by Alan Sears
Chapter Twenty-Three
MIKE ALDEN’S REPORT on the identities of Madisonians at the Department of Justice held a reminder—a reminder that ate at John Knox Smith. John opened the packet and scanned the list as he had done numerous times. There, near the top of the list, the first name under “B,” was his college friend Matthew W. Branson, Office of Professional Responsibility. He felt no surprise. He and Matt had talked about the Madison Scholars over a meal at the Italian restaurant, but that was several years ago. Back then, John found Matt’s blending of Christian faith and law amusing. He also found it uncomfortable. Things had changed. The fight against hate speech had intensified and DTED had gained ground and momentum. John couldn’t afford to be careless. Matt might be one of “them.” If so, then his presence in the DOJ created a dangerous situation. The word spy came to mind.
John ignored the tiny buzzing of guilt in his head, grabbed the telephone, and dialed the direct number for DOJ’s Director of Human Resources. “Hey Barry, it’s John Knox Smith, DTED. I need the complete personnel file on Matthew Branson.”
“Is this in regard to his resignation?” Barry asked.
“Resignation? What resignation?”
“He announced his resignation a short time ago. I think he’s returning to private law.”
Thoughts ricocheted in John’s mind. Something didn’t feel right.
“Did he mention anything about Pat Preston?”
“Not to me. I just received his formal resignation.”
John picked up a pen and tapped it on a notepad. “Did he make any complaints about the department?”
“OPR?”
“The Department of Justice, Barry, or any of its internal departments.” John struggled to hide his irritation.
“Not that I know of. If he did, he didn’t complain to me.”
John set the pen down. “Listen Barry, I need you to keep this little conversation under wraps. Can I rely on your discretion?”
“Are you investigating the man?”
It took a moment for John to respond. “It’s too early to speak about the matter. I’m just checking into a couple of things. Let’s keep this call between us. Okay?”
“Sure. Anything you say. You still want that file?”
“I do. I also want to know what he’s been working on.”
“Can’t help you there, John. I’m just a lowly HR guy.”
“Just thinking out loud, Barry. I’ll have someone get that info for me.”
“If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“Thanks, Barry.” John hung up. Alone in his office, he said, “What sneaky thing are you up to, Matt?”
Andrea entered the office. “I have a pile of messages… You look distracted.”
John looked at Andrea. He always felt better when she was in the room. “Matt Branson has resigned.”
“Your lunch buddy in the Office of Professional Responsibility?”
“That’s the guy.”
Andrea looked concerned. “The OPR has access to privileged information. They get into a lot of dirt.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t have any worries on that count.”
“Can you imagine what sort of classified information Branson may have in his possession?”
“You sound paranoid. Paranoia is my job.”
“Maybe it’s contagious. You don’t have any worries about his resignation?”
“You know me too well, Andrea. It’s spooky.”
“I just care about you and what you do, that’s all.”
John’s thoughts drifted back to Matt. “Matt and I have a common acquaintance: Pat Preston.”
Andrea narrowed her eyes. “Matt is friends with someone our department is investigating?”
“Yes. That’s what I’ve been thinking about.”
“That seems more than a little suspicious to me.”
“I have HR sending over his file. I also want to go over his case work.”
“What happens if he’s been helping Preston?”
“If he provided any help before his resignation or used DOJ information to warn him, advise him, or anything else, then I’ll make sure he never practices law again. His law degree will be useless except as a drink coaster.” John stood. “Let’s see if we can’t uncover a few things that might be of interest to the exit interview panel.”
WHEN MATT SHOWED up for what he had expected to be a routine exit interview, he ran into a buzz saw. For some reason—and Matt suspected John Knox Smith was the reason—the investigators seemed determined to find improper behavior during Matt’s tenure with the DOJ. As part of OPR, Matt had served on exit interviews, but no one had been scrutinized as thoroughly as this panel delved into his career. OPR and HR seemed committed to destroying his reputation.
For the next several days, Matt’s life was a living hell. Every record and file he had ever touched, the panel reopened and reexamined.
During the investigation Matt submitted a letter revealing, as required by law, that he planned on going into private practice. He attested he had not been and was not being paid by any client, and had not formally accepted an offer to be put on retainer. In the letter, he revealed he had taken calls from Rev. Pat Preston in Nashville about handling his case, which did, in fact, involve the DOJ, but they had not met to discuss the details of the case, and no specific information had changed hands between them. For several days, Matt waited for the guillotine blade to fall. He knew he had done everything properly and within the guidelines of the DOJ, but feared the panel would see things otherwise.
