Maxwell was pleased. “How about your sons?”
“Doing great. They’re good boys. And thanks for the money. It has made life much better for us. I’m finally able to move to a nicer neighborhood, thanks to you.”
“That’s good to hear.”
He picked up a small framed photo of his nephew that was situated on his desk. His sister had given him the photo last year, during one of his rare visits. His thoughts wanted to drift off to his disjointed family and what his mother had said about mentoring his nephew, but Jill’s voice drew him back into the moment.
“I know you’re busy, but I had to call. I want you to know that I’ve been clean for eleven months and twenty-three days, and it’s been wonderful.”
Maxwell was pleased. He shut his eyes tightly as his head nodded up and down.
“I’m a better mother thanks to you.”
He harnessed his emotions and continued listening.
“Thank you for covering my bill at the rehabilitation center. I desperately needed the help, and there was no way I could afford anything like that.”
“No thanks needed. I’m glad you accepted the help. That’s what matters.”
“At first it was hard leaving my kids. I worried about them every day. I didn’t have any family I could leave them with, so I was forced to leave them with my trifling neighbor. Thankfully, it all worked out, and my kids and I are together again. That ninety-day inpatient program gave me my life back, and I had to call and thank you. I should have called sooner, but I was getting myself together.”
Maxwell hadn’t hesitated in writing the forty-five-thousand-dollar check for Jill’s stay at the treatment center. Coming from the church, she was rare. Jill was honest and well worth the investment. “I’m glad it worked out. Your sons are the winners here. I’m glad you’re doing better, really glad.” He set Tyree’s photo down and kicked out the horrific memory of the period in which he and Christine had stayed with their aunt. He was a grown man and could still feel the daily whippings.
Maxwell was bursting with questions. She clearly wasn’t the same broken woman who’d sat in his office last spring and confessed to being involved with Minister Simmons at Greater Metropolitan, one of Bishop Jones’s associate pastors. She wasn’t the broken woman who had suffered with chronic back pain for several years. That frail woman had been used by the minister unashamedly. He’d supplied her with prescription drugs to ease her pain, and in return he’d taken various foul liberties with her. Maxwell’s disgust simmered, but then it dissipated when he thought about the minister rotting in jail while Jill walked around free.
“Jill, I really want the best for you. Your sons need you to stay clean. Are you doing some type of follow-up meetings or support group?”
“Yes, definitely. I know that my back problem and the pain meds will always be a struggle for me, but the support group helps me. Don’t worry, Mr. Montgomery. I’m going to stay clean. I have to for my kids.”
Maxwell believed her.
“You have no idea how much emotional baggage I’ve been able to get rid of. I’m not living in fear anymore that they will be taken away from me because of my addiction.”
“Jill, I’m glad to hear from you, and I’m pleased that you made the commitment to change your life. Do me a favor and keep in touch. Let me know how things are going for you and the boys.”
“I will, and I also want to apologize for not helping you with the case against Greater Metropolitan. I’m sorry about not being able to testify against the minister, but my children are all I have. They are the ones that love me. They need me, and I couldn’t take the chance of ending up in jail. The Department of Children and Family Services would have gotten involved, and I would have lost my boys. I’m sorry, but that’s a chance I won’t take for anybody.”
Maxwell understood and harbored no ill will toward her. Actually, he admired Jill’s devotion to her sons.
“It’s over with, and you did the right thing. Don’t worry about it. You did what you felt was best for your children. I can respect your decision. That’s what parents are supposed to do.”
If only his parents had felt the same way and had put their children before the church, maybe the Montgomery family would have a different ending . . . maybe.
Jill’s voice went up an octave, and excitement laced her words. “Would you believe that after all that went down at Greater Metropolitan, I was able to find a new church that I really like? Imagine that. I never thought I’d want to trust God or anyone in a church ever again.” She laughed softly.
Until this point, Jill had been speaking sensibly, and Maxwell couldn’t believe what he was hearing now. “Well, how can you possibly trust one now, after everything you’ve been through because of the so-called righteous, ‘let me help you’ church folks?”
“There is something different about this pastor and his wife. They’re down to earth and easy to talk to. When I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t need help, the words wouldn’t come out.” She sniffed hard. “They took my hand and prayed for me. I feel like they really care.”
“How did you meet this pastor?” Maxwell’s hand flew up to the back of his neck. He squeezed hard to tame the knot of tension that challenged him.
“After Bishop Jones and the others were arrested, the pastor and his wife just showed up at my door a few days later. He said Bishop Jones and Deacon Burton had both mentioned my name. They asked him to check on me and be sure that I was okay.”
Maxell closed the law book on the desk. He snagged a red ink pen, and his hand hovered over a legal pad, ready to write. “What’s the name of the pastor and his church?” He would add them to his watch list.
“Pastor Harris at Faith Temple. He and his wife are so encouraging. They’ve never judged me. Not one time have they asked me why or how could I have gotten involved with drugs and risked losing my children. Not once did they condemn me.” She giggled lightly. “I’m back in church, and I have you to thank.”
