Author: Scott Adamson

The gold-colored stretch limousine carrying Reverend Fulton Grayson eased to the curb in front of the modest garden home, drawing prolonged gazes from the handful of people walking along the sidewalk.

The driver – conspicuous by his white suit, mirrored sunglasses and black tube earpiece – stepped out of the vehicle, walked toward the back and opened the door for Grayson.

Although prosperity ministers were common, this particular man of the custom-made cloth stood out. His yellow hair was always coiffed high, and his mouth seemed to be overflowing with pearly white teeth. And then there was his attire, which consisted of a silver, peak label tuxedo with a red, white and blue handkerchief stuffed in the suit pocket and accented by an oversized American flag lapel pin.

It was rare to see him away from his sprawling church – Prosper Cathedral in Boone, North Carolina – or unaccompanied by a politician who shared his fire-and-brimstone, “get it all and get it now” worldview. But this was the rarest of occasions, and one worthy of a road trip to Oxford, Mississippi.

Mr. Lou Devlin had pledged $10 million to Prosper Cathedral, and his only requirement was that the good reverend visit him in person to receive the money. Various bank statements sent to Grayson (as well as the detective work of the church’s private investigators) assured him that Devlin was on the up-and-up, so he agreed to give the generous follower a brief audience.

On a cool, clear Wednesday morning, Grayson walked up the steps to the front of the block shingled house and rang the doorbell.

Moments later, Devlin opened the door. The slight man had a whisp of jet black hair on his mostly bald head and was wearing a dark red bathrobe and brown slippers.

He looked like anything but a multimillionaire.

Grayson grabbed Devlin’s right hand with both of his and shook vigorously.

“Mr. Devlin, what a great pleasure it is to meet another fine servant of the Lord,” said the reverend. “You know, 1 Timothy 6:17 tells us, ‘Charge them that are rich in this world, that they be not high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy.’ And this is exactly what you’re doing with this selfless tithe, Brother Lou.”

The driver was standing in the doorway and Grayson motioned him back toward the limo, whispering, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

“Please, have a seat,” Devlin said, pointing to a rocking chair next to a small sofa in the living room. “I’ll get your money presently. Before that, though, I just wanted to ask you a question.”

Grayson smiled politely and looked around.

“Absolutely. And I must say, Brother Lou, for a man of means you seem to live modestly. Don’t get me wrong, this is a lovely house, I’m just a bit surprised.”

Devlin laughed.

“Honestly, I never really needed much in the way of ‘things.’ A roof to keep the rain off, a bed to sleep in, a bowl to eat from …everything else is mostly clutter. And, I don’t spend a lot of time in this particular place anyway. I travel all over the world.”

Grayson cleared his throat.

“Well, I know what it’s like to have a busy travel schedule. Anyway, I’m sure you have things to do, and I need to get back to Boone and prepare for our ‘Million Prayers for a Million Dollars’ crusade, so if we could go ahead and complete our transaction I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh, of course, of course.” Devlin said. “Just that question though. Do you remember Millie Banks?”

Grayson shook his head.

“No, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Is there a reason I should know her?”

Devlin sat down.

“It was about, oh, 40 years ago,” he explained. “You were going through your faith healing phase and you held a tent revival in Marshall, North Carolina. Millie was just a little girl – poor as dirt – but she managed to scrape together seven dollars and 16 cents to give you if you could heal her grandma. And do you remember what you did, Brother Fulton? You snatched that money right out of her hand, patted her on her head, and told her everything was gonna be just fine. That by the time she got home, her dear ol’ granny would be sitting up and laughing. But that didn’t happen, did it Brother Fulton? Once Millie got home her grandma was already gone. And for the next 25 years, Millie kept writing you and asking you why you didn’t help her granny. But you didn’t answer, because you didn’t care. You already had your money and for people like you, all sales are final.”

Grayson’ face was red with anger, but he was also puzzled at how Devlin knew about what was – to him – a small and insignificant detail.

Devlin pulled a crumpled check out of his robe pocket, handed it to Grayson and pointed toward the door.

“You’ve got your money, so you can go now.”

Grayson glanced at the check, stared at Devlin and made a heavy-footed exit toward the door. When he opened it, his limo and driver were gone. In fact, the entire neighborhood was missing. All he could see was a dark landscape defined mostly by shadows. All he could feel was bitter cold. All he could hear were wails of despair.

“What the hell …” he muttered.

“What the hell, indeed, Brother Fulton,” said Devlin, whose eyes were now a glossy black. “Oh, and as you might have guessed, your limo never made it here. There was a terrible crash right outside Tupelo Regional Airport. Now, let me leave you with this … ‘Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you. Your riches are corrupted, and your garments are motheaten. Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have heaped treasure together for the last days.’ That’s James 5: 1-3.”

Devlin pushed Grayson out of the doorway and into the darkness.

“Like William Shakespeare wrote,” Devlin said as he was closing the door, “‘The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.’”