Standing in his presence ignited such rage that her head hurt. It was tough to stay calm as her hands began shaking. “Who the heck do you think you are? God?”
“I’ve been accused of being many things, but God hasn’t been one of them. I take that as a compliment,” he said, smirking, which irritated her more.
Sonya took several firm steps toward the desk, unafraid to close the distance between them. He had to hear her plea this time. He was indebted to her family, and she aimed to make him pay. “You can’t just mess with people’s lives, like some puppeteer pulling strings.”
He grinned, and it set her off. She dashed forward and pressed her palms into the desk as her face came within inches of his. Maxwell immediately pushed back, creating space that she didn’t want him to have. She wanted him to feel crowded, pressured, uncomfortable, and afraid, just like her uncle was feeling at this very second, thanks to the excuse for a man sitting before her. She was close enough to pluck out his eyes. Her adrenaline rose.
“Surely, the almighty Maxwell Montgomery, the hard-hitting Philly civil attorney, isn’t afraid of a little woman like me. No, you’re not afraid of anyone or anything, right?”
The ranting of his former paralegal rolled off his back, with nothing sticking. He could call security and have her thrown out, like she deserved, but he was willing to let her get this ridiculousness out of her system so they could both get on with their day. He could stomach another few minutes, but he wouldn’t put up with it if she pressed him for too long. He had better things to do with his time.
“Sonya, say what you have to say and get out,” he said, flipping his pen onto the desk and rearing back in his chair.
“You don’t tell me to leave.” Sonya walked around the side of his desk, getting even closer to Maxwell. For once he appeared very uncomfortable, and she didn’t care. “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.”
“Excuse me, but I’m trying to be nice, since you used to work for me, but don’t make a mistake and take my kindness for weakness. I will call the police and have you thrown in jail.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said. “You’re good at sending innocent people to jail. That’s what you do best.”
Maxwell sprang to his feet and walked around the opposite side of the desk from where Sonya was. “Now I get it. This is about Deacon Steve Burton.” He rubbed the heel of his palm across his forehead.
“That’s right. I’m here to make sure you help my uncle get out of prison, especially since you put him there.”
Maxwell leaned onto his own desk, squaring off with Sonya. He smirked again. “Don’t lay that on me. I didn’t put him in prison. His trusted pastor did that, not me.”
“What kind of a person are you? He has a wife and two little boys that need him, but you don’t care.” Her head continued pounding, but she wasn’t going to let up. He had to do something. “He trusted you.”
“He trusted his pastor, who’s in jail too, right where he belongs. That’s who you should be yelling at, not me. I followed the law.”
“Ta-ha, yeah, right. My uncle came to you with good intentions. He was the one who helped you figure out what was going on at Greater Metropolitan. Uncle Steve did it, not you,” she shouted. “After all of your investigating, searching, and trying to find something, you ended up with nothing, until my uncle came forward.”
Maxwell looked away. She knew he didn’t have anything to say.
“You know he wasn’t involved with the fraud or the prescription drug sales. You know it,” she said, pressing her palms into the desk again. “You promised to leave him out of this mess since he didn’t do anything. You promised him!” she screamed. “And he trusted you. I trusted you.” Her body tensed. “I was a fool for sending him to you. Shame on me.”
There was a quiet pause as guilt circled the room.
“Sonya, I have work to do. So, if you’ve said everything you came to say, I’m going to ask you to please leave.”
“I’m not leaving without your help. My uncle doesn’t deserve to be in prison with a bunch of criminals, and you know it. I’m begging you to help him get out.”
Maxwell hung his head. “He needs a criminal attorney to file an appeal on his behalf. I’m a civil attorney. I can’t do anything for him.”
“You can, and you know it. You have plenty of connections. Clearly, you didn’t have a problem turning a boatload of crap over to the prosecutor’s office. Without pressure from you, they would have never pushed a case against my uncle.” She dashed around the desk to the opposite side and stood directly in front of Maxwell, a finger pointed at him. “He can’t handle ten years in prison.”
Maxwell withdrew and went back to his seat. “Close the door on your way out,” he said, reaching for a folder.
