Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I walk down the pretty little tree-lined streets of Canaan, saying hello to every damn person I see, and it suddenly hits me: I like this. I like that everyone says hi to me and wants to smile at me. I like that I haven’t really sewn any ill-will here, or even done much ripping off. And really, I just like it here—this town, I mean. For a second, I can almost see myself just living here, permanently.
…For a man who hasn’t stopped moving in years, trust me, that’s a foreign concept. It’s also fucking with my head.
I scowl, and I decide to do the grocery shopping I came to town to do is fast as possible so that I can get my ass out of here. But suddenly, I hear my name once again.
“Gabriel!”
I frown, and I pretend I don’t hear it, until I hear the footsteps behind me, and the voice call my name again.
“Wait, Gabriel!”
Shit. I turn, and sure enough, it’s Paul Somerset. I force a smile to my face.
“Hey, Paul, how are you?”
“Great, Gabriel, great. How’s your day?”
Amazing. Your sister swallowed my cum after I made her orgasm all over my mouth, three times.
“Fantastic,” I smile. “Just fantastic.”
He nods. “That’s great. Well, hey, could…” he frowns. “Could I follow up with you on that church idea?”
Right. Shit.
I sigh. “Paul, you know what, I need to—”
“Could we sit?”
“Uhhh, sure?” I wince. Fuck, I do not need to get pulled into this shit right now. Or, you know, ever.
“But Paul, I really do need to—”
“Just one minute of your time, sir, I promise. I know this could be good.”
“Yeah, um, one minute.”
He grins. “Fantastic. Here, over here.”
I groan inwardly as he drags me over to the Morning Glory Cafe and sits at one of their outdoor tables before gesturing to the chair next to him. Begrudgingly, I sit as Paul whips out a laptop. He opens it up, and my eyes almost bug out of my head. His background is a photo of him hugging a woman in a sundress, who’s kissing his cheek lovingly.
The woman is Lizzie Purcell, aka, my persistant midnight visitor out at the Winnebago a few nights ago.
What the fuck?
“Uh, Paul, who…”
He turns and grins at me. “Oh, Lizzie?” his smile widens. “That’s my fiancée, Mr. Marsden.”
I smile thinly at him. “Fantastic, Paul. That’s fantastic for you.”
Poor fucking bastard, I groan inside, but I keep my mouth fucking shut.
“Okay, so, this is my spreadsheet of donations so far, along with our goals and benchmarks.”
Paul opens up an Excel file, and I blink in shock as my jaw about hits the table. For one, because the sheet is meticulous, and highly detailed. But for two, and more importantly, because Paul has somehow managed to crowdsource almost two million dollars for his church. I mean forget this con man shit, I should go out and fundraise for an actual church. I mean, shit.
“Jes—” I catch myself. “Wow, Paul, that’s really impressive.”
He smiles at me. “Thank you, sir. It’s not just from Canaan, though, a few other local communities and churches have pitched in.” He beams. “The Lord has called me to His service, and I’ll do what I must to honor His name with a church worthy of Him. And I think if you felt the call too, as another man of God, I know we’d surely be appreciative of anything you could give for the cause.”
Yeaaah, no fucking way.
I clear my throat and smile at him. “Look, Paul—”
“You know what?” He jumps out of his seat. “Let me go get us some coffees. Are you a latte man, Mr. Marsden?”
“Uh, sure?”
He grins. “My treat. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
He darts inside, and I blow air through my lips. Yeah, no damn way am I giving some of my hard-earned, or at least hard-won money towards his dumb church. Not a chance. I frown and look at his spreadsheet, and I shake my head. The figure he’s raised is seriously impressive. It’s envious, actually. My eyes move over the tables, and I shake my head. Yeah, I might be in the wrong business here.
I’m looking at his sheet, when suddenly another sheet pops up, blinking with a message asking if he wants to turn on autosave. Instinctively, because I fucking hate it when my laptop keeps asking dumb questions like that, I click yes for him. But then, that second document stays up, and I start to read it.
…And my eyes go wide.
Holy. Shit.
The document has lists of accounts and terms, and from my own little forays into check fraud, I can read what it is. The motherfucker is setting up a shell game. He’s got the main “trust,” which presumably is where this almost two-million is being held safe to be put towards his church construction. But then, there are “feeder” accounts. The average sucker would look at this shit and haven’t the slightest idea what it is, or that there’s even anything wrong with this. But, I’m no ordinary rube.