recall a time the two of them had felt such tension in a conversation, but this wasn’t a normal case. Faith Temple was larger than Greater Metropolitan, with somewhere between four and five thousand members on any given Sunday, based on his research. Exposing the egregious behavior of a seemingly squeaky-clean community leader was better than toppling the empires of twenty small-time ministers. Going after the head of the snake was always best.
“In all the years that we’ve worked together, I never thought you’d be suckered in by a Bible-toting preacher,” Maxwell declared.
“What are you talking about?” Garrett replied with a chuckle. “You’re losing it, man.”
Maxwell became overly outraged. “Me?” he said, coming from around the desk and stepping to Garrett. “I’m not the one who has lost perspective and has been drawn into Pastor Harris’s web.”
Garrett stepped back, and Maxwell did too.
“Maxwell, do you hear yourself? Seriously, you’re talking crazy.” Garrett took another step back. Maxwell returned to his seat. “If the dirt isn’t there, it just isn’t there, period.”
“It’s there, trust me. I just need you to dig deeper. Find something, anything, by whatever means you have to.”
“What are you asking me to do?”
Maxwell stared at Garrett. “Whatever you have to do. I honestly don’t care where you get the information or how you get it. Just get it.”
“Seriously . . .” Garrett chuckled again. “What do you have against Pastor Harris? It has to be something personal that I don’t know about, because you seem bent on going after him even when we don’t have a case.”
“This isn’t personal,” Maxwell replied with a tone of indignation. “I’m doing my job, and I need you to do yours. Money isn’t an object. Pay whoever for whatever. I don’t need to know the details of how you get my information. Just give me the bill, and I’ll take care of it.”
Garrett stood still for a brief moment before responding. “Maxwell, you’re right. We’ve worked together for a long time, and you’re all right with me. I’ll even admit that we’ve done some borderline stuff when it comes to building cases, but not this time. I’m not crossing any lines. I had my fill with the last one.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Deacon Burton and Bishop Jones. I’m not going down the rabbit hole again and pulling out manufactured or coerced evidence, with the intent of railroading somebody.” Garrett raised his index finger in the air.
“Are you accusing me of railroading the bishop and Deacon Burton?”
“What I’m saying is that you can count me out of this one. There’s no amount of money worth my peace of mind.” Garrett moved toward the door. “The next time I help to put someone in jail, you can best believe they’ll belong there.” Garrett reached the threshold and paused. “And it won’t be because you have an out-of-control vendetta. This is on your head, my friend, not mine.”
Maxwell knew Garrett wasn’t sure if Deacon Burton or Bishop Jones was guilty of the crimes they’d been convicted of. Maxwell had his doubts about Burton too, but there were always going to be innocent casualties in war. That was what he had to accept if his conscience was ever going to get clear.
“Are you saying you’re done with the investigation?” Maxwell asked.
“Maybe not done yet, but I’m getting close. I’m willing to do some more checking, but I won’t make up stuff. It won’t happen.”
“Fair,” Maxwell said, because he knew Garrett wasn’t the only private investigator in town. There were plenty who’d clamor to produce the kind of results he was looking for, especially for the price he was willing to pay.
Garrett left, and Maxwell considered his next step. Nobody or nothing was going to block his path to Pastor Harris and Faith Temple, not Garrett, not his guilt regarding Deacon Burton, not even God.
Chapter 5
Maxwell lost count after he’d tossed his tenth wad of paper in the direction of his garbage can. The disagreement with Garrett shouldn’t have bothered him to such an extent, but Maxwell found the discussion eating away at him an hour later. Business was business. He didn’t expect to agree on every point for every case. His rational self understood this, but his emotions weren’t in sync. Maxwell became increasingly irritated at himself. He had spent two decades distancing his goals from his feelings. He’d trained himself not to care about relationships. The only exception he’d made was with his nephew. Yet here he sat, sulking. He poked at folder after folder without making significant progress.
