Relentless

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Table of Contents

by

Also by
Patricia Haley

 

Mitchell Family Drama Series
(Listed in story line order)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Also by
Gracie Hill

 

 

 

 

Patricia dedicates
Relentless
to the memories of
three beloved father-figures who were supportive,
encouraging, loving, and faithful men of God.

 

Deacon Robert (Bob) Thomas, Jr.: (1928
–
2013)
Uncle Clifton (Cliff) Tennin, Jr.: (1930–2014)
William Ronald (Pop) Fisher: (1943–2014)

 

 

Gracie dedicates
Relentless
to those who have
storms raging in their lives and are still wounded by
past hurts which prevent them from being whole.

 

 

—Acts 8:1, 3

Adrenaline surged. There wasn't any greater satisfaction than hearing the jury foreman belting out the verdict, “We find in favor of the plaintiff.” The sum of the judgment didn't quench Attorney Maxwell's legal thirst; although $12 million wasn't bad for a day's work in court. Best news was that there were plenty more cases to come. So long as corruption continued slithering into the church, he'd be a man on a mission. Anticipating the battles he'd get to fight sent exhilaration surfing through his body that he could ride indefinitely.

Maxwell saw the wave of reporters waiting on the courthouse steps as the bright spring sunlight refused to be hidden. He jiggled the knot on his tie and straightened his Armani suit coat, which didn't need much help. It always fit perfectly, as expected, consistent with the rest of the life he'd carefully and purposefully crafted. “Are you ready to face the crowd?” Maxwell asked his client.

She grabbed his arm, shaking. “Do we have to go out there? Now that we've won, I just want to get out of here.”

Absolutely not
was what he should have told her, but there was no need for further convincing. He'd proven that his plan worked best. She was walking out with a civil case victory against the almighty Reverend Morgan, the so-called anointed leader of one of the largest ministries in the tri-state area. Whatever he was supposed to be, reverend, minister, doctor, or bishop, the well-deserved label of being a bona fide predator could also be added to his bio. No way was Maxwell going to pass up a prime opportunity to shout their victory over the airwaves. He'd send a message to the other perpetrators. There would be no rest as long as Maxwell Montgomery was alive and breathing. Churches were on notice and they'd better take him serious.

He expeditiously ushered his client toward the door. She gave some resistance, which didn't deter his movement. Six months ago she was deemed a fired disgruntled employee who was raising false allegations against one of the most prestigious ministers in Philadelphia. He kept pulling her toward the door, with the media closing in. Thanks to him her inappropriate interaction with Reverend Morgan had been legitimized. It was no longer her fault, and on top of it, she was going to get $12 million, less his 40 percent cut. Far as he was concerned, she didn't get a say in how the rest of the day was going to play out. He forcefully pushed the door open leading from the courthouse and braced against the gust of wind.

The clicking sound of cameras, microphones shoved near his face, onlookers lining the steps, and incoherent chants equaled mayhem for most. But, the controlled chaos was a work of beauty to Maxwell. His client was squeezing his arm so tightly that he had to peel a few of her fingers back to loosen the grip.

“Do you feel vindicated?” one reporter blurted out.

As his client stammered, Maxwell jumped in. Microphones homed in. “Justice was rendered today. The past six months have been a pure nightmare for my client. Her reputation has been maligned. She's been hounded by church members simply because she was willing to come forward and expose the truth. She should be praised for her courage, not demonized, and today is the first step toward her getting back to a normal life.”

“Were you really expecting to win such a substantial settlement from a church?” One reporter asked.

“It's the only fair outcome; doesn't matter if it's the church or the Vatican, wrong is wrong, and we have the court of law to right those wrongs,” Maxwell echoed, fueled with satisfaction.

“Do you see this as an indictment against religion?”

“No one is above the law.” Maxwell broke the grip his client had and raised his arm. He knew which network had the largest viewing audience and intentionally pointed his finger directly into their camera and said, “I'm serving notice to the corrupt leaders out there. If you think the church is going to save you, you're sadly mistaken. I'm coming for you and you and you.” Maxwell was charged, ready to sail out of the crowd and whisk back to his office to start the next case. He reclaimed his client and began maneuvering through the crowd.

“Attorney Maxwell, is that a threat to all local clergymen?” a reporter asked.

Maxwell screeched to a stop. “I don't make threats, only promises.”

“How many more lives are you going to ruin?” a voice shouted from the crowd. The mob was thick and Maxwell couldn't see who was speaking. “You have ruined my family and our church.” As the woman got louder, it was like a pebble rippling in a pond. The crowd backed up and the media swarmed to her. “Who do you think you are, God?”

She was a distance away, at the bottom of the steps, but Maxwell could see her clearly. It was Minister Morgan's wife, the one he'd just beaten in court. He couldn't understand why she was making a scene. She should have crawled out the courthouse's back door in humiliation like her husband, glad that this had only been a civil case and not a criminal trial. Instead of accepting the jury's decision, she wanted to go another round with Maxwell in front of the media. Even if he wanted to cut her a break, she wasn't leaving him much choice coming at him in front of a crowd. He had to be swift and set precedence. Otherwise others might make the same mistake in the future of trying to undermine his mission of exposing bad church leaders.