Maxwell’s joy deflated like air rapidly draining from a high-flying balloon. He didn’t know whether to feel angry, annoyed, or inspired to go harder after Pastor Harris. This should have been his moment to bask in Jill’s good news, but of course, the church had to find a way to ruin it.
Chapter 21
Maxwell was close to giving in to the nagging pang of doubt that demanded he consider the possibility that he’d made a mistake. He snapped the law book closed after wasting forty-five minutes staring at it without retaining a word. He strummed his fingers on the top of the book as he looked around the room, taking in the books that lined the shelves on each wall. Fed up, Maxwell sprang from his chair and hustled from the library. Passing the conference room and his assistant, he rushed into his office. He ignored the paralegal who’d called out to him, and closed the door hard behind him.
It wasn’t long before Maxwell’s desk was covered with papers. He’d pulled a box of files and photos from a locked cabinet, and the conference table was littered with its contents. A determined man dug through the information with a hungry vigor. There had to be something, some piece of paper, some document, some testimony that would shout to the rooftops that Deacon Burton was corrupt. There had to be if Maxwell was going to silence that rumbling uneasiness in his gut. He ignored the ringing phone, which attempted to summon him three different times. He sifted through mounds of paper until his eyes fell on a newspaper. The front page was filled with the faces of those arrested in the Greater Metropolitan case. Seeing the photo of Bishop Jones in handcuffs didn’t hold Maxwell’s attention. It was the picture of Deacon Burton walking into the courtroom with a Bible in his hand that captured his attention.
Maxwell had papers everywhere but still nothing solid that would quiet the nagging voice of his conscience, which continued asking, “Are you sure?” Maxwell flung the newspaper across the room. He considered the chaos of papers that was smothering him. What now? Would he just have to let it go? He did have other things to do, like being in
court later that day and meeting with a new client for an initial consultation.
The intercom on his desk sliced through the quiet that owned his office. “Mr. Montgomery, you wanted me to remind you about the letters that need to go out today.”
He shoved the cuff of his sleeve back and glanced down at his watch with a wrinkled brow. It was almost noon, and he’d accomplished nothing. “Sure. Let’s get it done.” He gathered the papers from his desk and tossed them onto the conference table with the others. “Come in,” he called out when his assistant knocked on the door.
She stepped over the newspapers as she strode across the floor. The box, the files, and the stacks of papers sprawled across the conference table caused her to comment. “Would you like me to straighten up your office later?”
“No, I’ll take care of it.”
She sat down in the chair near his desk and opened her laptop. He dictated the letter quickly, as she seemed to keep up. Yet it wasn’t long before his focus drifted from the task at hand.
“Scratch that. Start over.” The methodical, “get it done” side of Maxwell hadn’t shown up. Standing behind his desk, he attempted to finish the first letter, which he’d stopped and started twice. He dictated a few more lines, then stopped mid-sentence, snapping his fingers to summon the term he sought. With no success, he solicited the help of his assistant. “Read me what you have so far.”
Maxwell struggled to clear his jumbled thoughts. The few lines she read back to him had no impact on his ability to stay on task. “Do you belong to one of the local churches?” he questioned.
“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened.
“It’s a simple question. Do you go to church?”
“No, I don’t. I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in God. That’s why it doesn’t bother me to see you persecute churches.”
Her statement grabbed him immediately. Maxwell faced her dead on. “I don’t persecute churches. I prosecute those who are guilty of corruption, especially swindlers who take advantage of desperate people who are in need.”
“I wouldn’t want your job, Mr. Montgomery. Sometimes there is a thin line between right and wrong. I can only imagine how blurred that line might get for you.”
He dropped down into the chair behind his desk. “We’ll have to finish the letters later.”
“But these letters need to go out today, and your afternoon is booked solid.” She closed the lid of her laptop.
“So I guess we’ll do a little overtime. You can handle that, right?” he tossed back at her in a frosty tone.
“Sure, Mr. Montgomery. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Maxwell was already on edge. Any slight hint of laziness on the part of his assistant or a lack of commitment to her job was sure to push his irritation too far in the wrong direction. With his elbows pressed into his desk, Maxwell tapped his fingertips rapidly as he grasped for composure. Didn’t his assistant understand how serious his work was? He couldn’t help but think about Sonya and how valuable she’d been to his practice. If she were there, he wouldn’t have to dictate the letter. As a paralegal and an administrative assistant rolled into one, she would have written the letter on her own and shown him the final draft. When Sonya left, he was forced to hire both an assistant and a paralegal. The two put together weren’t as efficient as Sonya. He longed to have her back, but with her uncle convicted of a crime and now dead, she was never working for Maxwell again.
Worse, the rage she’d unleashed on him a few days ago confirmed how much Sonya blamed him for her uncle’s demise. His surge of emotions and his sense of helplessness rendered Maxwell speechless. The more he rehashed the situation, the more the mere presence of his assistant annoyed him. Settling for second best had never been his style. He stared long enough for his assistant to break the silence.
“Are you okay, Mr. Montgomery?”