The gut-wrenching experience left Matt worn and exhausted, but in the end he survived and the Department of Justice declined to pursue the issue further. Before Matt could relax, he heard that John had registered a protest with the director of OPR and Attorney General Stamper. Both men refused to intervene. Matt’s record was spotless, his performance ratings were very high, and it was clear that he had not broken any laws or violated any departmental regulations.
When the final HR review came back, the statement read: “Over the last four years, Matthew Branson has been an exemplary employee of the United States Department of Justice, has met or exceeded all expectations of his supervisors, and has earned the affection of his co-workers at all levels. It is with great sadness that we say goodbye to our friend and colleague, and we wish him much success in all his future endeavors.”
For the first time in over a week, Matt slept an entire night.
STARTING THE NEXT day, Matt began looking into Pat’s case. He quickly discovered it was going to be almost impossible to get any new information out of the DTED or the police; and his prospective client was less than helpful. It was common for police agencies to deny defense attorneys access to information until formal charges had been filed. After a major tactical raid, it could take weeks or even months for the suspect and his lawyers to find out much of what was happening, and to learn whether or not the authorities would file charges at all. The investigators and DTED agents on Pat’s case seemed to be going out of their way to make life difficult for the accused, and to stonewall Matt.
After serving a search warrant, officers file a Return of Service document in which they provide statements about what they did and make an inventory of what items they removed from the scene. Ordinarily a simple, nondescript document, Pat Preston’s ROS became a multi-page press release about Pat’s belligerent behavior. Prosecutors filed it as an open record with the court. Anyone could read it—including the media and the deacons of Rogers Memorial Church.
Matt kept track of every article in print or on the web, and every news broadcast. They were stacking up.
PAT’S ARREST AND the growing wave of news reports continued to increase the crisis at the church. Every time Pat’s name appeared in the press, the name of Rogers Memorial Church appeared with it. Just One Life ran on three hundred stations across the country and donations from the on-air ministry provided much of the church’s budget. Stations, un
comfortable with the media reports about Pat and fearing the new FCC regulations or search warrants at their station, stopped running the programs. Money dried up, but the ministry bills did not. Although Just One Life, Inc. was a separate corporation from the church, Rogers Memorial was bleeding cash.
The board of directors for Just One Life, Inc., which included some of the church’s deacons, called an emergency session.
“We’re here to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ,” Keith Gentry said. “We’re an evangelistic organization, but Pastor Pat has put our whole ministry in peril by going away from what we know and taking an unnecessarily critical position on what other religions may or may not believe.
“We’ve got to get back on the air very soon, before this ministry goes bankrupt. We’re going to ask our lawyer to go to Washington and find out what it will take to get us back on the air. We’ll do anything that doesn’t violate our conscience, but we’ve got to move fast, and we need to be prepared to do anything reasonable to get the program back on the air.”
There were a couple of dissenters on the board who wanted to stand with Pat, but Gentry and Howard French dominated the discussion. Pat’s few supporters were outnumbered and emotionally outgunned.
“We have three years’ worth of recorded sermons Pat preached before he got on this kick. He was much more reasonable back then. We also have a talented team of program editors. We could create new material from old broadcasts.”
“What we need to do,” Gentry said, “is to go back to the stuff from before Pat went to Oxford. Pat hasn’t been the same since he got back. And if that doesn’t work, we’ve got at least ten years of Bill Richards’ sermons we can use.”
“Great idea,” Howard said. “Maybe we should ask the folks at the FCC and DTED to help screen some of those sermons, and tell us which ones would be best on the air, and which would cause the least public disturbance. It will make the church look uninvolved in Pat’s behavior and willing to make amends for any crimes he committed.”
That week, Gentry, Howard, and their lawyer held a telephone conference with the FCC. It didn’t take long for the FCC to squash the idea. “We’ll be delighted to put the program back on the air. You’ve got a good show. Apparently it’s very popular, and you’ve got a lot of support around the country. We also know you’ve got millions of dollars at stake here, but you’ll need to put somebody else on the air. We can’t support you if you continue putting Rev. Preston on the broadcast—old or new programs. There’s just too much bad blood there.”
Gentry wasn’t disappointed.
