“I don’t want to hear your sob story. You used my husband, and now you have the nerve to come here. Humph. Don’t be fooled, Mr. Montgomery,” she said, practically snarling at him. “I’m not mild-mannered, like he was. That same man you lied to would be praying for you by now.”
She snatched her searing stare away from him, trying to force her lip to stop quivering. She looked back at him and hurled more of her anger. “But not me. To the devil’s hell with you, as far as I’m concerned. Guilt brought you here, and you’re going to leave with it. Remember that you have to live with the fact that you sent an innocent man to prison and he ended up getting killed. Whether it was a mistake or done purposely, you did it. You won’t be able to clear your conscience by coming here. I have no mercy or forgiveness to give you. You get out of my face, out of my yard, and away from here.”
Maxwell turned and retreated to his car. He offered her not another word. His mind was blank. He effortlessly drove his car to his office and parked in the stall with his name on it. The drive had been a blur. He wished the conversation with Mrs. Burton had been a simple blur, instead of a cold and brutally aggravating reality.
Chapter 25
Maxwell’s day started with a five-mile jog before the sun rose. He showered, dressed, and had two cups of coffee before tackling the next stage of his morning. He reached for the soft Italian leather briefcase Nicole had given him. He didn’t allow himself to think of her often. The briefcase’s shiny solid gold letters M.M. brought back memories of a woman who had wanted more from him than he had to give. She’d wanted his heart. She’d wanted to be first on his priority list. Toward the end he’d realized that Nicole wanted him to need her and love her. How could he, when love and dependency were the two things Maxwell had intentionally left behind when he slammed the door on his family over twenty years ago? Vowing never to be clouded by a weak emotion like love or need had kept him strong and successful. There was no reason to change, or was there?
He stood captive by the briefcase and the woman it forced him to remember. Why hadn’t she just left well enough alone? Things were comfortable between them. No real definition of who they were to one another, just an unspoken understanding. They were both career driven, they worked long hours, and they saw each other whenever they could. Admittedly, her desire for a committed relationship wasn’t really random. It arose after a flight she was on nearly crashed. The incident caused Nicole to reevaluate her priorities. She wanted his to change too, but Maxwell couldn’t do it. He couldn’t abandon his self-appointed mission. Wind chimes hanging from the deck near his pool sang out, and the spell that had Maxwell drifting back in time was broken.
He picked up the briefcase and tossed his suit jacket across it, and out the front door he went. Maxwell was in the car before he realized he’d forgotten a file. Once he’d gone back inside and had the file in hand, the phone on his home office desk rang. He glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was 7:20 a.m. There was time. He decided to answer the call.
“Maxwell Montgomery.”
No response.
He barked hello twice. Still, there was no response, so he hung up the phone. He was two steps away from the door to his home office when the phone rang again. He snatched it up. “Hello,” he said with a strong voice.
He heard only the sound of heavy breathing. He pulled the phone from his ear, hit it against the palm of his hand a couple of times, and repeated, “Hello.”
The heavy breathing grew louder. He punched the END button with his finger and tossed the cordless handset on the desk.
No time to waste on prank calls. He hustled down the hallway and out the front door to his car. He waved his key ring toward the front door, pressed a button, and engaged his house alarm.
The drive through his neighborhood showcased the usual early morning dog walkers and the sprinklers raining down on a host of lawns. Five miles into his drive on the expressway, Deacon Burton immediately flooded his thoughts. It had been a couple of days since he’d battled the deacon’s voice in his head. Maybe that was progress; hopefully, a full night’s sleep would soon follow. Maxwell pressed a button on the steering wheel and turned on the radio to drown out his internal chatter. Regret and second-guessing didn’t pay the bills.
A need to regroup took over. He gave the command to dial to his hands-free device. He was about to disconnect the call when Garrett answered.
“Hey, man, I’m on my way to the office now. If you have time, I’d like to get together this morning to discuss your progress on our favorite project.” Maxwell folded in his bottom lip and raked his teeth over it.
