Pastor Harris was visibly shaken. “This is unbelievable. I can’t make any sense of it. When I visited him about a month ago, his primary concern was his family and how much the scandal had hurt them and the church,” he said, letting his gaze plummet to the floor. “I do believe he was innocent.” The pastor shook his head from side to side. “What a loss, that’s for sure.”
“Honey, I’m going to call his wife right now,” Mrs. Harris stated.
“That’s a good idea.” Pastor Harris sat down at his desk.
He didn’t know what to think or how to feel. His initial reaction was to lash out at Maxwell Montgomery, the person who’d created this mess. But to give Maxwell that much credit was to minimize God’s power to protect His people. Pastor Harris didn’t know why God had allowed Deacon Burton to get killed, but he rested in the notion that God was sovereign. He was in control and had a plan bigger than Maxwell’s misguided crusade. As much as the pastor wanted to shy away from Maxwell, he felt God’s pull on him to continue reaching out. He wouldn’t call them friends, but they weren’t enemies, either, at least not in his mind.
After a brief shuffle through several business cards in his desk drawer, he opted to try Maxwell’s office number. Someone answered and put him on hold. He waited, hoping the gatekeeper who had answered would put his call through to Maxwell. Three minutes later, a strong voice interrupted the hold music.
“Maxwell Montgomery speaking.”
“Mr. Montgomery, Pastor Renaldo Harris. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Maxwell pinched at his bottom lip as he tapped his ink pen on the top of his desk.
“I’m calling about Deacon Steve Burton’s death. Can you give me any information about what happened?”
Maxwell sat up in his chair, with his spine straight. “Why are you asking me?”
“Well, you’re a pretty influential man in town. I know you and your investigator were involved with building the criminal case against Greater Metropolitan, and you led the civil case. I thought you might have more information than the rest of us.”
Maxwell stood and paced the floor as he shared what he knew. “From what I was told, an altercation between him and another inmate started because he tried to help a much younger inmate who was being attacked.”
“That sounds like him. He was a good man. What a horrible tragedy for his family. His boys will have to grow up without him.”
“They’ll be okay. I grew up without a father,” Maxwell stated. “I made it. They will too.” The words rose up out of his heart and found life in his voice before he knew it.
“At least your father was alive during your childhood,” Pastor Harris said.
“I guess,” Maxwell responded, not wanting to elaborate. “Burton is dead, and sometimes criminals get killed in prison.”
“Interesting response. You see, I’m not so sure he was a criminal.”
Maxwell shrugged his shoulders. “Believe what you’d like. I have to go.”
Pastor detested Maxwell’s cold indifference but wasn’t ready to end the call. He just had to find a more suitable topic to engage Maxwell. “By the way, how is your father doing? Has he recovered fully? The last time I saw you was at the hospital in Wilmington after he’d suffered a massive heart attack.”
Maxwell made a circular motion in the air with his hand, eager for the call to end. “He’s hanging in there. I’m pretty busy, so if there’s nothing else . . .”
“Of course. I understand. Thanks for taking my call, and I hope to see you soon at one of our services.”
Maxwell planned on visiting Faith Temple, but it wouldn’t be to get closer to God. Maxwell vowed that one day he’d make sure the clergyman ended up regretting the invitation.
As soon as the call ended, he reached for his phone again, eager to speak to someone he trusted. He dropped down into his chair and almost immediately placed the phone on the desk, realizing there wasn’t anyone he could call. Just then the intercom on his desk buzzed, and his assistant’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“Mr. Montgomery, there is a reporter on line one. He’d like a comment from you regarding Deacon Steve Burton’s death. Shall I put the call through?”
“I have a comment for him, all right.” Maxwell caught himself before he finished his statement. He swung his chair around, allowing his back to face his office door. “No comment is my comment.” A reporter sure wasn’t someone he trusted. “Just leave it at that for now.”
“Sure. Sorry for the interruption.”
The media was already working on sucking up all the community and human interest attention they could get out of this; anything to sell a newspaper or increase TV ratings. Well, those newshounds wouldn’t get any help from him. His cell phone rang loudly. He plucked it from his belt and answered it.
No one responded.
“Hello. Hello?” Maxwell said into the phone.
Still no one answered. He heard only a whistling noise.
Maxwell pressed the END button hard with his thumb and tossed the phone onto his desk. He didn’t have time to waste on someone playing games. For a few seconds, he thought of the deacon’s sons. Had they been told about their dad’s death by now? Did someone get to them before the news networks flashed it on the TV screen? His cell phone rang again. He scooped it up and recognized the incoming number as that of his mother. Why was she calling in the middle of the workday? He really didn’t want to answer the call, but he needed a brief distraction from his thoughts.
“Yes, Mom, I’m a little busy. I can’t talk long. What do you need?”
“I don’t need anything. I was just checking on you. I called you a couple of days ago, and I never heard back from you.”
Maxwell plopped his elbow on his desk, and his head fell into the palm of his hand. “Just busy, that’s all.”
“You work too much, son. There is more to life than work. I’ll be glad when you realize that.”
