Martha turned her back, and with her shoulders slumped and her head hung, she began to weep. She slipped a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and blew her nose.
Pastor Harris quickly put down the monitor to console her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the chair at her desk.
“I’m so sorry. I would never do anything to intentionally hurt the church.” Her words dripped with regret. Martha coughed and began gagging.
Pastor Harris got a small cup of water from the cooler in the corner and placed it in Martha’s shaky hand. Martha gulped down the water and gasped.
“Please forgive me,” Pastor Harris said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s not all your fault. That Montgomery character is just a sneaky snake purposely using whoever he can to get what he wants.” The remorseful pastor folded Martha’s hand in his. “I need your help. So I’m going to need you to pull yourself together, okay?”
She sniffed hard, dried the tears from her cheeks, and picked up a pen from her desk. “Yes, sir. What can I do?”
“Call a meeting for this evening. I need the finance team and the senior ministerial staff. Everyone here, no exceptions. Tell them to skip dinner if they have to. I’ll order something for everyone. This is a mandatory emergency meeting.” Pastor Harris poked his finger into the palm of his hand. “Six o’clock sharp. Call our outside accountant. I need her here as well. We’ve got to cover all our bases. Tell each of them to be prepared to give a financial update on every department associated with this ministry. I’ll be in my office. Let me know when everything is set.”
Martha’s pen zipped across her tablet as he spoke. “I’ll get the calls started, and I’ll order in some dinner.”
Pastor Harris retreated to his private study, closing the door behind him. He paced the floor from the door to the window several times. He pondered what Maxwell Montgomery was looking for, wondering if it was something specific or any old tidbit he could blow up into a case. He plucked his glasses from his face and tossed them onto his desk. He plopped both flat palms against the wall and allowed his head to fall between his arms. His gaze landed on an ant crawling along the carpet. That was probably how Maxwell saw him and Faith Temple. Like a small ant, weak, insignificant, and something that he would crush under his foot on his way to the next church.
The pastor pushed his body away from the wall and stood tall. Maxwell Montgomery had better be ready to do battle with him and God if he expected to take down Faith Temple. Pastor Harris was secure in his role as a soldier in God’s army. With God on his side, the pastor was confident that he couldn’t lose.
Martha rapped on the office door and entered without waiting for a response. “I’ve gotten through half the calls. So far, everyone will be in attendance. I have ordered dinner and will set it out in the large conference room. Do you need anything else?”
“No, that should do it. Just let me know when you finish making the calls.”
She floated out of his office, seemingly much calmer than before.
The remainder of the afternoon sputtered by for the pastor. Six o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. He needed to get everyone in one room and prepare them for what was headed their way. More importantly, he needed to be sure Maxwell Montgomery wasn’t going to find any whiff of impropriety when it came to the church’s finances and investments. He sat down at his desk, scratched a few questions on a list for the emergency meeting, then popped up from his chair. Finally, the clock struck 5:40 p.m. The pastor darted to the conference room. By 6:00 p.m., the last person had arrived.
“Thanks, Martha, for setting out the food. Go on home now,” Pastor Harris said once everyone was present.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she replied, then left the conference room, pulling the door closed behind her.
Pastor Harris surveyed the faces around the large, oval conference room table. Every seat was occupied, and everyone peered toward the head of the table, seemingly waiting for him to speak. The pastor led the group in a brief prayer and took his seat. “I appreciate each of you coming out. I realize the meeting was called with very short notice. I need you all to know that our ministry is under attack.”
“Attack? What?” one man said, glancing toward the window, while the others present whispered to one another, obviously concerned.
The pastor’s voice rose over the others. “Is there anyone here who hasn’t heard of Maxwell Montgomery?”
Rumbling voices were heard around the table.
“Who hasn’t?” one person said. “He’s the one who shut down Greater Metropolitan, and you know how big they were.”
“Maxwell Montgomery . . . he’s the attorney who goes around completely destroying churches. I’ve heard he’s never lost a case,” responded a silver-haired man sitting close to Pastor Harris.
Another person joined in. “Oh, Lord, please don’t tell me he’s coming after our church.”
The man sitting on the left side of Pastor Harris gave a hoarse cough, and the piece of meat he was chewing flew right out of his mouth and onto the floor.
The last straw was the middle-aged man who tossed his ink pen into the center of the table, fell back into his chair, and said, “If he’s coming after us, we don’t have a chance. That guy goes in like a wrecking ball, and he doesn’t leave a pulpit standing.”
Pastor Harris slammed both palms of his hands into the table. “Stop it. We will absolutely not think that way. I need everyone at this table to grow a spine, and let’s face this attack head on. Yes, Attorney Montgomery has launched an investigation of me and Faith Temple, but he’s a man wrapped in flesh. He is not more powerful than God. So stop panicking,” he demanded. “We’re here tonight to make sure Faith Temple is on solid ground when it comes to church business. It is critical that there is nothing out of order with any of our finances, offerings, investments, anything.”
A hush claimed the room, and all eyes around the table landed on Pastor Harris.
