“May I come in?”

Elder Miller glanced at Wade, then down at the thick pile of legal filings showing in my open briefcase.

“The formal meeting starts in fifteen minutes,” Miller said, swinging the door wider.

“Arthur has the podium first.”

I reached down, folded the leather flap over my papers, and shut my leather briefcase with a loud metallic snap.

At three minutes to two, Wade pushed open the oak double doors of the sanctuary hall.

Forty parishioners sat in the center pews, their hushed voices echoing off the tall stained glass windows.