Sonya stood there, totally confused. She could lunge at him and scratch his eyes out. She’d gladly take that step if it would help. But she knew it wouldn’t. She could bark out a series of profanity, but that wasn’t going to help, either. Threats were a waste too. Finally, she sighed and accepted defeat. Her plea for compassion wasn’t enough to warm the heart of a cold-blooded person like Maxwell Montgomery. She’d have to find another way.
“Trust me, this isn’t over, not by a long shot.” She grimaced. “You better be careful how you treat people, because you’re going to get yours. That’s a promise.” She bolted from the office, anxious to breathe fresh air.
Once he was certain Sonya was gone, Maxwell reared back in his seat, with his hands interlocked behind his head. He wanted to discount her ranting, but it wasn’t easy to do. Deacon Burton might not have been as dirty as the rest of Greater Metropolitan’s management team, but he was guilty by association. When Maxwell’s father had been convicted for merely being the church’s treasurer, nobody had cared that he hadn’t orchestrated the real estate scheme. Ignorance wasn’t a defense. At a minimum, his father had been guilty of trusting a corrupt pastor, and their entire family had paid dearly. Who had been there to rescue Maxwell?
Admittedly, the deacon’s sons had pricked at Maxwell’s resolve, but refused to fret. He had survived his shattered childhood and had to believe those boys would survive their father’s ordeal too. He was sure of it; otherwise guilt might rise up and create a distraction Maxwell wasn’t prepared to handle. He shoved the disturbing thoughts from his mind and got to work. It was his best cure for a troubled heart.
Chapter 9
Deacon Burton lay on his bunk, closed his eyes, and gently massaged the tender spot on his side. His ribs were still sore from earlier in the week, but none of his woes mattered, not today. It was Sunday, and his wife would be visiting. Nothing could cast a cloud on the day for him. His joy rose, blotting out the darkness permeating the cell. He continued lying on the bunk, praying silently and dreaming about his family. Minutes tiptoed along as his anticipation soared.
An hour later, the prison came to life, and temporary freedom from his six-by-eight cell was granted. The prison doors on cell block D all slid open simultaneously. The deacon’s cell mate pushed through the doorway first. Deacon Burton moved at a slower pace. He turned and gazed at the Bible on his bunk, then at the cement floor, and finally at the toilet. A cold chill whisked by his body, causing him to shiver and roll down his shirtsleeves. When he cleared the cell door, a warm gush of air swept by. Startled, Deacon Burton swung around briskly to check behind him. He hesitated briefly, but no one was there. So he trotted down the walkway, down the stairs, and to the dining hall.
He spent ten minutes at breakfast, consuming only a cup of milk and a slice of stale, dry toast. Excitement about seeing his wife was getting the best of him. He preferred to go back to his cell to calm his nerves, but inmates weren’t allowed back on the cell block this soon. Instead, he got up and headed toward the line for yard time. A few solitary minutes were needed to escape the prison walls, if only in his mind. Outside, the warm sunshine showered down on him. Near the fence was a rusty iron bench. There he claimed a seat away fro
m the crowd of men playing basketball and lifting weights. He let the minutes tick by.
“Burton,” a firm voice bellowed across the yard. “You’ve got a visitor.”
Deacon Burton grabbed hold of the fence and stood. His sore ribs definitely impacted the pace at which he moved. The pain reminded him of the fierce blows he’d received just a few days ago. He didn’t understand why that one inmate shoved him around every chance he got. He couldn’t worry about that now, as his wife was waiting to see him. He followed the guard to the holding area, where he was searched and reminded of the visitation rules. One embrace at the start of the visit and one at the end. Hands on the table at all times.
There were twelve other inmates waiting their turn. Finally, the door opened, and Deacon Burton saw his wife sitting at a table across the room, in the corner. He was surprised to see his niece, Sonya, sitting with her. As he got closer, Burton could see the tears inching down his wife’s face. When he reached the edge of the table, his wife stood and reached out for him. He gave a sharp glance over his left shoulder at the guard positioned at the desk near the door.
