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  Sandra Rollins, the CEO at the McCallum Theatre, was sentenced with her assistant, Debbie Swanson. The judge came down hard on these two because the prosecution had proved that the CEO and her assistant had used the McCallum Theatre and their copy machines to provide all the materials used in the pyramid scheme.

  The McCallum Theatre was a nonprofit community theatre at the center of a tremendous arts program in the Coachella Valley. The judge admonished the two for “misuse of power and position against the trust given by the community.”

  The list of sentencings and stern admonishments continued for more than forty-five minutes. Tens of thousands of dollars were issued in fines, and it was clear all of the guilty were professionally ruined. The defendants left the courtroom with their attorneys. No one wanted to talk on camera except for Roberta Sanchez. Tom and Blake were in the hallway when everyone came out.

  “This is ridiculous. This wasn’t a Ponzi scheme where anyone got hurt. No one was forced to do anything they didn’t want to. We all admitted to being involved and we took responsibility. This was just another case of small-town media trying to make something out of nothing so they have headlines.”

  As Sanchez was going on and on to the reporters who were shoving their microphones and tape recorders in her direction, a well-dressed gentleman walked up. “Ms. Sanchez?”

  Roberta Sanchez looked up. “Yes.”

  The gentleman stuck an envelope in her direction, which she instinctively took from him. “You’ve been served.”

  The TV cameras and newspaper people were all there to capture the envelope exchanging hands.

  Roberta Sanchez’s attorney quickly stepped in, took his client by the arm and walked her down the hall and out the building. They hurriedly got into the attorney’s car and drove away as quickly as they could. It turned out that the Desert Sands School District had served their superintendent a notice to appear before the board to discuss her pending termination.

  Tom Preston turned to his protégé and exclaimed, “It’s going to be a great news day!”

  18

  TV3 WAS READY for their live shot. Tom Preston had his notes prepared. Blake Summer was captivated by the entire process of watching Tom work. Sitting in the courtroom, listening to the judge admonish the defendants, getting Tom’s scribbled note, and then the scene in the hallway was overwhelming for the new reporter. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Being in the field was different. Live shots took things to a whole different level.

  “Tom, we’re five minutes out. We’re going live at the top of the hour as a special report,” the director said through Tom’s IFB.

  “Thanks, Greg.” Then Tom did something unexpected. “Blake, come over here.”

  Blake put down the Coke she was sipping and walked over to Tom. She expected that Tom needed her for something before taking the live hit. Instead, Tom took the wireless mic off his lapel. “Here”—and he began attaching it to Blake’s blouse. “I want you to do the live shot.”

  Blake’s face flushed. “Tom, I’m not prepared. This is your story. You’ve got all the notes. Tom, don’t do this.”

  Tom wasn’t one to give up a story, especially one he had been working for so many years. But that is exactly what he appeared to be doing.

  “You can do this. Just tell the story. Here are my bullet points. Look them over and then just tell the story.”

  Blake didn’t have time to argue, nor did she want to. She wanted this opportunity more than anything, and she knew what Tom was doing, and it was okay with her.

  The cameraman started counting her down—”Three . . . two . . . one”—and then he pointed at her, indicating she was on.

  “Thank you, Bob.” Her morning co-anchor was anchoring the special report from the news desk. “Six defendants involved in the pyramid scheme that was busted three years ago were in court this morning to hear their fate. Judge Robinson Tate first had some words for the community leaders who got caught up in their own greed.” The station rolled the tape showing the judge lecturing each of the defendants.

  “After admonishing the six, the judge then handed down their individual sentences.” The sentences were listed on the screen under each defendant’s name. “This was all part of a plea bargain between the district attorney and the defense attorneys. The judge showed leniency with a couple of the defendants, but that wasn’t the case with Roberta Sanchez, the superintendent of Desert Sands School District. She thought the whole court process was ridiculous and a waste of taxpayer money. That’s what she told us in the hallway after the proceedings.” The newscast then played the hallway interview.

  “You can see the hallway interview was broken up by an unidentified man who approached Roberta Sanchez and handed her a large envelope. If you listen carefully you will hear him say, ‘You’ve been served.’ At that point, Ms. Sanchez’s lawyer came in and took her out the courthouse door.”

  “Blake, any idea what was in the envelope given to Ms. Sanchez?”

  The question from the anchor back at the station surprised her.

  “Bob, we don’t know for sure, but the speculation is that she was served papers from her employer, the Desert Sands School District. It appears this long ordeal is finally closed for at least six of these defendants. I’m Blake Summer reporting live from the courthouse for TV3.”

  “We’re clear,” called out the cameraman, meaning the live shot was off.

  ***

  Blake could hardly contain her emotions. That was her first real live shot. She ran over and hugged Tom. And then without any hesitation she kissed him on the lips. It was the reaction Tom had hoped for, but it was not the reason he gave her the chance.

  “Oh my God, this feels fantastic. My heart is beating so fast. Is this how it always feels?” Blake was talking a hundred words per minute.

