“And if I say no?” I asked.

“If you sign, I’ll double your retirement pension from the church trust fund,” Arthur said.

“Four thousand dollars a month, guaranteed directly through First National Bank.”

He leaned in, pressing his big hands flat against the mahogany.

“Four thousand a month is a comfortable life for a retired pastor,” Arthur said.

“Take the money, Tom.

Walk away before Tuesday’s board meeting.”

I picked up the bottle of lemon oil and twisted the plastic cap on tight.