Relentless (20 page)

Garrett was glued to his wide-screen TV as he quickly dialed Maxwell's cell phone. His call was eventually answered on the fourth or fifth ring. “It's about time you got the phone, man.”

“Why, what's up?”

“Get to a TV and turn to Channel 10 as fast as you can.”

“What's going on?” Maxwell asked pulling a remote from his desk drawer.

“Hurry up. Turn it on.”

Maxwell stood and aimed the remote at the cherry wood credenza. The double doors parted to reveal a TV. Maxwell pressed the power button and sailed to the channel. His living room illuminated with camera crews, reporters, and scads of people watching Bishop Jones and Minister Simmons being escorted down the steps of Greater Metropolitan church in handcuffs. Maxwell moved closer to his desk and sat on the edge keeping one foot on the floor. He latched on to the bishop's face, intrigued by every expression, while he listened to the news reporter recount what had transpired.

“If you've just tuned in, you're watching the latest breaking news here at Greater Metropolitan church in the heart of Philadelphia. It's reportedly one of the largest congregations in the city. Bishop Ellis Jones and a Minister Otis Simmons have just been arrested on a series of charges, including sexual assault and illegally selling pharmaceutical drugs. Ironically, this church was featured six years ago under very different circumstances. Many may recall Greater Metropolitan established a school for low-income families in the community. They've since won numerous state and local awards for academic excellence. This is truly a sad day for Greater Metropolitan and the surrounding community.”

The reporter appeared distracted as he pressed his finger against the earpiece. “My sources are telling me police raided the church this morning based on an anonymous tip and that there are more charges yet to come. While standing here we've watched the police file out with boxes. I'm not sure what they've found, but I have to believe they're looking for drugs since the K-9 team is on the premise. This is quite a stunning set of events.” The reporter paused again and began treading briskly. “Let's see if we can get in closer to Bishop Ellis Jones who is being led to a squad car,” the reporter said directing his camera crew. “Let's hear what he has to say.”

“I'm innocent. This is a gross miscarriage of justice and an insult to the house of God. Marching dogs throughout the church and disrespecting God's sanctuary. I'm innocent, and the truth will come out.”

“Are you saying this is a mistake even though drugs were found on the premises?” another reporter called out.

“I'm saying God will deal with the perpetrators, the ones who have orchestrated this injustice.”

“Well there you have it, folks; the leader of this church professing his innocence. This will prove to be an interesting story for weeks to come. Stay tuned as we bring you more feedback from onlookers here on the scene at Greater Metropolitan.”

“Well, the day has finally come. He's in handcuffs and on his way to jail,” Garrett told Maxwell.

“Yes, he is in handcuffs and that's an encouraging sight, but the real battle is just beginning. You know these charges won't equate to more than three to five years in prison at best, plus fifty or a hundred thousand in fines. And, that's if the racketeering holds up.”

“And, that's a big if.”

“You got that right. Any half-decent attorney can get him off, which is why I have to hit those pockets and cripple his defense funds.”

“What else can you do?”

“Find more criminal charges, strengthen the civil complaint, and heck, I'll call the IRS if necessary. With so much dirty money floating around, some of it had to end up in the offering plate and violate their nonprofit status.” Maxwell pulled a coin from his pocket, tossed it into the air and snatched it down. “Wow, what a setup. The church rakes in the cash that stuffs Jones's pockets so he can drive luxury cars, live in a fat mansion, buy property all over the city, wear tailor-made suits and not pay a penny in taxes. The IRS will be glad to crawl all over that.”

“You probably have a point. What a tangled web the bishop has woven. With this much smoke, there's got to be fire somewhere. I think you got him,” Garrett stated. “There's going to be too many charges for him to get off clean.”

“We've got a long, hard trial process ahead of us before he spends more than a day or two in jail, let alone in prison. I have the civil case, but it's not enough. There has to be more tossed in to up the ante.”

“I hate to bring this up,” Garrett said, lowering his voice, which made Maxwell nervous. “What if it's true?”

“What?”

“Come on, you must have considered the possibility that the bishop is telling the truth,” Garrett suggested. “What if he's actually innocent?”

Maxwell paused. He hadn't wanted to consider the possibility, but Garrett was right. The notion had popped into his mind, and he'd shoved it out. Waiting for vengeance his entire adult life justified the shove. He wasn't about to forfeit his victory on a minor technicality like truth.

“He's guilty of a long list of criminal acts spread over at least three decades.”

“Maybe, but not this one,” Garrett added.

“That's how twisted fate is. Remember when you were a kid. Sometimes you got a whopping for something you didn't actually do, but your parents felt justified. Mine did because they figured if the beating was in error, it only made up for something else I'd done and thought I'd gotten away with.” Maxwell rubbed his hands together briskly. “It balances out in the end. Trust me, the bishop deserves exactly what he's going to get.” Garrett kept quiet. “Remember, he cheated half the neighborhood out of their businesses. He's not innocent.”

“You're right about the businesses.”

“And, I'm not pumping that into the criminal case, because I prefer saving it for my arena—the civil courtroom.”

Garrett chuckled. “I hear you.”