  “Blake, slow down a little. Look, I want to go back into the courtroom and see what’s up with Ross Mitchell.” The two gathered their stuff and walked back into the now almost empty courtroom. The judge was talking to Ross’s attorney.

  “I understand your client doesn’t remember anything from the night in question. You said that’s explained by his alcohol level. And the police records show a trace of ecstasy in his system.” The judge turned his attention to the defendant. “Mr. Mitchell, do you have anything to say for yourself, or to this court?”

  “Your Honor, I ask for mercy. I have no idea what I did that night. I’ve never used drugs, and I have never been drunk. I understand the evidence, but I honestly have no idea what happened that night.”

  “Mr. Mitchell, you are ordered by the court to attend alcohol and drug outpatient counseling. You are being given two years of probation, and if you have no further incidences, then your record will be expunged. Do not come before me again.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Ross and his attorney left the courtroom. Tom and Blake followed.

  “Blake, give me a minute, please.”

  Tom walked over to Ross, who almost hugged the familiar face but caught himself. The former station sales manager had had no contact with anyone at the station since he left. It was like no one acknowledged him at all. For Tom to take a few minutes to seek him out was almost more than Ross could take.

  “Ross, how are you?”

  “You’re kidding, right? I’ve seen better days, to be honest.”

  “Are you working?” Tom and Ross were never close, but they did share the common bond of working at the number one local television station.

  “I had to move to San Bernardino. The only job I could find was at a Cellular One store in the mall. It pays the bills.”

  “What about going to another TV or radio station?”

  “Once the pictures surfaced showing me in the dress and the report said I had a 2.1 blood alcohol level . . . well, I don’t think my chances of working in the media are very good.”

  “It’s good to see you. Take care of yourself.” Tom shook the former sales manag
er’s hand. Ross held the hand an extra second.

  ***

  Tom and Blake got into the TV3 news vehicle outside the courthouse, and without any prompting Blake practically threw her tongue down his throat in one of the most passionate kisses he had ever received. He found himself restraining her advances, quickly looking around to see if anyone saw this happening. Tom wanted Blake more than ever, now, but he always respected the fact that if he was inappropriate he could lose his job. The news job is more important than any fuck, he thought.

  “Blake, not here. Someone might see us. Not in the news vehicle.”

  Blake pulled back. She didn’t want to freak Tom out. She only wanted to show her appreciation for what he had done. She was smart and knew exactly what she was doing. Her eyes were set on the prize of the main anchor desk and Tom was her ticket. Her teasing him only helped draw him in more, emotionally. He would never know what hit him by the time she was done with the main anchor.

  19

  THE MANILA ENVELOPE looked conspicuous to Jennie when she found it on her desk at work that afternoon. The large envelope was addressed to her, but there was no return address and no postage. That meant someone delivered it. Newspeople loved these surprise packages. Most of the time they turn out to be nothing, but sometimes they turn into a pretty big story.

  Inside the envelope were four pictures. At first Jennie didn’t know what to make of them. The subjects of the photos were three people in a hot tub. Then, what she was really looking at struck her. She immediately headed to Jack Router’s office.

  “Jack, look what I found on my desk.” She handed the manila envelope across his desk.

  The news director reached in to pull the photographs out. “What is this, Jennie?”

  “Wait till you see.”

  The news director took a few minutes to examine the photos. “Oh shit. No way. What’s this about? Where did you get these?” The news director was like a kid in a candy store. He was almost salivating. He might be looking at tonight’s lead story.

  “Do you believe this? That is Pastor Steve Charles.”

  “It looks more like Pastor Hot Tub,” laughed the usually serious news junkie.

  “Wow. Who are the two topless women?”

  “I don’t know about the one on his right. The lady on his left is his wife, I think. Ask around the newsroom and see if we have anyone that has a connection with Pastor Hot Tub. Let’s also see if someone can tell us if anything is going on at Christian Community Church. Keep quiet about these pictures until we know where they came from.”

  Jack’s phone buzzed. It was the receptionist. “Jack, is Jennie in there with you?”

  “She’s right here. Why?”

  “She has a call on line two and the caller is insisting on talking to her right now.”

  “Okay, put it through to my phone. She’ll take it in here.” Jack hung up and quickly filled Jennie in about the caller. He then hit the speaker button and answered the blinking line.

  “Hello, this is Jennie.”

  “Jennie, this is James Robertson . . . Do you have me on speaker?”

  “Mr. Robertson, I do. I’m in a secured office so no one can hear this. How can I help you today?” Jennie acted as if nothing was suspicious, trying to put her caller at ease.

  “Did you get the pictures I left for you?”

  “Yes, I did. Can you tell me who is in these pictures? And why you gave me these?”

  Robertson sounded angry as he answered. “I’m sure you recognized Pastor Steve Charles from Christian Community Church. Next to him is his wife, and the other woman without her top on is my wife, Carol.”

  “Mr. Robertson, what is this about? Why did you want me to have these pictures?”

  “My wife and I filed for divorce. This has been an ongoing battle and I’ll be honest—we’re in a heated custody hearing. Get the documents from the courthouse. Steve Charles had an affair with my wife. It’s all part of the filings.” Then, as if he had to leave quickly, “I can’t talk anymore. I will call you later.”

