The Bonaparte Secret by Gregg Loomis Read Free Book Online Page A

less than four services every Sunday and several during the week, plus a televangelical ministry on Sunday nights. More significantly, donations had shown a commensurate increase. Had a number of his parishioners not become disenchanted with both a lifestyle that could only be described as opulent and a more-than-priestly interest in a number of church members’ wives, he might have remained beneath the IRS’s radar indefinitely.
    Currently, Lang was anticipating federal indictment of the good bishop for multiple counts of tax evasion, conspiracy to evade taxes, fraud, mail fraud and a laundry list of related offenses. It would seem Lang’s client had not only been dipping his pen into the company inkwell, his fingers had been in the church’s purse as well.
    Groom came through the door, hand extended. “Thank you so much for seeing me without an appointment.”
    Lang stood to shake hands. “Glad I was available.” He sat behind his desk, indicating one of two leather wing chairs separated by a small French commode. “What can I do for you?”
    Groom was tall, over six feet, with a shock of silver hair he constantly swept aside, a gesture Lang had noted he did with dramatic flair at crucial points of his televised sermons. Still standing, he gazed upward. “First, let us pray.”
    Lang always felt a little uncomfortable when his client spent a good two or three minutes invoking the Lord’s favor on whatever he happened to be doing at the moment as well as seeking heavenly retribution upon those who were persecuting him. Idly, Lang wondered if a brief prayer had been said preparatory to each seduction of one of his flock. It was certain the time spent communicating with the Almighty was duly noted and added to the time spent in legal counseling to be charged against a very generous retainer.
    “Amen,” the bishop said, and sat down.
    Lang looked across the desk expectantly.
    “I’ve been thinking about this matter of the church vehicles. They say . . .” The man’s otherwise-angelic face contorted into an expression that looked like he tasted something extremely unpleasant whenever he referred to the prosecution. “They say I misused church funds to buy vehicles. Do you know, Mr. Reilly, that the Cathedral of the Holy Savior uses its vehicles, mostly buses, to bring to God’s house those who otherwise would be unable to attend services?”
    Lang suppressed a sigh. He had been here before. “Does that include the Ferrari and the turbo Bentley?”
    The bishop hunched his shoulders, a man deeply offended. “Someone in my position needs to display material wealth. Success is a sign of God’s favor, as I constantly preach. We are in very serious trouble, this country of ours, when the Philistines can persecute the faithful because they succeed.”
    Another synonym for the prosecution. He was partially correct, though. The government moved with an uncharacteristically light hand when dealing with religious mountebanks, charlatans and others who saw the First Amendment as license to participate in otherwise-illegal activity. It was only when it became clear someone was using a church as a personal bank account to evade taxes, utilizing the mail to solicit funds that clearly went to private uses, or the church and its pastor became indistinguishable that criminal charges were brought.
    Lang kept the observation to himself.
    “And then there’s the matter of the church’s ownership of homes in the mountains and at the beach. Do you realize how many conferences and retreats the church elders have there every year?”
    As far as Lang had been able to ascertain, there were no church elders, deacons or other persons charged with any office that related to financial decisions.
    He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Elders?”
    “Why yes, of course. You certainly don’t think one person can run an organization the size of the Cathedral of the Holy Savior, do you?”
    Lang reached for a pad with one hand and