the law as well as I do. This great country of ours works to protect religious freedom, despite what some communists and atheists try to do. You may have temporarily succeeded in throwing God out of school and murdering unborn children, but the tide is changing "
"Thank you, Reverend Sanders, but we were talking about your taxes. Please try to answer the question."
"I am answering your question, Miss. Lowell. Dixie and I are law-abiding citizens. We pay our fair share of taxes."
"How much income tax did you pay last year, Reverend Sanders?"
"Churches do not have to pay taxes. It's called separation of church and state. You can read all about it in the Constitution."
Sara readjusted her spectacles.
"I've read the Constitution, Reverend Sanders, but with all due respect, sir, you are not a church. You would certainly not suggest that people who work in the church should slide by without paying taxes, forcing hardworking Americans to carry the load for them, would you?"
His smile wavered, and for a brief moment there was a crack in the facade, allowing a quick peek at the cold soul beyond the smile.
"Of course not," he said.
"You twist everything around to suit your purposes, and the righteous know that. The righteous will not be swayed off the path of the Lord by your lies. I repeat what I have said all along. I have paid my fair share of taxes. This whole issue is nothing but a play by secularists to ruin my good name."
Donald Parker finally broke in.
"Thank you, Reverend Sanders. Well take a break and be back after this message. Don't go away."
"Dr. Lowell? May I speak with you for a moment?"
John Lowell looked up, obviously annoyed.
"Can't it wait until after the show, Ray?" "There's a commercial on now," Raymond said. Dr. Raymond Markey worked for the Department of Health and Human Services in Washington. A small man, his arms and legs looked too short for his body. Thick glasses magnified his small dark eyes fivefold, making him look more like a classic movie nerd than a medical doctor. In truth, Markey rarely practiced medicine anymore. His job as assistant secretary of the department threw him more into the political realm than he cared to admit.
With a deep sigh, John Lowell stood and walked out of the room. The two headed down the hallway together. When they were alone, Lowell said, "Okay, what is it?"
Raymond Markey's giant eyes scanned the hallway like two searchlights across a prison courtyard.
"He's coming to your party tonight."
Lowell's face turned red.
"What? I don't want that man in my house, I thought I made that clear."
"You did."
"It's too dangerous," he whispered.
"The timing of this party, everything."
"It doesn't matter," Markey said.
"He'll be here. I thought you should know."
Lowell cursed silently, his hands clenching into fists.
"That son of a bitch is going to destroy us all."
As the party got into full swing, the group of men surrounding Cassandra fought for center stage like vain actors. But Cassandra, used to such scenes, couldn't have cared less. She merely smiled brightly, seductively, nodding now and again but never really listening. they were all important men. Randall Crane owned a large chunk of several conglomerates. He had been featured on the cover of Fortune magazine looking very distinguished and serious. But he was boring. They were all deadly boring. If these men had not possessed staggering amounts of money, nobody would even pretend to listen to their self-indulgent horse manure.
The crowd of well-dressed patrons buzzed about Sara's debut on Newsflash. Cassandra's eyes swept over the mansion's large ballroom, recognizing most of the nearly three hundred guests.
Hypocrites, she thought. Like they really gave a flying shit about fighting cancer. They were here to be seen, to mingle and impress.
If that meant coughing up some money for charity, well, that was the price of admission. Being seen was the thing.
Randall Crane interrupted her thoughts.
"Do you
"Thank you, Reverend Sanders, but we were talking about your taxes. Please try to answer the question."
"I am answering your question, Miss. Lowell. Dixie and I are law-abiding citizens. We pay our fair share of taxes."
"How much income tax did you pay last year, Reverend Sanders?"
"Churches do not have to pay taxes. It's called separation of church and state. You can read all about it in the Constitution."
Sara readjusted her spectacles.
"I've read the Constitution, Reverend Sanders, but with all due respect, sir, you are not a church. You would certainly not suggest that people who work in the church should slide by without paying taxes, forcing hardworking Americans to carry the load for them, would you?"
His smile wavered, and for a brief moment there was a crack in the facade, allowing a quick peek at the cold soul beyond the smile.
"Of course not," he said.
"You twist everything around to suit your purposes, and the righteous know that. The righteous will not be swayed off the path of the Lord by your lies. I repeat what I have said all along. I have paid my fair share of taxes. This whole issue is nothing but a play by secularists to ruin my good name."
Donald Parker finally broke in.
"Thank you, Reverend Sanders. Well take a break and be back after this message. Don't go away."
"Dr. Lowell? May I speak with you for a moment?"
John Lowell looked up, obviously annoyed.
"Can't it wait until after the show, Ray?" "There's a commercial on now," Raymond said. Dr. Raymond Markey worked for the Department of Health and Human Services in Washington. A small man, his arms and legs looked too short for his body. Thick glasses magnified his small dark eyes fivefold, making him look more like a classic movie nerd than a medical doctor. In truth, Markey rarely practiced medicine anymore. His job as assistant secretary of the department threw him more into the political realm than he cared to admit.
With a deep sigh, John Lowell stood and walked out of the room. The two headed down the hallway together. When they were alone, Lowell said, "Okay, what is it?"
Raymond Markey's giant eyes scanned the hallway like two searchlights across a prison courtyard.
"He's coming to your party tonight."
Lowell's face turned red.
"What? I don't want that man in my house, I thought I made that clear."
"You did."
"It's too dangerous," he whispered.
"The timing of this party, everything."
"It doesn't matter," Markey said.
"He'll be here. I thought you should know."
Lowell cursed silently, his hands clenching into fists.
"That son of a bitch is going to destroy us all."
As the party got into full swing, the group of men surrounding Cassandra fought for center stage like vain actors. But Cassandra, used to such scenes, couldn't have cared less. She merely smiled brightly, seductively, nodding now and again but never really listening. they were all important men. Randall Crane owned a large chunk of several conglomerates. He had been featured on the cover of Fortune magazine looking very distinguished and serious. But he was boring. They were all deadly boring. If these men had not possessed staggering amounts of money, nobody would even pretend to listen to their self-indulgent horse manure.
The crowd of well-dressed patrons buzzed about Sara's debut on Newsflash. Cassandra's eyes swept over the mansion's large ballroom, recognizing most of the nearly three hundred guests.
Hypocrites, she thought. Like they really gave a flying shit about fighting cancer. They were here to be seen, to mingle and impress.
If that meant coughing up some money for charity, well, that was the price of admission. Being seen was the thing.
Randall Crane interrupted her thoughts.
"Do you
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