The deacon’s wife stepped into his embrace and clung to him until the prison guard bellowed across the room, “Inmate Burton, step back.”
The deacon broke free of his wife’s hold. Sonya immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. After a quick embrace, he stepped back and sat down at the table. “I am so glad to see you both.” He cleared his throat and swallowed down the emotion that dared to make his voice crack.
His wife leaned in closer to him. “Oh, my God, what happened to your eye?” she questioned, gently tracing her finger over her husband’s right eyelid. Then she stroked the swollen pocket of skin underneath his eye. “Steve, what happened to your eye?”
Sonya chimed in. “Uncle, tell us.”
“It’s nothing. There was a scuffle in the food line. I’m fine.”
“It looks like someone punched you in your eye. And you are so thin,” his wife commented, brushing away her tears with the heels of her hands.
“I’m okay. Please don’t cry. It’s okay. Don’t worry about me.”
She snatched her glance away from Deacon Burton and then gave him a frozen stare. “How is it possibly okay when you’re locked up in a prison? This is crazy. It all still seems like a bad dream, a yearlong nightmare, and I can’t manage to wake up from it.”
“My appeal is in the works. We have to hold on. I need you to be strong. You’ve got to be for the boys.” Deacon Burton stroked the back of his wife’s hand with his fingertips, then quickly placed his hands in front of him on the table. “You’re bringing them soon, right?”
“Yes, and they can’t wait. They miss you so much, but I don’t want them to see you with a black eye,” she blurted out. “That will absolutely freak them out. I can’t believe you have a black eye. I still can’t believe this is happening. I’m so afraid that something is going to happen to you here. What was the scuffle in the line all about? Tell me,” she pleaded as worry consumed her conversation.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. What animal would punch you like that? You’re not one of these tough guys.” Her gaze slumped as she wrenched her hands. “You are not a young man. You can’t be fighting with these people in here. I’m afraid for you.”
Deacon Burton tried to change the subject. However, his wife wasn’t going to have her concerns dismissed. The volume of her voice stepped up a notch as she leaned in close to him. “Stop telling me it’s okay and you’re fine. You’re not fine, and your children and I are not fine. We don’t have enough money to pay the mortgage. Our nine-year-old son cries himself to sleep every night. You shouldn’t be here, and if it wasn’t for Maxwell Montgomery, you wouldn’t be in this hole.”
Sonya couldn’t be silent any longer. “I’m partially to blame for this mess.” She stabbed her chest hard three times with her forefinger. “I said you could trust Maxwell Montgomery. I encouraged you to talk to that devil about your suspicions of illegal things going on in your church. I did that knowing he had it in for Bishop Jones and Greater Metropolitan. I just didn’t know he had it in for you too, or I would have never . . . ,” she uttered before becoming too emotional to continue. She shook her head from side to side.
“It’s not your fault at all. You just—”
Sonya cut off Deacon Burton’s words. “I’m so sorry, Uncle. I can’t believe I ever worked for such a condescending, arrogant fraud. He’s always talking about integrity and justice. Lies, all lies. We all know he could get you out of here, but he doesn’t care. Maxwell promised he would protect you from prosecution if you helped him root out the wrongdoing in Greater Metropolitan.” Her nostrils flared, while her heart pounded in her chest.
She continued. “I went to his office yesterday and tried convincing him to help you. He refused. He didn’t even consider helping you, not for one second.” Sonya’s left cheek twitched as she pressed her fist against her lips. “I got so mad that I had to get out of there before I lost it.” Her eyes were swimming in tears, which clouded her vision. She slid her glasses off and swiped across her eyelids with the backs of her hands. “Please forgive me for getting you involved with that jerk, Maxwell Montgomery. But he won’t get away with this. His day is coming.”
Sonya shot up out of her chair so quickly, it fell over and hit the floor with a loud crash. Heads turned toward her. Coughing and sniffing hard, she managed to croak out, “I need some tissues.” She needed a break, as her guilt was suffocating. Limited as to where she could go without leaving the prison, Sonya escaped to the one place allowed, the bathroom.
