“Facts,” Donna agreed through a chuckle.
And it was true. As far as Donna knew, the only bathtub on the whole compound was in Robert’s room. It was one the amenities that seemed to excite his wives-to-be. Since she’d been a resident, she realized it was the little things she really missed; a bath, a cheeseburger, privacy, andwhiskey. Boy, did she miss whiskey.
As soon as Clara walked out and she heard the click of the closing door, Donna walked over to the desk and picked up the credit card.
A fucking Amex Black Card!
While the rest of the members were reduced to eating powdered eggs, these motherfuckers were living like Jay-Z and Bey—sleeping in fancy suites, wearing designer clothes, and eating filet mignon. That was how Robert and the nobles were living.
Donna sat the card back on the desk and jogged over to the door. She flipped on the Do Not Disturb latch, ensuring that Clara couldn’t walk in on her if she returned. After hurrying over to the desk, she pulled a tiny camera from her bra and searched through the contents of both briefcases.
Fifteen minutes later, Donna had taken pictures of documents that could put Robert, Clara, and The BOC in IRS hell. Since churches were exempt from having to pay federal, state, and local taxes, they’d flooded their personal holdings into church funds, then used the church funds for private real estate purchases. They were living high off the hog off of charitable donations solicited by members that had been programmed to believe that living by modest means would bring them closer to God. Tax violations were definitely not what the Feds were looking for, but it was start. After all, it was how they got Al Capone.
