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at his side the entire length of the hall. Lesser staff members moved to the side as Catherine and Naomi took their rightful places beside the pastor. Hezekiah stared directly ahead.
    â€œWhat time am I scheduled to be interviewed by Lance Savage and what’s the article he’s writing about us?”
    Naomi’s throat dried as she strained to respond.
    â€œEleven o’clock, Pastor Cleaveland. I believe he wants to get an update on the cathedral construction.”
    The three stepped into an elevator heading up to the fifth floor. The doors closed and Hezekiah’s firm body slumped against the back wall with a thud.
    â€œCatherine, get me the most recent construction figures,” he said, peering directly at the doors ahead as if a face were looking back at him. “How much we’ve spent and how much we’ve raised. I want to be ready for Lance.”
    Catherine scribbled the pastor’s instructions and answered, “Yes, Pastor Cleaveland,” as the elevator doors slid open.
    Hezekiah, Catherine, and Naomi exited the elevator and walked directly toward the pastor’s suite of offices. Floor-to-ceiling glass double doors stood before them. Naomi took a double step ahead of the pastor and opened the door. Hezekiah entered the suite without altering his stride as she stepped aside.
    The outer office now held many of the same faces from the staff meeting. Attractive young women shuttled important-looking documents from one side of the room to the other. Handsome men wearing cheap suits and expensive neckties huddled in various corners of the office as they conferred on urgent church business.
    Lush burgundy carpets muffled the sound of multiple conversations. Mahogany panels covered the walls from which architectural renderings of the new towering 25,000-seat glass cathedral hung.
    Hezekiah scanned the room. His eyes rested on no one in particular. They were all just bodies. Empty faces serving at his whim. The people he and Samantha surrounded themselves with were there simply to do their bidding—not to think, analyze, or make decisions.
    A lanky man with wavy black hair approached him. Associate Pastor, Rev. Kenneth Davis was the only staff member brave enough to break bad news to Hezekiah so early in the morning.
    â€œGood morning, Pastor Cleaveland,” Kenneth said as Hezekiah looked up from a stack of telephone messages.
    â€œSorry to start your week like this but there is another protest going on in front of the church.” Kenneth pointed toward open French doors along the rear wall.
    â€œWhat is it now?” Hezekiah asked sharply.
    â€œIt seems another group of homeless advocates are angry about the amount of money we’re spending on the construction of the new cathedral. They think we should be spending the money on the homeless instead.”
    The sound of a man speaking through a megaphone met Hezekiah’s ears as he looked from the third floor onto the grounds of New Testament Cathedral.
    A group of over 200 people waved protest signs that read: LOS ANGELES NEEDS MORE AFFORDABLE HOUSING, NOT SHRINES TO GREEDY PASTORS AND HEZEKIAH CLEAVELAND DOESN’T CARE ABOUT POOR PEOPLE .
    New Testament Cathedral was a two-block-long, five-story stucco structure with a row of stained-glass windows lining each side of the building. Park like settings wrapped around its perimeter. Cobblestone paths dotted with benches, curved brick walls, gurgling rock fountains, and lush greenery provided parishioners with aesthetic justification for the millions of dollars they gave to the Cleavelands each year.
    Worshippers were greeted by a sweeping flight of steps that spanned the width of the building and led up to a two-story-high glass wall containing six sets of double doors. Through the windows a massive crystal chandelier could be seen dangling in the sun-drenched lobby. A twenty-foot sapphire blue cross was the centerpiece of the stained-glass window that dominated