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“And this is the crowning glory,” Modesto said, sliding open the back patio as if a one-hundred-inch TV wasn’t crowning enough.
And he was right. We stepped out onto a large back deck overlooking a gorgeous yard—in ground pool, immaculate landscaping, plenty of seating—and leaned against the far railing to look down at a cross at least thirty yards tall and all in gleaming gold.
“Wow,” I said, not sure what else I could say. It was the perfect encapsulation of the house: overtly wealthy, and unabashedly religious.
“That’s one big cross,” Rees said, and I liked to imagine he understood how hilarious that was, although I wouldn’t let myself laugh.
Modesto clearly didn’t see any humor in it. “Yes it is my friend,” he said, staring down at the monstrosity with pure love in his eyes. “That is gold taken from Byzantium, allegedly owned by the first Christian emperor himself, Constantine the Great. Can you imagine, having some of Constantine’s own gold?”
“I really can’t,” Rees said, and glanced at me with this wry smile.
“I’m sure it’s not real,” Modesto said with a sly smile. “But it is gold, of course.”
“What are you going to do with it?” I asked despite myself. I almost didn’t want to know.
“Hang it in my church,” he said, waving a hand like, of course. “We’re building a new one. It’s going to be the largest religious complex in the United States when we’re finished, and this cross will be the heart of it all. I’m going to minister to thousands beneath the gold of a saint, and all glory to god.”
“Amen,” Rees said, grinning now. “I see you haven’t changed a bit. I bet that thing’ll look great on TV.”
Modesto laughed loudly, and I thought that was a risky ojek, but apparently Modesto didn’t take himself too seriously—or at least they were close enough that kidding around was allowed. I kept my mouth shut, of course, but I had some thoughts about that thing down in the grass. For example: if he sold it, and took all the money he made, he could probably fund and run a charity that would help thousands of people.
“Yes, yes, I know, Rees the heathen, but it is good for the lord, and good for my flock.” Modesto leaned with his back against the railing, weight on his elbows. “You know how the gifts go. You’ve been blessed yourself.”
“I’m no heathen,” Rees said, shaking his head. “Only not as pious as you are.”
“Not many can be.” He glanced over at me with a slight frown. “And what about you, Millie? Have you accepted the Lord Jesus Christ into your heart?”
“Of course,” I said, which was sort of true. I grew up Christian, went to a Methodist church, and was probably baptized—but I wasn’t particularly religious. Grandmom was too busy to take me to church, and I was too young to go on my own, and so I sort of let it lapse. As I got older, I was too busy surviving and working hard to think of anything else.
“That’s good, that’s good.” Modesto’s face grew serious as he looked down at his feet. The vibe shifted instantly, if only slightly, and I didn’t understand why. Rees seemed oddly perplexed by Modesto’s sudden mood change, and I moved a little closer to him without thinking about it. “I am happy you came here, my friend,” Modesto said.
“I’m happy to be her, though you know it’s not an entirely social visit,” Rees said.
Modesto nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, your SPAC. I spoke with my investment advisor. There are people who believe this is a no-brainer investment, and that the shares are criminally underpriced. And yet I wonder why it is you come to me, asking for money, when people should be giving you everything they have.”
Rees tensed, and I knew that was the question that bothered him. All the scandals were driving investors away, not the underlying fundamentals of Rees’s business or his ability to successfully run the SPAC. Nobody questioned that aspect of the deal, only the murky political and social aspects that floated around it.
“I’ve had some bad press lately,” Rees said, glancing toward me, but pushing forward. “It’s all been bullshit. You know how that can be.”
“Yes, of course,” Modesto said, nodding along. “I didn’t think you’d sleep with a married woman. That doesn’t seem to be your thing.”
“Giana and I were friends,” Rees said. “That’s been cleared up between us, even though the press still thinks it’s happening.”
“It’s an ugly thing,” Modesto said. “And as a man of faith, that’s a real problem for me.”
“But as a man that likes to make money, you can invest through an intermediary,” Rees said, facing his friend with his arms crossed over his chest. “You know me, Modesto. You know I don’t make stupid mistakes like sleeping with a woman married to a politician.”