A FEW HOURS later, Keith Gentry called Pat at home and arranged a meeting with the deacons for later that evening. Pat arrived, his stomach a twisting wad of emotions. Stress had started taking a toll on him. His back hurt, he had trouble sitting, and indigestion followed every meal. The deacons had set the meeting in the same adult classroom where they had held their private meeting a few weeks before.
When Pat stepped through the door, every deacon was seated around folding tables set end-to-end. Coffee cups rested on the surface of the table. Most were empty. They had been meeting without him.
“Thanks for coming, Pastor,” Gentry said as Pat took a seat at one end of the table. Gentry sat at the other.
“Just say it, Keith,” Pat said.
“What do you mean?”
Pat leaned over his end of the table. His brain felt lodged in an ever-tightening vise. “I’m not an idiot, Keith. The deacons don’t hold several meetings without the pastor unless they’re getting ready to show him the door. I know about your meeting with the Just One Life board.”
“We only want what’s best for the church, Preacher.”
“I want what’s best for Jesus.”
“They’re the same thing, Pat,” Keith said in a menacing tone.
“Not in this church. Not anymore. It seems most of you want compliance with the government rather than God.”
“As I understand the Bible, Pastor, that’s one of the duties of the church.”
“Really? Well, that explains a few things.” Pat straightened as if he were walking into the pulpit. “The earliest Christians had to make a choice. Part of the Roman tax paying procedure was to hand over the money and state, ‘Caesar is Lord.’ Early Christians paid their taxes but refused to make the proclamations. The Romans executed a pastor named Polycarp who refused to comply.”
“This is the twenty-first century,” Gentry stated.
“Jesus hasn’t changed; the church’s mission remains the same.”
“We asked you here—”
“Summoned.”
“What?”
“You didn’t ask me here, you summoned me.”
Gentry glanced around the room. Most of the deacons studied the table top. Only Howard French kept his head up.
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” Howard spoke softly.
“This is difficult for you? You? I’ve been hurt and arrested for no reason. The media keeps repeating the nonsense about me attacking an officer when all I was doing was helping an injured woman. I’ve been booked, had a mug shot taken, and forced to call my wife to pick me up from jail. I’m facing legal problems I can’t begin to understand, and you feel you’re going through difficulty.” Pat rubbed his eyes. “Just do it, Keith. No more pretense about concern for me or the church; no more talk about doing what is right. Just do it.”
“We took a vote and agree that you should go.” Keith blurted the words. “The vote was unanimous.”
“Not a single spine in the group,” Pat muttered to himself. He knew this was coming, but hearing the words struck him like a knight’s lance to the heart.
“What?” Gentry asked.
“Nothing. Carry on.”
“We’ve prepared what we consider a generous termination agreement with a one-year severance package, a reasonable relocation allowance, and certain other benefits. But there is just one caveat: You have twenty-four hours to read and sign the document, and there are additional penalties if you go beyond that time.”
Pat sat in silence. Had Rogers Memorial been a typical Baptist church, the deacons wouldn’t have so much power. The congregation would be the only ones who could dismiss the senior pastor. Rogers Memorial wasn’t typical. It was a mega-church. Before Pat had been called there, the congregation transferred many of its powers to the deacon board, which served as a board of directors.
“It really is generous, Pastor,” Howard said.
“Forgive me if I’m not overwhelmed with gratitude.” He held out his hand and Gentry passed a manila folder down the table.
Pat took it, rose, and walked from the room.
“PAT, YOU MUST not sign this agreement.” Matt’s emotion came over the phone undiminished by distance. Pat had faxed the document to Matt the moment he got home.
“I’m not sure I can refuse.”
“Look, Pat. This isn’t a bunch of guys who put their heads together and drew up an agreement. This thing is loaded with legalese. It makes some very harmful declarations. If I were a betting man, I’d bet my house they’ve retained counsel against you.”
“What difference does that make, Matt? The result is the same. They’re playing hardball. They want me to drag my feet. If I miss the twenty-four-hour deadline, they cut my severance package and other benefits in half.”
“I understand—”
“I still have a family to support. A year’s salary will make that possible for a while.” He thought of his family, who were still with Becky’s mother. He hadn’t talked to her yet and doubted he would until it was all over.
“Pat, you have a right to fight this. Give me a chance to contact their attorney. The guy knows he can’t get away with this. Once he hears you have strong representation, I’m sure he’ll take a few steps back and give you more time.”
“I’ll think about it, Matt.”
“Promise me you won’t sign this thing.”
“Good night, Ma
tt.”
Pat hung up.