He pulled out an eight-by-ten photo of Maxwell Montgomery. That was definitely him. The right man had been investigated. Next, out came a black folder, which contained a background report and a several-page narrative. Pastor Harris removed the background report and read it thoroughly. Nothing there, no arrests or legal matters. That wasn’t surprising. Quickly, he flipped the page over to be sure he wasn’t missing anything on the back side. It was completely blank, so it sailed to the floor.
He opened the black folder again, took out the narrative, and began to read. Maxwell Montgomery is from Chester, Pennsylvania. He has only one sibling, a sister, Christine, and he grew up with both parents in the home for the majority of his childhood. Pastor Harris read two pages, which gave him the details of Maxwell’s family life. What his parents did for a living, the challenges he faced when he left his parents’ home at seventeen, and Maxwell’s stellar success in school weren’t of interest to him. He graduated from law school at the top of his class. No surprise there, either. Maxwell was obviously smart and persistent. Pastor Harris didn’t need a report to tell him that. However, a sense of shock snaked through him, creating a prickling sensation underneath his skin, when he read the next line. Maxwell Montgomery was born Paul Montgomery, Jr. What? His name wasn’t even Maxwell. He read the sentence a second time. Pastor Harris licked his lips, hungry for more information, wondering what had prompted the name change.
The pastor turned the third page and found an aged newspaper clipping stapled to it. His eyes moved faster across the typed lines. Paul Montgomery, Sr., served faithfully as the deacon and treasurer of his local church for decades. The pastor of the church at the time engineered a get-rich-quick scheme that failed. It cost Paul Sr. his home, his life savings, his retirement fund, and the college funds he’d set aside for his two children. Pastor Harris rose from his chair, took two steps, and wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on his nose.
The next page he read with his finger slowly moving across the page as he digested every word. Paul Sr. was arrested and spent three years in prison on fraud and embezzlement charges associated with the pastor’s get-rich-quick scheme. His wife, Ethel, was the church secretary, and she did not escape the scandal unscathed. She served six months in prison due to the same scheme. He hungrily sucked up the entire backstory to Maxwell’s life.
Pastor Harris read the last section of the narrative. The pastor who engineered the get-rich-quick scheme, lost millions of dollars of his church members’ money, and did not serve one day in prison was. He is the same Bishop Ellis Jones whom Attorney Maxwell Montgomery later built a case against, a case that sent him to federal prison and shut the doors of his mega-ministry. “What? It can’t be,” the pastor said aloud. He read that last section again.
Pastor Harris paced the floor of his office with the narrative in his hand. He came to a sudden stop by the window. Leaning against the windowsill, he squeezed his eyelids shut tight. He rubbed at the knot in the back of his neck, which partnered with a dull pain over his right eye, hinting that his headache would reappear, strong and powerful. His eyelids opened, and he peered out across the housetops and off into the distant sky.
Finally, Maxwell’s motivation was becoming clearer. It was vengeance that drove his relentless pursuit of clergy and the personal war he was waging against churches. The pastor stared at the photo of Maxwell. Now that he had information that probably no one else knew, what should he do with it? Pastor Harris raked his teeth over his bottom lip and stared at Maxwell’s picture. Now he knew exactly who this wounded soul was.
Chapter 43
Maxwell stood on the balcony outside his bedroom, winding down from another hectic Saturday. Exhausted, Maxwell was grateful to have a full plate of work to keep him occupied. Too much idleness might leave him vulnerable to deal with his family, Garrett, second-guessing, or mixed feelings about Nicole. Admittedly, her engagement affected him in a way he wouldn’t have expected. She had him worried. He toyed with his cell phone, flipping it over repeatedly in his hand, wanting to call her. Maybe a call would be well received, or maybe she was still mad at him for interfering. He peered at the lights lining his swimming pool and allowed himself to drift away temporarily. His reminiscing took him back to some of the cool summer nights he and Nicole had spent out by the pool gobbling down that pizza she liked with the feta cheese, pine nuts, and caramelized onions. A simple slice of pepperoni was his preference, but he didn’t mind taking a bite of hers every now and then.