  “Wait, Mr. Robertson. Can I meet you later today so you can tell me your whole story?”

  There was a silence on the other end. Jennie thought she might have lost the call. Then Robertson answered, “Yes, but I’ll have to call you when I can meet.” The phone went dead.

  “Jennie, you’re going to need some help with this story. Let’s send someone down to the courthouse to get a copy of the filings. We need to check if they’ve already been in front of a judge as well. Let’s get Tom Preston in here, and Blake Summers.”

  “Jack, let me take the photos over to Steve’s office and confront him.”

  “Not just yet. Let’s find out what else we may have here, just in case it’s more than what is in these pictures.”

  ***

  Christian Community Church had been the role model for church growth. Pastor Steve Charles came to Christian Community when there were only four hundred in the congregation. Some eight years later, the church now listed twelve thousand members. Through Steve Charles’s leadership, the church took on a thirty-six-million-dollar expansion. The church facility was relocated to the corner of Country Club and Washington on forty-two acres. This was considered to be some very high-end property. On the back of its membership the church built a large enough church to house up to five thousand people at a service. Then there were meeting rooms, administration offices, and a lot more. There was also a nonprofit organization called Get More of Life.

  The church was technically wired for the future. During services, when the congregation sang, giant screens electronically came down from the ceiling displaying the lyrics. Some people described their experience as being like an Elvis concert.

  Parents who left their children at the babysitting area so they could go to church were given vibrating buzzers in case of emergencies. This was great to most of the people, but some thought it was a distraction from what a church should be.

  The Coachella Valley had seen its share of religious scandals. Jim and Tammy Baker fled to their Palm Springs home when their church empire came crashing down on the heels of Jim Baker’s affair. Then there was the other story, which TV3 broke on a Sunday morning when Jimmy Swaggart was arrested on the streets of Indio with a prostitute.

  The manila envelope contained two pictures of the topless women with Pastor Charles. There was another picture showing Pastor Charles under a waterfall in Hawaii, wearing only a fig leaf as if he were standing in the Garden of Eden.

  “What the hell is going on with this minister?” asked Jennie.

  “‘What the hell’ is exactly right. Let’s get to work, people. We have a lot of bases to cover on this before we put it in a newscast.” TV3 was getting more than their share of big stories for such a little market.

  There was nothing more exciting than a small local newsroom that might have a huge story. It was every hand on deck. Jack Router went to his general manager’s office to fill him in; after all, Jack was about to break a story showing pictures of a prominent church minister. We better get this one right, he thought.

  The news director spent the next fifteen minutes explaining to John Miller how the story landed in Jennie’s lap. John couldn’t believe the pictures he was seeing. He didn’t know Steve Charles well, but they had met a couple of times. The pastor had done a whole series of negative sermons on the evils of television. He encouraged church members to complain to the station manager with letters and phone calls. This was when ABC launched the Steven Bochco series NYPD Blue. There were protests all over the country, with church people demonstrating against their local ABC TV station. The ironic part was that this was before anyone had even seen the pilot.

  John chuckled. “It’s always the most righteous that seem to have the biggest demons. Jack, make sure you do your homework on this one. Keep me informed with everything you get, and nothing goes on the air about this until I sign off on it. Bring me everything.”

  “That might mean we have to sit
on the story for a day or two.”

  “That’s okay. It’s more important that we tell this story the right way and cover all our bases. This could bring this ministry down. Let’s make sure we have both sides and are extremely fair in our coverage.”

  Jack left the office with his marching orders. He knew John was right. This kind of story affected lives. Back in the newsroom, the news director’s pager went off and he grabbed a desk phone.

  “This is Jack.”

  “Jack, it’s Jennie. I’ve confirmed that the other lady in the picture is Carol Robertson. Also, I’ve found someone on the inside who is willing to talk, off the record. I’m meeting this guy at three.”

  “What about James Robertson?”

  “I’m on my way to sit down with him right now. I’ve got Greg going with me.”

  “Keep me posted.” In the newsroom, several people were scrambling to run this story down. He walked over to Terri Randall’s desk.

  “Terri, take the live truck down to the courthouse and see if there is anything on file regarding the Robertson divorce. If you get something, we’ll probably have you go live from the courthouse steps.”

  The news director loved these days of controlled chaos. It was what moved a newsroom. He wanted to own this story before his NBC competitor got wind of it. The phone in his office was ringing as he returned.

  “This is Jack Router.”

  “Mr. Router, this is Steve Charles. I understand that you received some unflattering pictures of me and my wife. I want to caution you not to use those pictures. They are of a very private and sensitive nature. If you put those on the air, I will sue you and your station until I own your station.”

  Jack wasn’t intimidated by the threats. The new director responded very calmly, “Mr. Charles we have received some pictures and we were going to call you later today to see if you had any comment.”

  There was a pause on the other end. Steve Charles was trying to figure out how to respond. He did the only thing he could think of doing. He repeated himself.