“I'll catch up with you later,” Maxwell told Garrett, then ended the call. Shortly afterwards, Maxwell picked up the phone to call the Pennsylvania attorney general, a buddy from law school. Fraud and money laundering had to be considered the same way it had for his parents. His next call would be to the IRS. He dialed rapidly as his adrenaline skyrocketed.

Maxwell wasn't completely ready to claim total annihilation. There remained many miles of this journey left in front of him. By the end of the day, with the evidence dredged up by Garrett and input from Deacon Burton, most of Bishop Jones's ministerial staff were arrested and hit with charges too. As far as Maxwell was concerned, they were guilty if for no other reason than being ignorant to the bishop's agenda. Everyone had to pay.

 

 

Deacon Burton stood in the living room of his home watching the TV screen come to life as the police raided his church. Five days later and the Greater Metropolitan arrests remained a leading story. Deacon Burton was tired of watching the local news channels recap the horrible event. There weren't any expressions that could show how distraught Deacon Burton felt at the precise moment when his handcuffed bishop was being escorted from the house of God and into the back of a squad car. He knew the charges were coming, but honestly, he hadn't been prepared for the arrests to play out like they had. The image replayed, rapidly, viciously, with no regard. He turned the television off and set the remote down. He'd seen plenty.

“Are you okay?” his wife said easing up behind him and placing her hand on his shoulder.

“No, I'm not, but God will work it out.” That belief was his primary source of peace, that and the promise Maxwell Montgomery had made to keep him out of this fiasco. The deacon took comfort in his rapport with the attorney and embraced his wife. They were okay.

Ten minutes later there was a strong knock on the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Deacon Burton asked his wife. She told him no and continued drinking a cup of coffee while thumbing through a magazine. “Well, let me see who it is,” he said, setting his word search booklet on the table.

The small house didn't require many steps to get from the kitchen to their front door. Deacon peered out the tiny peephole positioned in the middle of the door to see three gentlemen, none he recognized. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Mr. Steve Burton, we're Officers Kent, Craft, and Smith.”

The deacon became edgy. He hadn't expected to give his testimony this early into the process. If he could only close his eyelids and wish the whole legal business away, he certainly would. He gripped the doorknob, certain that his purpose and role in this business had been established by God before his birth. He was predestined for this. He turned the knob, ready to tell the truth and get his testimony behind him.

When the door opened, he said, “Yes, Officers, how can I help you?”

They each flashed what appeared to be police badges. “Mr. Steve Burton, we have a warrant for your arrest,” one officer said, handing him a piece of paper.

Deacon reached for the paper, but somehow his mind couldn't believe what he heard. “Excuse me,” he said leaning against the door, “what did you say?”

“You're under arrest for fraud, the illegal distribution of drugs, and racketeering.”

Deacon Burton's wife approached the front door. “Step back, ma'am,” an officer said, drawing his weapon. The deacon's wife screamed and then clasped her lips shut.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” Neither Deacon nor his wife was composed well enough to readily respond. “I asked who else is in the house.”

“No one else,” Deacon blurted out, glad his children were at school.

In an instant, the officer had cuffs on the deacon. “Call Maxwell Montgomery,” he told his wife. “Don't worry, honey, this is a mistake,” he said. “I'll go down to the police station and get this resolved.” His words seemed to comfort his wife. As he got into the car a flood of what-ifs drowned him. He blocked the flow of negativity. He'd made the right decision in reporting the bishop and Minister Simmons. There was no need for second-guessing. The truth was out in the open. He couldn't retreat, not now, not when the church needed at least one leader to step up and let righteousness prevail. It would only take one. He relaxed in the seat. He was that one.

Pastor Harris had been at home in his study for over two hours. The songs of praise and worship were echoing softly. His wife had come to the door repeatedly to see if he was ready for a break. He read the morning paper, which was plastered with the continued headlines about Bishop Jones and his church. When Pastor Harris finally emerged from his study, the smell of coffee lured him into the kitchen. “That smells good,” he told his wife, drawing in a big whiff.

“Dear, you look so weary,” she exclaimed softly, turning away from the stove as he walked toward her. “Sit down, and I'll get you a cup of coffee and something to eat.”

“Thanks, toast and coffee is fine. I just finished my three-day fast, and I don't feel much like eating.”

“I know, you never do, but you have to eat something. You didn't sleep well last night either. So much tossing and turning, and I know you got up at four this morning and came downstairs.”

“I didn't want to disturb you, but Greater Metropolitan is weighing heavily on my heart.”

“There's so much talk going on,” his wife said.

“I know, and for some reason, I can't get Maxwell Montgomery off my mind either. God is pressing me to pray for him and extend fellowship. I would rather have nothing to do with him and his obsession. He just seems like such a malicious man. Maybe I should say a troubled man.” Pastor Harris turned up the cup and took a sip of his coffee while glaring out the bay window. The sun was shining brightly and a bird landed on the window ledge. Pastor Harris drew closer and the bird didn't move. It sat there completely unintimidated. The bird flapped its wings and flew near Pastor Harris, chirped and then flew away.

“I've got to call Maxwell Montgomery, and I've got to do it today,” Pastor Harris said.