Work was life for him. It was work that consoled him, completed him, and it was the law that he was in love with. So she happened to be wrong. He wouldn’t tell her that. But how could she understand his deepest feelings when they had been distant for so many years?
“There is someone at the door, dear. I better let you go. Come on down and see Tyree and the rest of us real soon. Okay?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Goodbye.” Making some kind of commitment to visit was the easiest way to get off the phone with her. However, he had no intention of heading that way anytime soon. Before he could put the phone down, it chimed, notifying him of a text message. He punched a few buttons and found an anonymous message in all capital letters staring at him.
SINNERS, ALL SINNERS, GET THEIR JUST REWARD. AND YOU ARE NOT WITHOUT SIN.
Chapter 13
Minutes later Sonya burst into Maxwell’s office, with his assistant on her heels.
“Attorney Montgomery, I apologize,” the assistant stated. “I couldn’t stop her. Should I call security?”
Sonya darted over to Maxwell, leaving about a foot between them. The expression on her face caused Maxwell to react. He didn’t want an irrational woman attacking him while he sat there idly. He got up and put another foot of separation between them. “It’s okay. I’ll handle this. You can close the door behind you,” he told his assistant.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Maxwell assured her and slid his hands into his pockets. “I’m fine.”
His assistant slowly retreated and closed the door.
“Back so soon?” Maxwell asked as soon as they were alone.
Sonya lit into Maxwell. “You killed my uncle! Yes, you, Mr. Hotshot. You used a good and honest man to get what you wanted from Greater Metropolitan, and then you threw him into the pit with a bunch of hardened criminals.”
Maxwell stood still, with his hands fixed and his lips too. He’d let her finish the spiel, and then he’d get back to business. He suspected that she didn’t have much more to say.
“I
hope you rot in hell. And trust me when I say, you’ll get yours.”
“Is that a threat?”
“You take it any way you want.”
She stepped closer, and Maxwell stood his ground, although Sonya was making him uncomfortable. Irrational people were unpredictable. Since she’d worked for him for several years, Maxwell would give her a break. But he wasn’t going to wait the entire afternoon for her to finish the tirade. Time was running short, along with his patience.
“If it hadn’t been for you lying to my uncle and allowing him to get swept up in some mess that he had nothing to do with, he’d be alive and at home with his family,” she told him.
Maxwell maneuvered around Sonya and reclaimed his seat. He twirled his ink pen back and forth between his fingers and let her ranting and raving continue without interruption. Maybe Maxwell let her babble on because he was struggling with the way the case had played out. Not sure now if Deacon Burton was guilty or not, Maxwell tried unsuccessfully to block out the man’s sons. They wouldn’t go away. He kept thinking about how their lives were going to change without a steady income coming into the household. He couldn’t wish his tattered childhood on any kid.
“Maxwell, I worked hard for you, admired you, and even left four churches because you were investigating them. I trusted you, and so did my uncle. Now we find out the hard way how sorely misplaced our trust was.”
Maxwell could tell she was fighting back tears by the end of her emotional outburst. The storm appeared to be dying down, and then, without warning, it regained its fury. “I wish they’d put your butt in prison for one night and let those guys beat the heck out of you,” she growled. “I wouldn’t shed a tear if your body came up missing. Good riddance would be the closest I’d come to a condolence.”
He’d finally heard enough. “Are you done?”
“No. You’re not going to rush me out of here.”
“That’s precisely what I am going to do. In case you’ve forgotten, this is a place of business. As soon as you leave, I can get back to my business.”
“You are a piece of work. You drove my uncle to his death, and then you don’t have time to hear me out. What kind of a demon are you?”
“Good grief. Are you in denial, or does passing the buck run in your family when it comes to accepting responsibility?”
“You better keep my family out of this, Maxwell Montgomery,” she told him.
He felt the sting in her words and opted to take a direct approach. “I understand that you’re upset, and you have my condolences, but you can’t keep running into my office, making threats and blowing off steam. Tell me what you want so we can finish this now.”
She grunted and spewed her words at him. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“Like I said, I understand how you must feel. However, if you’re sensible about this, you’ll have to acknowledge that I’m not the guilty one. I didn’t create the scandal at Greater Metropolitan. I simply helped lay out the evidence.”
“Keep telling yourself that lie if it helps you sleep at night.”
“I sleep just fine,” he lied. Actually, he’d experienced many restless nights over the past year, since Deacon Burton was convicted. Something about the case had touched him in a way he hadn’t experienced previously. Maxwell refused to call it guilt, because that would imply he’d possibly made a huge irrevocable mistake.
“Nobody as low down as you can sleep well. You’re too afraid some of those knives you’ve shoved into the backs of people who trusted you are going to be hurled back at you. If you came up missing or dead, the police wouldn’t have a clue where to start looking for a perpetrator. You have so many enemies that they’d have to interview most of the tristate area.”
“I’ve heard enough, Sonya. If you’re finished shooting your mouth off and blaming me for your uncle’s predicament, I’d like for you to get out.”
“When I’m good and ready,” she said, reeling back on her heels, with her arms crossed and a piercing stare locked on Maxwell.
“Don’t make me have you tossed out on your behind.”