Enough, he decided. Being indecisive was unacceptable in his line of work. Making a bad decision was better than wasting time fretting and not making any decision. He was done with worrying. Nicole was getting a call. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? She’d hang up on him. After pressing the CALL button, he leaned against the balcony railing and waited for a series of rings. As he pulled the phone away from his ear, giving up, Nicole finally answered.
“Hey. How are you?” he said.
“I’m good.”
“Really, how are you doing? I know I dropped a bombshell on you about your fiancé, and I really am sorry if I caused you any pain.” He stumbled over his words, wanting to be considerate, but he didn’t have much practice in that area. “Uh, is there anything I can do?”
“You’ve done enough.”
Maxwell turned his back to the pool and searched for the right words to smooth the tension between them. “Are you angry with me for having him investigated?”
“I’m not just angry at you. I’m angry, period. I’m angry because he lied to me. Walking around, talking about how he’s never been married and didn’t have any children.” Her voice faded out for a few seconds; then she offered her confession. “I guess I’m angry at myself too.”
The sound of glass crashing against something rang out in the background.
“What was that?” Maxwell questioned. He got no response. “Nicole, do you hear me?” He stood up straight and scrambled to keep his phone from hitting the balcony floor. “Answer me. What’s going on? Is he there?”
“No. I’m here alone.”
“What happened?”
“It was my champagne glass. Let’s leave it at that,” she told him.
Maxwell planted himself in one of the cushioned chairs on the balcony. “Are you sure you’re good? You don’t sound too good if you’re breaking up stuff.”
“No big deal. It’s just glass. Good thing I’m not as fragile.”
“How about grabbing a bite to eat?” he suggested.
“I don’t really feel like getting dressed to go out,” she quickly replied.
“Not a problem. I can pick up something and bring it to you.” He tapped his hand against his leg, waiting for her answer, and peered down at the empty pool.
“Okay. Give me about an hour.”
Maxwell ended the call and stood to face the night sky. He was glad she’d said yes. He actually felt his excitement rising. He even snickered. The Nicole he knew had probably kicked James out by now and vowed never to see him again. Maxwell knew what that felt like. He’d seen her in action. When his relationship ended with her, she was finished. Not one subsequent phone call, text, or e-mail. There was nothing. James was bound to get the same cold shoulder, not that Maxwell felt an ounce of sympathy for the liar. Besides, Nicole deserved better, a lot better.
Maxwell entered his bedroom and shut the balcony door. He was greeted by a batch of documents, notes, and files sprawled across his bed. Maxwell grinned and grabbed his keys from the dresser. With his keys in hand, he eagerly bounced down the stairs and out to his car. The work he left behind tried to pursue him as he drove, but he refused to be taunted. Nicole needed a friend, and he would be there for her. Who was he kidding? This was as much about him as it was about Nicole. The voice of his conscience was getting louder, and the faces in his dreams were too hard to shake off. The truth was that he needed a friend too.
Just then he was startled by a call coming in. The caller ID on the dashboar
d console told him it was Garrett. Maxwell eagerly answered.
“We need to talk about the Faith Temple investigation when you have time tomorrow,” Garrett said.
“What’s up? Did you find something?” Maxwell asked.
“I’ll have a better handle on things by midday tomorrow. Let’s talk then.”
Maxwell’s phone beeped, informing him Nicole was on the other line. “Okay. I will be in all day tomorrow. Stop by at whatever time works for you. I have to go.” He quickly clicked over to answer the other line before she hung up.
“Hey, Nicole. I’m on my way.”
“I was thinking we should just get together another day,” Nicole suggested.
“Nope. Too late for that. I’m almost there. See you in a few minutes.”
Maxwell whipped into a fast-food shop, eager to get back on the road. Twenty minutes later, he was ringing Nicole’s doorbell with Chinese food in hand. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt. He almost felt uncomfortable without a tie on. He put his hand in his pants pocket, located a single quarter, and twirled it between his fingers. What was taking her so long to come to the door? He didn’t want to seem anxious. He waited a bit before ringing the bell a second time. Seconds seemed like minutes until Nicole opened the door.