He wanted to shake Garrett off, but that guy was the closest Maxwell had come to having a friend. His investigator’s loyalty had proven invaluable over the years. If there was anyone on the planet whom he remotely trusted, it would have to be Garrett. Having his trusty investigator and friend question his professionalism equated to betrayal. The throbbing vein on his temple pulsated faster. Finally, his frustration escalated to the point where Maxwell yelled out some unrecognizable phrase. The release didn’t bring him instant clarity as he tackled his legal challenge, but he did feel eerily better.
His phone rang, and it was the line coming from his assistant. He rolled his neck before answering. After yelling so loudly, it wasn’t difficult for him to wonder why she was calling. Maxwell was embarrassed. He was tempted to ignore the call and continue sulking in the privacy of his office, but that wasn’t his style. Avoiding awkward conversations and situations had never been his way. No reason to change his winning formula now. Not for Garrett, not for his family, not for Deacon Burton, and certainly not for his assistant, who was still proving her worth. He snatched up the phone and commandeered the conversation. Setting the tone always worked best.
“What do you need?” Maxwell said in such a way that clearly demonstrated he didn’t want to be bothered.
His assistant stammered, “I—I thought I heard a scream, and wanted to see if everything was okay.”
Maxwell relaxed. He cleared his throat and altered his perspective. She wasn’t his enemy. The church and all its associates were. He couldn’t lose sight of what mattered again and burn precious energy on irrelevant sideshows. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. Now, let’s get back to work.” Maxwell had verbalized the message to his assistant, but he also processed it internally. He couldn’t spend another second sitting around, licking his wounds, just because Garrett had painted a dim picture of the Pastor Renaldo Harris and Faith Temple case. There was more than one way to work a case. Some attorneys gave up at the first roadblock or sign of trouble. Maxwell wasn’t one of them. People didn’t rise to his level of success without stretching the limits. Perhaps if Garrett had the same perspective, he would know that it was impossible to keep one’s hands clean when searching for dirt in a case.
Maxwell sighed and blew out a deep breath, feeling invigorated. This was his case, his mission to right the wrongs in the church, one minister at a time. A few hurt feelings and harsh words couldn’t derail him so easily. Maxwell opened his laptop and keyed in a search for private investigators whose licenses had been revoked. He wasn’t surprised to see a long list of names pop up. Later he’d cross-check them against the criminal records database to find an investigator who might be bold enough and desperate enough to take on a special assignment. Glancing over the list, he was encouraged, almost optimistic.
Maxwell was on a roll. He had a list of investigators who didn’t mind getting their hands dirty and pushing the limits. Bringing down Pas
tor Harris was real. It would happen, just like the pile of other tough cases he’d fought and won against the odds. Nobody expected a kid who had lived in a shelter would grow up to be a fearless attorney. Bishop Jones had broken Maxwell’s spirit many years ago, when he was a helpless kid, but never again. The bishop had paid, and so would the pastor of Faith Temple. The only difference was that the charge against Pastor Harris wasn’t personal. He merely happened to be the next in line.
Maxwell removed his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves. What was he thinking? He didn’t have to depend on anyone. Maxwell remembered visiting Bishop Jones at Greater Metropolitan last year as he discreetly sought out information for the case he was building against the church. During their impromptu meeting, Maxwell discovered a stack of shady land deeds. That was the foundation of Maxwell’s fraud and corruption case against the bishop. He’d found what everyone else had overlooked. His random visit with an unsuspecting culprit had paid huge dividends once, and Maxwell planned on using the same tactic again.
He was about to call his assistant and have her get Faith Temple on the line, then decided to make the call directly. He didn’t have to search long for the number. It was prominently scribbled inside the thick folder on his desk.
“Good afternoon. This is Faith Temple, where the Lord reigns and the Spirit flows. How might I help you?” a female voice belted.
Maxwell wanted to gag at the rhetoric but stayed focused. “Yes, good afternoon. I’m Maxwell Montgomery.”
“Oh yes, you’re the young man who worked on the youth program with the mayor and Pastor Harris last year.”
“That’s right,” Maxwell eagerly replied. He’d forgotten about working with Pastor Harris. He’d been so consumed with his case against the bishop last year that Maxwell had honestly forgotten about several projects. But the youth program was precisely the angle he needed. “I’d love to get on the pastor’s calendar for a brief chat.”
“About the youth program?”
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