“You should be ashamed for using my uncle to further your career and for continuing this sick pursuit of the church.”
Maxwell picked up the phone.
“Like I said, you’ll get yours,” she muttered. “I don’t know how or when, but every dog has his day. Yours is labeled and waiting.”
Maxwell chuckled as he held the phone receiver but did not dial. “Call the Better Business Bureau and wage a complaint.”
“The bar association would be better.”
He chuckled louder and threw Sonya’s words back at her. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Sonya stomped out of his office and slammed the door.
His assistant rushed into his office. “Is there a problem?”
Maxwell continued to chuckle. “There’s no need for concern. She’s a disgruntled former employee and is upset about a case that didn’t go her way.”
“But she was very angry. I was worried when you had me close the door.”
Maxwell let out a quick laugh to relieve his tension and dismissed Sonya’s visit, as if her words hadn’t affected him. “Let’s get back to work. I have something you need to do right away. Grab your notepad.” His assistant hustled out of his office. Maxwell sighed heavily.
Sonya had pricked a tender spot and, without realizing it, had stirred unrest in him. Sonya couldn’t know about this, or he’d be seen as weak. Vultures preyed on the weak, like Bishop Jones had done to Maxwell’s father so many years ago. Maxwell vowed never to be beholden to anyone. If he’d made a mistake with Deacon Burton, so be it. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now. History had been written, and he was turning the page.
Chapter 14
Sonya was long gone, but her rant lingered. Maxwell shoved papers and emotions around, determined to carve out a work session filled with productivity. He hated that Sonya had gotten to him. You killed my uncle buzzed in his head, like an annoying fire alarm that couldn’t be silenced. He hadn’t literally killed the man. He wasn’t confused about that, but Maxwell couldn’t live with the idea of robbing two innocent young boys of a meaningful life filled with substance. Like it was yesterday, he recalled the agony of having his mother and father ripped from their home and sent to prison at the same time. He and Christine had been forced to stay with his mean and abusive aunt for what had seemed like an eternity until his mother got out. How many nights had he gone to bed hungry because there wasn’t any money to buy food? Maxwell declared that no child would have to live like that if he could help it. He swiped his hand across his brow, remembering.
Maxwell had to clear his mind and get busy. Duty called, and he anxiously answered, thrilled to have the distraction. His work wasn’t going to get done on its own. He opened a file sitting on the corner of his desk and flipped through several pages before slamming his pen on the desk. He reared back in his chair and growled. “What does it take to get a decent report around here?” he yelled out. No one was in the office with him, which meant he was yelling into the wind. It seemed useless, but the gesture helped Maxwell release his mounting frustration. It would be simple to say his angst was provoked purely by Sonya, a parasite determined to slowly bleed him dry. But that wasn’t true. His torment was being fueled by a sense of caring. If there was a way to feel sorry for Sonya and Deacon Burton without appearing weak or wrong, he’d gladly do it. “Ugh!” he exclaimed.
Pining over a dead man and his erratic niece wasn’t helping Maxwell’s cause. He had to find a way to let the deacon go and move on. There was a ton of work that needed to be done in order to expose and ultimately bring down Pastor Harris and Faith Temple. Once he gathered some perspective, Maxwell settled in his seat and got busy. Over the course of twenty years he’d mastered the art of suppressing emotions. No one was better at it than him.
He dove into the documents on his desk, blindly pushing toward his goal. Apparently, Faith Temple ha
d an uncanny ability to attract members from far and wide, generating over half a million dollars weekly in collections. Maxwell suspected the pastor was brainwashing naive members with false claims about miracles and faith. He was chomping at the bit to scour the details and find the dagger needed to bring down the unsuspecting young pastor. Maxwell dug deep while blocking out every distraction.
After an hour, he took a mental break to go through the stack of mail in front of him. In the middle of the stack was a plain envelope bearing his name and no return address. Maxwell opened it, pulled out the letter inside, and read the line of text in bold black print.
What goes around comes around. Your “just reward” is coming.
Maxwell’s heartbeat increased dramatically, and his palms began sweating. He refused to read on. Who had time to waste on sending him pointless threats? He thought about all that he had endured. Maxwell even thought about the sacrifices he’d made in his personal life to improve the livelihood of many people who’d been ripped off by so-called religious leaders. To think this was the thanks he got made him angry.
Forget about the haters, Maxwell thought. He savored the satisfaction of hearing a gavel sound off in a crowded courtroom after the guilty party had received their penalty. The sound of victory symbolized the only peace he’d known for years. Maxwell crumpled up the letter and threw it into the wastepaper basket near his desk. He laughed aloud and picked up the phone to call Garrett.
“Guess what I got in the mail?” he said when Garrett picked up.
“Have no idea.”
“A threatening letter from someone who has too much free time,” he said, humored.
“Hey, you might want to take this serious,” Garrett said after Maxwell read a section of the letter aloud. “Need I remind you that there may be some people out there who aren’t very fond of you?”
“You sound scared,” Maxwell said.
“I’m just saying that you need to be careful. You’ve brought down a long list of church leaders and bankrupted countless ministries with lawsuit victories.”
Redeemed Page 7