“I was about to leave and take the food home and eat it myself,” Maxwell teased as he followed Nicole through the foyer and into the living room. “Should we camp out here and eat?”
“You’re not funny, and you know where the kitchen is.” Nicole took one of the bags of food from him. She led him into the kitchen, where she had plates and silverware ready. Three steps up the marble platform, and they were at her beveled-glass table.
“I hope you still like egg foo yung and extra spicy kung pao shrimp,” Maxwell said as they took the food out of the bags and opened the containers.
“Yep, still two of my favorites,” Nicole confirmed.
They both sat down and served themselves. For several uneasy moments, Maxwell listened to the sound of their forks clanking against their plates. Nicole looked healthy, but the bright, cheery glow that usually adorned her face wasn’t there. Surely that was his fault. Maybe he should have left well enough alone. She didn’t seem to be head over heels in love with James, but at least Nicole had the experience of being engaged. She was on her way to getting married. Maybe that was enough for her. However, now the relationship appeared to be in trouble. He felt awful, but his curiosity didn’t diminish. He wanted to know, without asking, what had happened between James and Nicole.
Nicole glanced up from her plate at Maxwell. She was glad for the company. Maxwell’s considerate approach and his insistence that he bring her dinner told her he cared. Yet talking about her ex-fiancé with her ex–significant other wasn’t appealing. Hopefully, if she kept quiet, Maxwell would eat, get the hint, and go home.
“Before you wouldn’t let me come over, out of respect for your fiancé. How come you let me come over tonight?” Maxwell dabbed at his mouth with the linen napkin and swallowed some water without taking his eyes from Nicole’s or blinking even once.
Her hopes that he would take the hint were dashed. She should have known his questioning nature wouldn’t take a backseat. Her fork clanked against the plate when she dropped it. She swept her hair from the side of her face and tucked it behind her ear.
“James is history. I’ve closed that door. Now, will you leave it shut?”
Maxwell felt an unexpected sense of joy. “Not a problem. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”
Nicole had thought she knew everything about the man she was prepared to marry. Unfortunately, she had had no idea that he had two faces. Either way, she was ready to move on. “So, what’s going on with your big case against Pastor Harris? I keep reading about it in the newspaper. It seems you’re having a hard time trying to prove the man is a fraud. That’s surprising for you.”
Not a topic Maxwell wanted to discuss. His eyes shot up from his plate and met Nicole’s. He stopped chewing, and his fork clinked against the plate when it dropped from his hand. His appetite had fled, and he had no desire to pursue it.
Chapter 44
The bright sunlight filled Maxwell’s car, only intensifying his growing headache. Monday wasn’t starting well. He kept one hand on the steering wheel while he rubbed his forehead with the other. Maxwell struggled to drive. His eyelids were heavy with pain, and he had to squint. He’d never been late to court. He considered the clock on the dash and abandoned his route to the courthouse. His squealing tires and the loud honking car horns behind him admonished him for his illegal U-turn. He snagged the open parking space in front of the nearest drugstore. Inside, he searched the aisles for a painkiller to provide some relief. As he stood there with a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol in hand, a voice called out to him from the other end of the aisle.
Maxwell recognized the voice as it stung him. Why would Pastor Harris want to talk to him? They had nothing to discuss. The case he was busy preparing against the pastor and Faith Temple would do his talking. Maxwell ignored him, turned, and headed toward the opposite end of the aisle.
“Maxwell Montgomery,” the pastor called out again as he closed in. Footsteps with a rushed rhythm sounded behind Maxwell. “Mr. Montgomery, just a minute please.”
Maxwell couldn’t ignore the man any longer. The pastor’s insistence wouldn’t allow it. He stopped and bit down on his bottom lip. Maxwell gasped and faced the man who was pursuing him. Though he didn’t feel like engaging in any type of confrontation, Maxwell was prepared to ignore his pounding headache long enough to come out swinging.