“Now, we know Montgomery is a hard hitter. He is going to turn over every possible stone during his investigation. We have to be sure there is nothing for him to find. Martha told each of you to bring the necessary detailed records for your areas. Let’s start with the treasury report, followed by department budgets and spending,” Pastor Harris directed.
The finance director was the last one to give a report. “Every penny is accounted for, and the financial reporting guidelines were followed with all the faith-based initiative federal and local grants. We are in good shape.” The plump man, with a thick, bushy mustache that curled up at both ends, flashed a hard look at the accountant and back to the pastor.
“So everyone is saying our finances are squeaky clean in every area. Great.” Pastor Harris thrust his palms together in a loud clap, then pushed both palms up into the air. “Awesome. Now, let that Maxwell Montgomery bring it on.”
The female accountant turned to the plump man with the handlebar mustache. “You didn’t tell him?” she said.
Joy drained from the pastor’s face. His gaze fled from the accountant and rested on the plump man. “Tell me what?”
The finance director didn’t respond.
“You tell him, or I will,” the accountant insisted firmly after snapping shut her folder of documents.
“Somebody tell me something. What is it?” Pastor Harris rose slowly and planted his hands on the back of his chair and squeezed.
The finance director began rattling off details. “Remember the investment broker I told you I was working with last year, the one who I’d decided the church should discontinue using?”
“Get to the point,” the pastor instructed.
“Well, he was found guilty of insider trading, and some of the church’s portfolio consisted of investments he had made using that insider information. It’s a—”
The pastor shouted, “What? Are you kidding me? This—”
The plump finance director cut the pastor off. “Wait, wait. It’s all taken care of. We agr
eed to sell the portfolio under the margin of profit and relinquished all ties with the broker. He informed the trade commission that the church was completely uninvolved in the selection of investment items in our portfolio. The broker had full control of that. Of course, the more money his clients made based on his investments, the more commission he earned. So that was his incentive in padding the church’s investment portfolio. But everything is okay now.”
Pastor Harris whipped around to face the window, giving his back to the group. He folded in his lips, determined to think before speaking. This couldn’t be happening. He trusted the educated and highly successful finance director to oversee the church’s investments, and he’d allowed a fraud to sneak in the back door. Pastor turned slowly to face the silent group.
“How was this discovered?” he asked.
The accountant spoke up. “I found some reporting discrepancies when I performed an unscheduled audit of the church’s investments.” She held on to the plump man’s stare until he snatched his gaze away from her.
“And nobody thought it important to tell me?” Pastor Harris slammed his fist on the table. “So we are just going to give Montgomery ammunition against us? I can’t believe this has happened. There is no reason for us to be in this precarious situation. Each of you know exactly what I expect. We have an outside accountant as part of our team that manages our finances.” The pastor waved his hand toward the female accountant. “The whole purpose of having one is to avoid any suggestion of impropriety and to provide an extra layer of checks and balances.” He stepped away from the table and paced to the door and back to the table. “It’s simple, people. Don’t you know how critical it is that we safeguard the church’s integrity? If our accountant found it, you better believe that bloodhound Maxwell Montgomery will find it.”
Pastor Harris swiped his hand down the front of his face, stared at the floor, lifted his head, and allowed his stern gaze to pass over each face in front of him. “We will meet again tomorrow, same time, to devise a plan to offset the fallout if news of the investment fiasco bites us in the butt. This meeting is over. I will, however, be scheduling a one-on-one meeting with each of you. Martha will call you to schedule it. You can all leave.”
People wasted no time backing away from the table, gathering up their belongings, and dashing for the exit.
“Not you. We need to talk.” Pastor Harris stretched out his arm and pointed his finger at the finance director. As the head of the finance committee, he couldn’t think the pastor was letting him off that easy. He had put the ministry at risk, then had covered it up, further jeopardizing Faith Temple’s good name. The eager pastor watched the last person file out of the conference room. The man he’d asked to stay behind stood a few feet away from him.
Pastor Harris shook his head, his gaze burned into the man’s face. He was accountable, and there would be consequences. That was Pastor Harris’s way. He wasn’t inclined to change.
Chapter 31
Memories of Nicole had haunted him every day since he’d run into her a week ago at the courthouse. Was it because she still looked great, or was it the engagement? He wasn’t sure. Either way, he couldn’t shake her off. Married? That was hard to digest. Who was this guy? Maxwell’s curiosity pushed him to action. After arriving at his destination, he decided to see if her number was the same. He scrolled through his contact list and stopped at her name. He pressed down on the phone icon. Three rings and she was on the line.
“Maxwell, this is a surprise.”
“I see you still have the same phone number.”
“Yep. So what’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing really. Just thought we might get together for lunch whenever you have time.” He wrapped his palm around the wood-grain gearshift.
“Ah, really? Why?”
“You’re getting married. Figured we could celebrate, if you’re not too busy.”
“Sure. Why not? When and where?”
“How about this afternoon?”
“I think I can squeeze you in,” she replied.