“If God has him on your heart, be obedient,” his wife added.

Harris had only taken two bites of the toast when he got up and dumped it in the trash.

“Dear, you need to eat. I'll cut up some fresh fruit, okay?”

“I'll eat later. I've got to take care of God's business before I do anything else.” He took her into his arms and held her tightly. “I thank God for blessing me with a loving supportive wife who I can always count on.” In her arms he drew the strength needed to pick up the phone and make a necessary call. The cordless phone sitting on the island in the kitchen rang. “I'll get it,” Harris told his wife, releasing his hold on her. “Hello, Pastor Harris speaking.”

“Pastor, this is Sister Nelson.”

“What can I do for you?” the pastor asked his longstanding member.

“Praise the Lord, Pastor. I hope you're praying for those folks over at Greater Metropolitan. What a mess for their bishop to be caught up in, selling drugs in the church; shame on him. That whole church is going to fall apart with the bishop in jail. I always knew something wasn't right over there. They're too big and have too much money from what I hear.” She sighed and continued. “Anyway—”

Pastor Harris rubbed his forehead and sliced into his parishioner before she could go any further. “Sister Nelson, in a crisis like this we need to fast and pray for those of us who have made mistakes. None of us are perfect, and we all need God's strength and direction. When one church is under attack and falls, the entire body of Christ and the community is impacted.”

“Oh, I know, Pastor. But—”

Pastor Harris cut her off again, determined to make his point. “Let's pray for Greater Metropolitan and its leadership. Pray that this situation will come to a quick resolution and those members and the community will hold on to its faith in God. I believe Bishop Jones has assigned one of his senior ministers to reside over Greater Metropolitan until this situation is resolved.” Pastor Harris shot his wife a quick glance shaking his head in disappointment. “We cannot be part of the failure. We must stand together. I'm counting on you, Sister Nelson, to rebuke gossip and negativity about this situation anytime you hear or see it. I trust you will do that. I know you're calling to talk with my wife. She's standing right here. Have a blessed day, Sister,” he rattled off, refusing to let her spew another word of frivolous religious rhetoric.

Pastor Harris handed the phone to his wife, kissed her on the cheek and retreated to the desk in his study. He panned his various pictures hanging on the wall. There were pictures of him preaching to large congregations, meeting with state dignitaries, but it was the one taken with Bishop Ellis Jones that resonated. Their churches and two others had held the largest recorded tent revival in the city's Fairmount Park several years ago. People were everywhere. Many souls had been saved.

Pastor Harris grieved for Bishop Ellis. Regardless of what he'd done, there had to be some godliness in him if he was leading people to salvation. The devil might get credit for doing many things, but saving souls from the pit of hell wasn't one of them. Only God got that honor, and praise be to those who were committed to sharing the good news of Jesus Christ with other people. Pastor Harris believed Bishop was in that group. He wouldn't judge another man's struggle.

Harris's thoughts shifted to Maxwell Montgomery and the comments he'd made about Greater Metropolitan in recent months. The harsh and unrelenting tone bothered the pastor. He understood the attorney had a job to do, but the bitterness behind his motives was troubling. Pastor Harris prayed briefly and then picked up the phone to his private line. His faith echoed that no man was beyond God's redeeming power.

He continued to pray as he dialed the phone. “This is Pastor Renaldo Harris. May I please speak with Maxwell Montgomery?” He didn't have to wait long before a man on the other end greeted him.

“Pastor Harris, good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

The pastor was surprised at the warm tone coming from the attorney. He felt God was already at work preparing a smooth path for their conversation. “Mr. Montgomery, thank you for taking my call.” Pastor leaned forward planting his elbows onto his desk. “I called to thank you for your efforts in the community. It is imperative that there be integrity and accountability in the church. This is the only way the community will see the church as an oasis and a resting place.”

“Thanks for the acknowledgment; just doing my job.”

Pastor noticed another bird sitting on the windowsill as he listened to Maxwell talk about the widespread corruption in the church. Not sure if it was the same bird, he glided to the window. The bird didn't move, but it chirped as Pastor Harris saw a colorful rainbow gleaming beyond the bright sunlight. Inspired, he continued. “I would love to have you visit my church. I know you are a busy man, but I hope you take a Sunday off to stop in. I am sure you will be blessed.”

“Hmm,” Maxwell responded after a few seconds. “You could look up and see me in the audience one day. I just might find a reason to stop by.”

Pastor Harris thought he heard sarcasm bubbling up in Maxwell's tone. He pressed forward anyway. “I certainly hope so. Actually, you've been on my mind quite heavily. I believe God wants to do something in your life. Heal something, restore something; God definitely has a plan for you. I will be praying for you, and I hope to see you soon.”

Several moments of hush hovered then Maxwell's voice came forth. “Have a good day.”

Pastor hung up the phone and slid to his knees in prayer. He could already tell that dealing with Maxwell Montgomery was going to require a heavy dose of patience and prayer. He hoped God would reveal a plan and show him what to do next. He believed God was going to deal with Maxwell Montgomery in some way. He didn't know when or how, but he was confident God was using him to reach the attorney. By faith he was ready for whatever lay ahead.