“Good morning,” the pastor said and extended his hand, standing less than a foot away.
Maxwell reluctantly obliged, not sure which was more painful, shaking the pastor’s hand or his crippling headache. Both were a pain he’d rather not have. The good news about his headache was that it would be gone after he knocked back a few pills. Pastor Harris wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of.
“I wanted to ask about your father. He’s been on my mind and in my prayers.”
“Are you serious?” The puzzled attorney’s forehead sprouted wrinkles, and his eyelids dipped down low over his eyes. “Why would you be praying for my father? That’s a joke, right?” Maxwell smothered his snicker with the fist he pressed against his mouth. “I fully expect a long list of charges to be brought against you and Faith Temple. Instead of worrying about my father, you might want to use those prayers for yourself.” A sharp pain shot through Maxwell’s head. “Ow.” His hand flew up to soothe the pain that streaked through his head and landed above his right eye.
“Are you in pain?”
“I got a powerful headache.” It was a good reason for not wanting to chitchat with the pastor. Maxwell was beyond ready to go.
Pastor Harris immediately placed one hand on Maxwell’s shoulder and the other on the back of his head and began to pray.
Maxwell wanted to refuse his prayer, but the pastor did not give him a chance. He could have pulled away from Pastor Harris and declared that he didn’t believe in prayer. More importantly, he didn’t believe in the pastor. But making a scene probably wasn’t wise. So he shut his eyelids tightly, hoping to shut off the pain and ignore the pastor’s voice.
The strong voice of the praying pastor demanded the pain that plagued Maxwell to cease.
Did this guy really think his hocus-pocus would work?
Pastor Harris’s voice lowered as he ended the prayer and patted Maxwell on the shoulder. “I’m trusting God for your headache to be completely gone very shortly. You won’t be bothered by it again.”
“You think I trust you to help me?”
“Why not? I’m a man of God. That’s my job, even if you’re trying to come after me. I don’t even blame you. I actually pity you.”
“Huh? I definitely don’t need your pity.”
“How about my forgiveness?”
“I need that even less, preacher man.”
&n
bsp; Pastor Harris responded to Maxwell’s bitter words. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Forgiveness is a gift that we all need to receive in our life at some point. Maybe it’s time for you to forgive your father. Over twenty years ago he trusted a young Pastor Ellis Jones, who might have made mistakes. Bishop Jones is a different man now. He’s grown in his faith and matured into his calling as a pastor. What happened back then in Chester is done. Let it go. You can’t live today while holding on to hurts from yesterday.”
Maxwell’s eyelids widened. How did Pastor Harris know about the Montgomery family’s connection with the bishop? His throat dried up, and the words zipping around in his head would not take the form of coherent statements. His whole body felt like it was about to shut down. What else did Pastor Harris know? Maxwell’s mind was swirling.
“Paul Montgomery, Jr., don’t be ashamed of where you came from. We all make mistakes and have to be forgiven. We also have to be able to forgive ourselves, Brother Maxwell.” Pastor Harris strolled down to the end of the aisle and exited the building.
Maxwell stood there, speechless, unable to process fully what had occurred. How was it remotely possible that this man knew his past and his name? His head was spinning. Maxwell hurled the bottle of Tylenol down the long aisle. It crashed into the wall and bounced on the floor. With clenched fists, he surveyed his surroundings. Good. No one had seen him. He briskly hiked out of the store to his car, got behind the wheel, and sped off, with a pounding headache riding along with him.
Traffic lights, cars, buildings, pedestrians, nothing registered in Maxwell’s mind on his drive to the courthouse. He drove on complete autopilot. His thoughts did battle, one against the other, the entire drive. He zipped into the parking garage and yanked a ticket from the automated slot. With his car parked and the engine off, he heard Pastor Harris’s voice in his head. Paul Montgomery, Jr., don’t be ashamed of where you came from. What would Pastor Harris do with the information about his true identity? Who would he tell? Had he already told someone? Not even Garrett knew that his name was Paul, and he was also unaware of Maxwell’s connection to Bishop Ellis Jones.
Redeemed Page 19