“How about twelve thirty at the restaurant downtown? The one that serves the cherry pie you love so much.”
“You remember that?”
“I remember more than you think.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Okay, Maxwell. Then I’ll see you soon.”
Maxwell ended the call, climbed out of his car, and went into the bank across the street.
“Mr. Montgomery, good to see you again. How may I help you?” The short man in a suit welcomed him with a firm handshake.
“I need to set up a trust fund anonymously. Actually, two trust funds. The money is to be specifically used for college. Can you help me with that?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Montgomery. Right this way.”
Thirty minutes later Maxwell reviewed the details of the trust funds. The bank had also drafted a letter confirming that the two interest-bearing accounts, each with a balance of one hundred thousand dollars, had been established for Mrs. Burton’s sons. No information regarding the source of the funds was provided; the letter said only that the accounts were an anonymous gift. The letter was to be hand delivered to Mrs. Burton.
At least she wouldn’t have to worry about how to educate her children. Maxwell’s parents had been swindled out of his college fund. As a result, his road to college had been a rocky one. Maxwell’s cloak of guilt felt a little lighter, until he considered the boy’s current well-being. What good was a college fund down the road if Mrs. Burton couldn’t put food on the table today? Maxwell found his personal banker, who hadn’t gotten far away.
“I need two thousand dollars a month sent indefinitely and anonymously to Mrs. Burton. Call it a survivor’s stipend or whatever.”
“But Mr. Montgomery, there will be tax implications if she receives a regular payment.”
With as much money as Maxwell kept in the bank with his business account alone, he expected his request to be handled without resistance. “Do what has to be done so that she gets the money. The taxes are on me.”
As he walked out of the bank, his eyes darted up to the clock on the wall. He had just enough time to get downtown after he made a quick call. He dialed his assistant and strolled across the parking lot with his phone to his ear. “I’ll be back in the office around two thirty. I have a lunch meeting this afternoon.”
“Oh, I don’t have that meeting on your calendar.”
“I know. I scheduled it myself. I’ll be in later.” With his assistant informed of his plans, he ended the call, hopped in his car, and drove straight downtown. He was anxious to see Nicole.
The valet parked his car. Maxwell entered the restaurant and was seated right away. When the waiter came to his table, he quickly ordered for both himself and Nicole. Ten minutes later, he was typing a short note on his tablet. His attention darted toward the front door when Nicole entered the building. She took confident strides, her six-inch heels sounding against the marble floor. Her hair bounced around her shoulders, and the tan linen skirt suit she wore accentuated her flat stomach and trim waistline. When she reached the table, her vibrant eyes engaged him immediately.
“You’re here before me?” She tapped the crystal on her watch with her finger. “That never happened when we were together.”
“You’re hilarious,” he tossed back as she sat down.
“I was surprised by your lunch invite.”
“Why? I know you enjoy a good meal,” he replied.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Not a thing,” he said, grinning. “You look amazing. I can tell you’ve been working out.”
Nicole lifted her arm and flexed her right bicep muscle and poked it with her fingertip. “I’ve got to look good in my wedding dress.”
Just the topic of conversation he was interested in. “So, how are the plans coming along?”
“Pretty good.”
The waiter appe
ared with two tall glasses of sparkling water, chilled salad plates with colorful garden salads, and warm freshly baked bread. “Enjoy. I will check on you shortly.”
“Well, aren’t you efficient, Mr. Montgomery. Thanks for ordering my favorite.” She smiled, and they continued chatting as they ate.
“Who is the lucky guy?”
Her ring drew his attention for a few seconds. “His name is James Washington. He’s a psychiatrist from D.C., never been married, and has no children. He’s a really nice guy.”
In Maxwell’s profession, he’d learned to read people well. Where was the sparkle in her eyes when she said his name? He didn’t detect any enthusiasm when she talked about this James fella, or was Maxwell seeing what he wanted to see? He wanted to poke around the subject a bit more. “What is it about him that makes him ‘the one’?”
“He knows how to make me a priority. I can tell you that,” she snapped.
The questioning attorney’s brow wrinkled. He lifted both palms so that they faced her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
A weak closed-mouth smile claimed her lips. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. Let’s talk about something else.”
He obliged. For the remainder of their lunch, Maxwell masked his curiosity with questions about her firm, where she’d traveled lately, and what piece of art she’d added to her collection. When lunch was over, he escorted Nicole to her car and found a surprise.
“I thought you didn’t like sports cars.” He tipped the valet and held the car door open for her.
“Well, people change,” she responded.
“Yes, I guess they do.”
She slid behind the steering wheel, thanked him for lunch, and left him standing at the curb, watching her burgundy BMW turn the corner.
Lunch had gone fairly well. Maxwell shifted gears in his mind as he revved up his engine and drove off in the opposite direction, quite intrigued. He’d go for dinner next.
Chapter 32
Pastor Harris picked up his Bible and rubbed his fingers across the raised letters that spelled out his name. He was a man of God, and God would have to take care of the situation he’d prayed about. All he could do was be obedient and just keep preaching. God would have to do the rest.
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