“Sure, but my morning is pretty tight. I can’t get downtown until later this afternoon.”
“This is important. I prefer to meet sooner,” Maxwell stated.
“Uh, let me see.”
“Oh, what the heck. I’m not too far away from your office,” Maxwell said. “I can stop by now. Will that work?”
“Sure. I’ll pull the file.”
Maxwell ended the call, but his mind was stirred up. The investigation of Pastor Harris and his church had to be thorough. He didn’t need any reporters or the community second-guessing his integrity or his intentions. Maxwell pressed hard on the accelerator, anxious to hear what Garrett had to say.
Thoughts bounced around in his head as he drove. Had Garrett found some dark secret that the perfect pastor thought he’d buried so deep that no one would find it? Maybe he’d changed his name too. Perhaps he had to because he was a child molester or a woman beater and wanted to bury his ugly past. Maybe he had an illegitimate child somewhere. Maxwell couldn’t wrap his head around the wealth of possibilities. It could be anything. Whatever it was, he hoped it was juicy enough to be used as a cornerstone in building a case against Pastor Harris and his beloved Faith Temple.
Just then Maxwell’s cell phone rang. He’d propped it up in the car’s console, and when he looked down at it, he saw that the call was restricted. He wasn’t about to allow any nonsense to alter his mood. He hit the SILENCE button, turned on the radio, and sailed down the expressway to his destination.
Chapter 26
The traffic was light, and only a few people strolled along the sidewalks. So Maxwell had his choice of parking spots along the street. He maneuvered into a space, hopped out of the car, and dropped enough coins into the meter to secure an hour of parking. Maxwell entered the building where Garrett’s new office was, and checked the guide. Suite 238 was right down the hall. Just as Maxwell reached the door, Garrett appeared and unlocked it. Maxwell followed him into his office.
“Nice setup,” Maxwell told Garrett, as he scanned the interior before sitting down on an expensive-looking sofa. “Looks like somebody is coming up.” Maxwell grinned as he shook his head in approval.
“Business is good. Plus, I can’t have you coming to a dump to meet with me—” The phone on Garrett’s desk interrupted him. He went to the desk and pulled out a black folder and handed it to Maxwell. “Excuse me. I need to take this call.” He headed into the next room.
Maxwell unbuttoned his suit jacket and settled back into a corner of the sofa with the folder. He opened it, and Pastor Harris’s hazel-colored eyes seemed to jump off the page before Maxwell and glare at him as he stood behind a podium, pointing his finger. After sifting through a few more pictures of the pastor, his wife, and the ministerial staff, Maxwell paused. Then he flipped back to the photo of Pastor Harris at the podium before resuming his assessment of the folder’s contents. It was packed with photos, background reports, job histories, and details about each person on the church’s staff, including such tidbits as a spouse’s maiden name and the names of children. The folder included information on several staff members whom the pastor had either removed entirely or given some type of disciplinary action and subsequent training. Maxwell wasn’t pleased. Fifteen minutes elapsed, and every photo had been examined. Every report had been skimmed. Garrett entered the room just as Maxwell closed the folder.
&nb
sp; Maxwell patted the bulky folder as he balanced it on his knee, then stood. “You have more, right?” he said with an undeniable note of frustration in his voice. Peeking inside the folder, he told Garrett, “This is nothing. Where’s the meat?” He flailed his free arm in the air. “I could have gotten this from newspaper articles and a quick visit to the office of vital records.” He shoved the folder at Garrett.
Garrett snatched the folder after giving Maxwell a hard stare. He went to his desk and dropped it there. Facing Maxwell and leaning on the front edge of his desk, he defended his work. “I’m still waiting for the personal tax returns, loans, bank balances, and the status of their faith-based grants.” He hurled additional facts at his best paying client.