“I'm not the guilty one here,” he said burning his gaze into hers. He laid his palm onto his chest. “I can appreciate the outrage. We should all be outraged at the behavior we heard about earlier in the courtroom. If more citizens would turn their outrage into action, perhaps we wouldn't have to rely on the court to solve church matters. Until that day comes, here we stand.” His blood was pumping, faster and faster. This was his platform and he was poised to capitalize, using the very words that his religious mockers glibly uttered from their pulpits every Sunday. It was a language they understood. “As a society, we can't let leaders of any kind abuse their power and take advantage of people. The Bible says to expel the wicked man from among you.” He let his gaze slide back from the Reverend's wife to the camera all along maintaining intense control while letting each word resonate. “I did my job. I sought justice for a victim.” Maxwell interlocked his arm with his client's. The message had more oomph with the victim standing nearby. “Your husband isn't above the law as we've seen in this courtroom today.”

“You went after him for no reason. You're working for the devil, and God is going to punish you.”

Maxwell grinned and straightened his tie once again, reveling in the label. He'd grown accustomed to the routine. The church leader did something inappropriate, his wife and congregation stood by him to the bitter end like cows being herded off the cliff. That's the way it had been for his family twenty-six years ago when they were driven off the cliff and not much had changed.

“Maybe God will.” He chuckled. “But today your husband was the only one punished for his actions.” Maxwell stepped firmly down the stairs, satisfied until he heard another voice.

“You hurt my father. You're a bad man,” the little boy said clinging to his crying mother and burying his face into her side.

Insults fueled Maxwell's resolve. It confirmed that he was disrupting his opponent's peace of mind, the first step in bringing them down. He was fully prepared to attack the reverend's wife if for no other reason than being ignorant to her husband's dealing. His mother and father had been ignorant to the fraudulent tactics of their pastor and no one gave them a break when it came to their sentencing. No mercy had been granted to them back then and none would come now for these people. But the boy was an unexpected factor.
Who brings a child to court
he wondered?

For a split second, Maxwell was emotionally dragged back to the tiny town outside of Philadelphia where his security had been snatched away at age twelve, probably a few years older than the pastor's son standing in front of him. At least Reverend Morgan wasn't headed to prison; at least not yet, not like Maxwell's father had. Maxwell shook off the nostalgia and hunched his shoulders as he pierced through the crowd, refusing to let anyone or anything curb his zeal, not even a little boy sobbing for his father. The little boy didn't realize it now, but he'd be all right. Maxwell was proof of it. He'd survived while his father served time for fraudulent activity in the church. If his father had done the crime, maybe Maxwell would have been at peace with the outcome. The truth was that his father was only guilty of stupidity resulting from staying loyal to a crooked preacher and naively taking the rap for his transgressions. Maxwell rebelled. Those memories weren't going to suck him into a funk. He pushed ahead having regained full control of his surroundings, eager to get to his office.

Suddenly there was a thumping sensation smothered by oohs and aahs. The air felt light and the sky hypnotic. He seemed to be floating to the ground. Screams and a bunch of chatter faded out. Maxwell could see the people crowding around him. Every action was in slow motion. He wasn't sure but guessed that this must be what peace felt like, being oblivious to pain, shielded from the chatter, naysayers, and circumstances. Maxwell's thoughts crashed back to reality wielding a powerful headache with it, as he was instantly jerked out of the clouds of euphoria. He placed the palm of his hand against his forehead, pressing in and feeling the coolness right above his eyebrow. He didn't need to see the blood to know it was there.

“Attorney Maxwell, are you okay?” his client asked, bending down to pick up the rock lying on the ground. “Did anyone see who threw the rock?”

No one responded.

A flurry of cameras clicking, tapes rolling, and microphones poking into his face wasn't as well received this time. Maxwell tried standing, refusing to be caught on TV in a weakened state. He would regain composure and show the assailant and everybody else how indestructible he was. Not even a boulder, let alone a rock the size of a ball of yarn, could shut him up. He placed his bloody palm on the ground and pushed up to stand. Halfway up his legs buckled, sending him crashing to the ground. Aahs radiated in the crowd.

“Call 911,” his client screamed out, staying by her attorney's side.

“No, I'm good, just give me a minute. I'm fine,” Maxwell protested, wishing it were true.

A reporter crammed a microphone within inches of his mouth. “Are you going to press charges?”

“Are you going to wage a civil suit against the person who assaulted you?” another reporter asked drawing a few pockets of laughter from the crowd.

Unwilling to accept defeat, Maxwell was determined to stand. He made repeated attempts with each ending in failure and landing him smack on the ground. It was a position he'd spent his entire adult life avoiding.