“See? I’m not the only one who blames that awful attorney. He’s got Sonya so upset. She’s right. He should do something to help you.” Mrs. Burton’s voice rose as she gritted her teeth.
“Honey, calm down. You know I hate that I can’t be home with you and the boys. My appeal is our best chance. God will make a way. And don’t worry about Maxwell Montgomery. He’s fighting his own demons.”
Disdain boiled over in her eyes as she twisted in her seat. “Are you serious? He’s evil. Attorney Montgomery will be lucky if the demons he’s fighting don’t drag his soul to hell today. He is the single reason that you’re here while your sons are at home without a father. Steve, the boys are being bullied at school,” she exclaimed. “Kids are making fun of them, saying their dad is a crook and a dirty deacon.” Her hand shot up into the air. “This whole thing is ruining us, and you’re saying don’t worry about him?”
Deacon Burton was silent for a few moments. He didn’t want the conversation to escalate any further. He turned the focus of conversation to their sons and tried to catch up on what they’d been up to since he’d last seen them. There had to be a way for him to comfort his sons from a distance. He would write each of them a letter every day, instead of once a week. He had to do something to ease his family’s pain.
“I’m sorry for the humiliation and the stress this situation is causing you and our sons. If I could change it, I would. You know that, right?”
“Of course,” his wife responded amid grave feelings. “I love you. After all these years, I love you as much as I did the day we got married.”
Deacon Burton slid his hand across the table and twisted the wedding band on her finger. “Sell the house if you have to. I don’t want you worrying about money.” Remorse shrouded in humility helped Deacon Burton mask his deep sorrow and keep it from his wife. He yearned to shoulder the burden of their predicament alone. Sonya rejoined them. She appeared calm and didn’t mention Maxwell again. Grateful for that, the deacon stretched his legs out underneath the table and settled in for the rest of their visit.
Time whizzed by as the three of them talked about the boys, school, and other things, but nothing heavy. For a brief moment, the deacon and his wife were laughing and recounting family dinners at the kitchen table, yelling and cheering at their sons’ basketball games, and
going to church together on Sundays. The fairy tale didn’t last, as every smile and echo of laughter was tainted with the bitter reality that their memories were frozen in the past and such events might not be possible for the next ten years.
Sorrow hovered over them.
“Visiting hours are over,” a guard bellowed over the speaker.
Shortly afterward, Deacon Burton watched his wife and Sonya walk toward the exit. He moved to the guard’s desk and waited for permission to leave the visiting room. Once he was allowed out, the deacon went down the corridor, with his head hanging and his shoulders slumped. The visit was over; his wife was gone. Though she had gotten upset with him, every second with her had fed his soul. He felt a heavy burden in his heart knowing that she was raising his sons without him. He told himself that God would provide for them financially. He had to belive God would not allow his sons to be tormented at school because of him.
Deacon Burton lifted his head as he reached the steel door leading to the yard. He had thirty minutes to spend outside before he had to report to work in the laundry room. He found his usual spot on the rusty bench, grateful to be alone. His mind raced uncontrollably as he clutched his chest. It was impossible to shake the realization that he’d been duped and his family was paying the ultimate price. Doubt and peace volleyed back and forth, with neither giving in. He was exhausted emotionally and wiped his brow, in desperate need of relief. He caressed his temples.
No matter how bad the circumstances appeared to be, he was determined to stay hopeful. He dug deep within and grasped a splinter of faith. He had to trust God. It was his only option. Attorney Maxwell Montgomery was a stark reminder that he couldn’t trust the promises of a man. Saturated with grief, he prayed silently as dark clouds blanketed the sky and a deep sense of longing gripped his soul.
Chapter 10
Air in this wing of the prison was stale and muggy. Flies buzzed around, adding to the annoyances in the crowded space the deacon occupied. Voices on the TV inside the dayroom spilled into the hallway. Deacon Burton stood in a long line to use the phone. As his turn drew near, he repeatedly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, thinking about his sons. He licked his lips as he formed the list of questions in his mind. Were they helping their mom around the house? He wanted to know everything that he was missing out on.
Redeemed Page 5