“This is not enough. What else do you know? There has to be something in his background.” Maxwell shoved his hand down into his right pants pocket. “He’s a preacher. Come on. We know there has to be dirt and corruption.”
Garrett pushed himself off the edge of his desk and stood up straight. “Pastor Harris started preaching at nineteen. By the time he was twenty-five, he was an ordained minister. Over the last fifteen years he’s built a ministry that’s well established in Philadelphia and abroad. People come from all over to hear him preach and have him pray for them. They say he has a gift for healing. So far, no one has anything bad to say about him.”
Maxwell burned with fury. “I don’t want to hear this garbage. Everybody has an enemy. He’s like all the rest, and I’m going to bring him down.”
“Maybe not.” Garrett brushed the imaginary dust from his hands as he maintained direct visual contact with Maxwell.
He shoved back the left sleeve of his shirt to check his watch. “Nobody is that clean.” Maxwell whipped his body around and stepped toward the door. Quickly, he turned again to face Garrett. “You’re missing something.” He clenched both fists and shook them in the air in front of him. Maxwell wasn’t accustomed to losing. He didn’t plan on starting a new trend. “You have to dig up something.”
The investigator stepped behind his desk, placed his palms on top of it, and issued a challenge. “And what if there isn’t anything? Are you going to make it up?”
Maxwell didn’t appreciate the insinuation. He stepped to the edge of Garrett’s desk. “We’ve had this argument one too many times lately. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing this a long time. I’m telling you there is something about this man. I feel it under my skin. If you do a thorough enough investigation, you’ll find it.” He buttoned his suit jacket and glanced to the left and right of him, taking in the art on the walls, the furniture, and the designer tie Garrett wore. “We’ve both done well together. Let’s not mess this up. Change your strategy if you have to.”
Garrett tugged at his mustache and listened with his teeth buried in his bottom lip.
“Here’s an idea. Let’s put this character to the test. Maybe we can have an attractive woman come on to him, and see if he falls for her.” Maxwell continued as the idea unfolded. “What if this woman pretends to have a lucrative business deal that appears to benefit Harris’s church? Of course, the deal involves illegal activity. If the price is right, will Pastor Harris go for the deal and put the church in bed with a con artist?”
“That’s pushing it,” Garrett said. “I wouldn’t know where to get someone to do that deed.”
“I do. I know someone from out of town who could help make that happen. I’ll get you his contact information.”
“Are you for real?” Garrett had to ask.
“Absolutely, I am. If this Pastor is as clean as you say he is, that little test shouldn’t shake him at all. Do your job. Make it happen.” He pushed the black folder, which was near the edge of the desk, closer to Garrett. “I’ll give it to Pastor Harris. He’s a slick one, but we’re going to get him,” Maxwell bellowed. “From the looks of this office, I pay you enough to get it done.”
Garrett almost let a few words fly but decided this wasn’t the time.
“Get it done.” Briskly, Maxwell turned his back to Garrett and marched out of his office, leaving the door standing open. His words hung in the air long after he was gone.
Garrett hadn’t reprimanded his client, but there weren’t going to be too many more opportunities when he’d allow Maxwell to speak so harshly to him without consequences. No one got away with bad behavior forever, not even the untouchable attorney Maxwell Montgomery.
Chapter 27
It was midday. Maxwell decided to ramble through the bundle of mail his assistant had presorted. As he shuffled through the stack, one letter in particular surprised him. The return address included an inmate number, K84600. He tossed the letter into the trash and continued looking through the rest of the mail. Curiosity about the letter he’d tossed consumed Maxwell. It wasn’t long before he dug it out of the trash, opened it, and read the first page.
Mr. Montgomery,
I imagine you are quite shocked to receive a letter from me. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t read it.
Maxwell flipped to the back page. He grunted out loud and leaned back in his chair after seeing the name Bishop Ellis Jones at the bottom. Most of him wanted to stomp on the paper with his foot, but the yearning to hear what his nemesis had to say was too intense. He read on.