That was a loaded question that he honestly could not answer. “Please excuse me, and hold my calls. I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He shifted his attention to a document in front of him. The second she shut the door behind her, Maxwell headed for the conference table and dived into the stacks of paper he’d been searching through before his assistant interrupted. Two hours later, with no solid proof of Deacon Burton’s undeniable guilt, he rubbed his eyelids with the heels of both hands. He glanced over at the newspaper articles still lying on the floor. Deacon Burton’s image glared back.
A knock at his office door received a sharp response. “Yes? What is it?”
“I have a delivery for you, Mr. Montgomery,” his assistant replied.
He responded through a closed door. “Just hold on to it. I’ll get it later.”
“The delivery person said I should give it to you right away.”
He considered her comment for a couple of seconds. “Come on in.”
His assistant quickly entered, strolled up to his desk, and pushed the envelope into his hand. “Here you are.”
He turned the envelope over and tore into it with his fingers, ignoring the letter opener she held out for him. There was a thick red dot that looked like a bloodstain on a single white piece of paper. Only one sentence was on the page. You will bleed. He pushed himself up from his chair. “Who gave you this? Where is the delivery person?”
“He’s probably in the elevator by now.”
“Was it a man or a woman? What did they look like?” Maxwell had rattled off the questions so quickly that he figured she might not have understood him.
Without repeating his questions, Maxwell dashed past her, out of his office, and to the elevator. Punching the down button multiple times didn’t make the elevator door open any faster. Down four flights of stairs, he hustled. When he got to the bottom floor, he pushed through the double doors of the entrance to the building. Standing on the sidewalk, he looked to his left, then to his right, and then left again. At the corner, he noticed a man standing beside a taxi with the door open. He aimed his finger at Maxwell and pulled an imaginary trigger before hopping into the taxi, which sped away.
Chapter 22
By 10:00 a.m. the next morning, Maxwell had run his regular five-mile morning route and had been at his firm for two hours already. Warm, bright sunlight seeped into his office through the vertical blinds, causing him to squint while reading the case file. He got up and snapped the blinds shut, denying sunlight the opportunity to interrupt him, then returned to his seat. Voices from the TV kept him company as he pored over a settlement agreement for one of his embezzlement cases. The cell phone on his desk buzzed. He recognized the untitled number that flashed. Why was Christine calling so early? What did she want? He poked the edge of the document he was working on with the point of his ink pen. The number continued to flash until the phone stopped ringing.
Fifteen minutes later the cell phone buzzed again. It was the same number. He might as well answer it. His sister would keep calling if he didn’t. He grabbed the phone and tightened his grip on the ink pen in his other hand. “Maxwell speaking.”
“Hey, Paul. How’s it going?”
He hated when she called him that, but didn’t bother correcting her. It would lengthen the call unnecessarily. “What do you want?”
“Why do you sound so dry?” she asked.
His tone might not have sounded inviting, but in general, Maxwell didn’t have a problem with his sister, except when she pressured him about their parents.
“I haven’t talked with you in a while. So it’s not like I have been blowing up your phone. You can’t be annoyed just because I’m calling you,” she added.
“I’m just busy. I’ve got a lot going on.”
“When aren’t you busy? Anyway, I’m calling to see if you would at least consider coming to a small get-together for Auntie. She’s turning seventy-four. And Mom wants to do something to celebrate her sister’s birthday. Will you come?”
“Auntie. Are you kidding? I haven’t seen that drunken child abuser since Mom got out of jail. I didn’t like her then and care even l
ess about her now. You can definitely count me out.”
“She did the best she could to take care of us. Mom was only gone six months. We weren’t with Auntie that long. And you know she is the only family Mom has. We were lucky she took us in and we didn’t end up in foster care.”
“Yeah, right. Foster care may not have been as bad.” He swiveled his chair around and stole a quick peek at the TV while Christine made an attempt to convince him. He saw crowds of people trekking up the stone steps of Faith Temple as the commentator made mention of the funeral taking place there. A picture of Deacon Burton flashed on the screen. Maxwell’s face scrunched up, his expression sour, like he’d just bitten into a lemon. He swung his chair back around, giving his back to the TV.
After a minute or two of fervent persuasion, she sealed her plea with, “Come on. You refuse every invite, no matter what it is. This means a lot to Mom. She wants you there. Please, Paul. Do it for her.”
“Will you please stop calling me Paul? Why do I have to ask you that every time we speak?”
“Maybe it’s because that’s what our parents named you.”
Slowly, he turned his chair around to face the TV again. The funeral for Deacon Burton was still the main story being covered by the local channel. The reporters went on and on about the man. An agitated Maxwell looked down at this watch and sliced into Christine’s admonishment. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get back to work. I won’t be there. I don’t want to hang up on you, but I need to finish up here.” He shuffled through the papers on his desk, making noise, and hoped it would persuade her into believing that he was really busy and had to go.
“All right, Maxwell. That is what you want to be called, right? I’ll let our mother know that you refused to come to Auntie’s party. You know, the one who took us in when we didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Whatever,” he said, prepared to hang up cordially or not.
“You need to let go of the past and build a life in the here and now. Work on that.”
Redeemed Page 10
