“I don’t know,” she said without elaborating.
“Is there any way you can stay until three or so?”
“Nope,” she said leaning on the doorknob. “I have a family emergency that’s going to take most of the afternoon to handle. Nothing is more important to me right now, nothing.”
“All right then!” Before she left he asked, “Can I help?”
Sonya turned toward him and with a staunch deposition responded, “I don’t think so,” and walked out of sight.
Maxwell couldn’t pinpoint the source of their discord, but something was going on with Sonya. Unless his imagination was completely out of whack, it felt like she had an attitude. He wondered what was giving her angst and racked his brain trying to think of anything else that might have upset Sonya in his office. It couldn’t possibly be related to the conversation about that Deacon Burton and the Greater Metropolitan business. But, she was a member of the church and most likely had loyalties to a few of the criminals arrested. Oh well, he’d let it go declaring her attitude was exclusively related to her personal emergency. He resumed typing on the laptop. Whatever was bugging her he hoped was fixed before she got back. Distractions weren’t welcomed.
Chapter 43
Bishop Jones closed his prayer time with, “In Jesus’ name. Amen.” He’d been on his aching knees asking God for mercy and direction. He prayed as sincerely and intensely as a jail cell allowed. The concrete floor lacked the plush comfort his thick-carpeted sanctuary, church office, and home provided: the places where he was accustomed to praying. A loud grunt escaped his lips when he pressed down onto the steel cot and braced himself to get up from the cold floor. Standing in the middle of the jail cell, he couldn’t believe his current circumstances. His eyes glazed over the stainless steel commode. The steel sink counted seconds of each hour with endless dripping. There was an upper and a lower bunk. As of now, he did not have a cellmate. The bishop combed the width of the six-by-eight jail cell from one side to the other counting aloud each of the twenty-one bars that held him captive.
He sat on the bottom bunk, laced his fingers together, and dropped his head. He didn’t have long to sulk in his cold corner of the world before someone spoke to him.
“Bishop Jones, you have visitors.” The guard’s snicker coupled with the jingling keys mocked Bishop as he stood. He schlepped over to the cell door, pushed his hands through the small open slot and felt the handcuffs grip his wrists tightly. “You know the drill by now. When you get down to the visiting room, keep your hands visible once you initially greet your visitors.”
In silence, Bishop Jones watched the cell doors open. He stepped out of his small, confined area and into the open space. He looked back at the cell, happy for the wide berth that now stood between him and his pit, though it would be short-lived.
He arrived at a private visiting room he’d been in twice since his arrest several weeks ago. He peeked through the small square glass on the door. There was his wife. Her face was filled with worry and weariness. His lawyer was there, too. The officer unlocked the handcuffs and opened the door, nodding for him to walk through the doorway. The bishop rubbed at both of his wrists and stepped inside the room. Doors had often been opened for him. Usually applauses and crowds of people anxious to hear him preach were on the other side. Not today.
“Ellis.” His wife’s greeting reached him before he could make it across the room to her. She stretched out her arms latching on to him the moment he was within her reach. “Ellis, are you okay?” When she released her hold, she checked him from the top of his head down to his feet. She covered her mouth with both hands then patted her tears before they could fall.
“I’m okay, sweetie. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. Please don’t worry about me.” He glanced back at the officer, wanting to embrace his wife again, but he knew the rules. He took her hand into his, squeezing it tightly, and turned to his lawyer and gave him a strong handshake. “Thanks for coming. I was hoping to see you soon.”
The three sat and the bishop’s lawyer gave him an update on his case. “We have good news. After the money laundering and fraud charges were added last week, there haven’t been any other charges presented. I’m still working on getting your assets freed up, but that will take some time, especially with the IRS getting involved.” The bishop grimaced. “Be patient. We have a lot to work with, but you’re innocent. We’ll get you out soon.”
Bishop just shook his head. “I see.”
The lawyer informed Bishop that Councilman Chambers had also been charged with fraud and racketeering. The defense attorney was concerned that Councilman Chambers would cut a deal and be called as a witness for the prosecution. He laid out his defense strategy and worked on a list of character witnesses with the bishop and his wife.
“We need to talk about your involvement. I have to review what you knew and when.”
“I’ll gladly tell you what I know,” Bishop responded.
“First, I have to ask Mrs. Jones to leave the room.”
“No, I want to support my husband. No matter what he’s done, I’m standing with him.”
“That’s great, but I have to talk with him privately. Any information you hear could be used against him during cross-examination if we decide to use you as a character witness,” the lawyer stated.
“Oh, I see.” She fumbled with her hands. “I’ll go, because I don’t want to do anything that’s going to hurt you, Ellis.”
“I’m going to be all right,” the bishop told her, not totally sure.
Once she’d left the room, the lawyer began his questions. “I need you to tell me again exactly what you knew and how you found out about the prescription drugs being sold by Minister Simmons.”
Bishop Jones recalled the talks with Simmons and Jill that had now turned into the nightmare he was living. Once he’d heard his own voice describe the course of events and the lawyer had picked his story apart, question after question, he felt spent, disappointed, and remorseful.
“I can’t believe I’m in jail and up against such ugly charges.”