I felt compelled to write this letter, whether you read it or not. I was bitter, angry, and unforgiving the first twelve months that I was locked away in this cage. I know you don’t believe it, but I was innocent of the charges brought against me, all of them. I did not condone wrongdoing in my church.
My testimony at the trial was true, every word of it. I didn’t know that Minister Simmons continued to sell drugs after I ordered him to stop. I didn’t know he had drugs and money stashed in the church. Well, you’ve heard all of this before. That guilty verdict crushed my family, ripped me from my home and out of the ministry.
With my long sentence, the biggest regret is not being able to protect my family. Since I’ve been in here, my grandson was shot during a robbery and almost died. I could have kept him on the right track had I been there.
Maxwell thumped the letter with his finger and nodded his head. He didn’t want to hear the bishop’s lies and excuses, but the pages piqued his interest. He continued reading.
I’m not bitter and angry anymore. God is in the middle of all this. No matter how bad this looks, He has a plan. So, for whatever reason, this is where I am. Initially, my goal in writing you was to ask that you not hinder my appeal. However, I’ve realized you are not in control of these prison doors opening for me. So I am not reaching out to you on my behalf.
However, I do want you to know that Deacon Burton was definitely innocent. He discovered corruption in the ministry and informed both of us. If there is anything you can do to restore his good name, it would be a blessing. I’m asking you to look at the facts more closely. Anything you can do to help his wife and two boys would be the right thing to do.
You may never believe anything that I’ve just said, but it still had to be said. Know that regardless of what you’ve done, I forgive you for taking me from my family. I forgive you for tearing down a ministry that took years to build. I pray one day, when your eyes are fully open and your vision is clear, that you will be able to forgive yourself.
Sincerely,
Bishop Ellis Jones
Maxwell flung the letter into the air and watched the two pages drift to the floor. “He forgives me?” he shouted aloud. Who did Jones think he was? Maxwell didn’t need the forgiveness of a convicted felon. What the bishop should have done was ask Paul and Ethel Montgomery for forgiveness. They were the ones who had gone to prison and had lost everything back then, while Bishop Jones had lost nothing. Not even his reputation. When the dust had settled, he looked like the innocent party, while Maxwell’s parents had been shamefully labeled the perpetrators.
Maxwell shot up from his chair and walked around his desk twice. He snatched the letter from the floor, walked over to the windo
w in his office, and shoved it open. He tore the letter into shreds and tossed the tiny pieces out the window and watched them float to the sidewalk below. He turned and peered at the locked drawer of his desk. His heart was beating fast, and he could hear himself breathing harder and harder. Maxwell kicked the locked drawer, delivering a powerful blow, three times. The desk moved forward two feet. Maxwell grabbed the back of his chair and dug his nails deep into the leather. He was determined not to scream out and release the fury blazing within.
“Mr. Montgomery, everything okay?” his assistant called out to him from the other side of the door. She knocked on the door, almost demanding a response.
Maxwell controlled his rage long enough to respond. “I’m fine.” He knew he had to respond, or out of concern for him, she might open the door. He was in no mood to have anyone challenge him about anything or invade his space. He needed to be alone. The word forgive had taken him to the very edge, and he struggled to pull himself back.
Chapter 28
The civil attorney who hadn’t lost a case hustled down Market Street, toward the civil courthouse. The scent of hoagies and a freshly cooked Philly cheesesteak with fried onions from a food truck on one of the side streets hung in the air, but there wasn’t time to stop. Eager to get inside, he climbed the steps and entered the cool building.
He got on the elevator, pressed a button, and the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. Maxwell considered the key points he planned to make on behalf of his client. Over two million dollars in donations had been misappropriated by a local organization, Christian Education Coalition. The organization’s president denied the infraction, but Maxwell was poised to prove otherwise and reclaim his client’s 1.6-million-dollar donation.
Redeemed Page 12