“It’s absurd for your bail to be set so high for these types of charges. One and a half million dollars is steep,” the attorney stated peering at Bishop. “But there’s tremendous pressure coming from the public; add a zealous prosecutor, and this is where we are.”
“This is killing my family and the church. I need a lower bail.”
“As of now you’re being considered a flight risk, but I’ve petitioned the court for another bond hearing.”
“Where would I go?” he uttered letting his voice rise until the guard eyeballed him.
“Don’t worry. My job is to get you out of here and back home as quickly as possible.”
Bishop’s gaze plummeted. “I don’t have any money to make bail, not with them freezing my accounts and assets based on the money laundering and fraud charges. We probably can’t get any money on the house either with my name on the deed.”
“What about support from the church?” the lawyer asked. “I’ve spoken with the heads of both the deacon and trustee boards. There was some resistance, but they’ve offered to assist in your bail.”
“No way,” Bishop roared, calming down when the guard stared at him again. “I’m not dragging the church any further into this. No way. I’d rather sit in jail than to let Greater Metropolitan bail me out. If I’m getting out, it will be up to God.” His body felt limp thinking about the financial nightmare his wife might endure without him being at home to take care of matters. He was grieved beyond comfort. “This is a disgrace,” he cried out. “I can’t even pay you.”
“Let’s get you out of jail first and then tackle other matters,” the lawyer said latching his fingers.
Bishop Jones wasn’t comforted. “This is too much. I can’t handle this.”
“Yes, you can, and you will. There are people counting on you.”
“I’ve failed God’s calling on my life. When I found out what Simmons was doing
, I told him to stop. I was very clear when I said he would not remain on staff at the church if he continued. I even had a second conversation with him in the sanctuary, challenging him to make sure he had put an end to this drug thing.” Bishop glanced over at the guard then back at his lawyer. With a glossy gaze that clouded his vision, he pushed his words out past the tightness in his throat. “I should have done more to stop Simmons. Because I didn’t, I’ve ended up hurting us all. I’ve made some huge mistakes. I didn’t steer Simmons away from his involvement like I should have. It was obvious that the money and power was too much for him to give up. Now, his sin and my negligence has cost us dearly, especially me, my family and the church. May the Lord forgive me for my part.”
“Did you ever give Simmons the okay to proceed with selling the drugs on behalf of you or the church?”
“Absolutely not; I admit that at first I considered it, but God got a hold of me and got my mind right. No, I didn’t approve, and Simmons knew I didn’t. Like I said, I told him more than once.”
“Why did you consider it at all?” the lawyer asked.
“Because we needed the money. I got the church into a tough spot. I was filled with pride. I was too aggressive with my plans to build a mega ministry. It was indeed God’s direction, but I took some short cuts along the way, short cuts that hurt people. In doing so, I became unworthy.” Bishop Jones glanced down at the state-issued shoes that were pinching his toes. They were miles away from his soft Italian leather footwear, which felt as soft as socks. Being out of God’s will wasn’t a desirable place to be; everything was hard.
“Pride may not be a redeeming quality, Bishop, but it is definitely not a crime,” the lawyer echoed. “I’m only concerned about your defense, and right off the top, I’m confident the racketeering charges will be dropped. There’s no evidence against you, and the fraud we can handle too.”
“What about the drug charges? They found bags of pills in the church.”
“Dispensing drugs is at most a year of jail time and a fine. I should be able to get the sentence reduced to time served on that one.”
“I’m not so sure,” the bishop uttered in a sullen tone.
“I have to ask again, are you sure you didn’t sell drugs or help anyone else do so?” the lawyer asked.
“I absolutely did not have anything to do with selling prescription drugs, certainly not stashing them in the church and coercing poor Sister Jill into helping.”
“Now, she’s going to be our challenge,” the lawyer said wringing his hands. “We have to deal with the sexual assault head-on.”
Bishop began perspiring profusely. He brushed the palm of his hand across his forehead. “I didn’t touch her,” he spewed not necessarily at his lawyer.
“I understand, but as the senior leader at Greater Metropolitan, the prosecutor and some in the public will want to make you culpable.”
Stress ensued. Over the past few days, Bishop Jones could feel his orange jumpsuit fitting looser than it had when initially issued to him. His presence faded under the avalanche of emotions that came along with his repentance.
Time passed and Mrs. Jones was allowed back in. She reclaimed the seat next to him. Getting as close to her as allowed, he spilled out the last little core of his heart. “I’m so sorry for the embarrassment this has caused you. I’m sorry this has hurt the church we’ve labored over for so many years.” He swallowed down the emotion that was clawing at his throat with an audible grunt. “I’m sorry for hurting you and causing the pain I see in your eyes. I am not guilty of these charges against me. This thing is some type of persecution. Not just a personal attack on me but on the church too. But, I won’t be defeated. I know the power of prayer, and I will trust and hold on to my faith that God will make everything right in His time.” Bishop Jones tried hard to block out doubt, desperately wanting to believe his statement was true.
Chapter 44
Nearly four weeks had passed since the arrests. Maxwell was euphoric, having filed the class action suit less than an hour before the courthouse closed today. Typically he would have closed out the civil case and then let the prosecutor have at the perpetrators in criminal court. Having both the civil and criminal cases going on simultaneously wasn’t his preference. He sailed toward the courthouse doors, eager to get back to his office and prepare for trial. Reality was that he never expected the civil case against the bishop and his cohorts to gain traction. By now, Bishop Jones and the rest of his foot soldiers had probably lawyered up and cut heavily into the bucket of funds available for the lawsuit payout, which was why he was going after the church as a secondary option. In this case, Maxwell had to take what he could get. As he drew closer to the exit, his steps became more pronounced. Unfortunately, the poor plaintiffs didn’t know what he expected, but there were instances when sacrifices from a few had to be realized for the greater good. He straightened his tie and shifted his suit coat so it hung perfectly.
He pushed the revolving door slowly, savoring the taste of victory. He hadn’t won the case yet, but the satisfaction of having the bishop cuffed and paraded across the television like a common criminal was a win in itself. The rest was gravy.
The sunlight glistened across the pavement as the camera crew descended on him. Microphones and cameras were everywhere. Some would have been intimidated and darted from the madness in a cowardly fashion. Not Maxwell; this was the forum he craved. This stage called out to him. Showtime.
His name was shouted from multiple directions. One aggressive reporter pushed up front and shoved the microphone close to his lips. “Mr. Montgomery, how strong is your civil case against Bishop Jones and the Greater Metropolitan Church?”
Maxwell loved the spotlight but was smart enough not to compromise his case by giving away too much too soon. Most likely the case would be settled out of court, and he’d have a gag order slapped on him prohibiting Maxwell from talking publicly about the details. He stretched his sleeves out and shook his cuff links. What the heck, he didn’t care. This case was too big and meant too much for him to be silenced, not this time. “I’ve handled many cases in my fifteen years of practicing law, but this is the worst I’ve seen. It’s a classic case of arrogance and a flagrant abuse of power. What’s worse is that this case takes on a sinister component when the ringleader is a bishop, a man charged with helping people. Every occupation has worth, but some jobs have a greater level of accountability.”
“So, you believe Bishop Jones will be found liable?”
Maxwell grinned. “Our legal system entitles everybody to a speedy and fair trial, even the most despicable criminals with multiple cases pending.”
“Are you calling the bishop a despicable criminal?”
Maxwell pulled a pair of Ray-Ban shades from his inner pocket and slipped them onto his face, grinning all the while. “Let the bishop have his day in court, and I’m confident he will get exactly what he deserves. Actually, I should say both days in court,” he said with satisfaction as his grin widened.
“That sounds personal.”
Maxwell stared directly into the camera. “You’re right, it is,” he declared and pushed through the crowd, pleased the man responsible for destroying his family was finally where he belonged—as close to hell as he could get on earth.
Garrett’s words popped into his head as he strutted to his Porsche. What if the bishop was innocent and had no direct involvement in the drug trafficking or the sexual harassment? The question left his head as quickly as it had entered. Bishop Jones’s innocence was irrelevant. He was guilty of many sins. It didn’t really matter to Maxwell which act landed the man in prison for a few years, so long as that’s where he landed.
Maxwell got into his car, dropped the convertible top, and sped off feeling as jubilant now as he had upon exiting the courthouse. He couldn’t imagine anything changing his mood. His phone rang, but he ignored it wanting to bask in the moment for as long as possible. When the phone rang again and again, he pulled to the side of the road
and took a quick glance. The digits weren’t familiar, but whoever it was had better have the wrong number.
“Maxwell Montgomery here,” he said with a snip of bitterness.
“Maxwell, it’s me.”
His sister’s voice was faint but recognizable. “Christine, I didn’t expect to hear from you.” Before he could ask why she was calling, Christine chimed in.
“I’m sorry to track you down like this, but it’s Dad.”
“What about him?”
“He’s had a massive heart attack. The ambulance is rushing him to the hospital.”
“Heart attack? I thought he had cancer.”
“He does but Mom and Dad have been watching the news every day since Bishop Jones was arrested. When he saw you a little while ago on the TV, I honestly think it became too much. He bent over clutching his chest and lost consciousness.”
Maxwell sat on the side of the road, speechless. He’d just experienced the most gratifying moment of his adult life, watching Bishop Jones get his due justice. To believe his joy was predicated on his father’s pain didn’t make him feel good. He had a sinking angst that wasn’t budging. “Where is he now?”
“In the emergency room.”
Maxwell stumbled terribly over his words unable to coherently process Christine’s revelation. He took a deep breath and pulled out a pen from his leather-bound pad. “What’s the name of the hospital?”
“Oh my goodness,” Christine belted out, crying. “It would mean the world to Dad and Mom to see you.”
“Sis, I’m not making any promises, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Maxwell?”
“What?”
“Don’t wait too long, not if you want to see Dad alive.” He heard her and understood. “It may be too late already.”
Maxwell got off the phone but sat there for a long while, not sure what to do. If he went today, and his father lived, what was he going to say to him? If he didn’t go, and his father died, how was he going to feel tomorrow? His emotions were torn.
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