The Fall of the Prodigal Read online

  The Fall of the Prodigal

  Michelle Lindo-Rice

  www.urbanchristianonline.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Fall of the Prodigal

  Praise

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  A Note to My Readers

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Epilogue

  Reading Group Questions

  About the Author

  UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!

  What We Believe:

  Copyright Page

  The Fall of the Prodigal

  He had it all. Will he have to lose everything in order to save his soul?

  A condemned man. His two brides. One untimely death.

  The Third Installment of the

  “On the Right Path” Series

  Michelle Lindo-Rice

  [email protected]

  What readers are saying about Sing a New Song:

  “Ms. Lindo-Rice writes with heart, humor, and honesty.”

  —Shana Burton, author of Flawless, and Flaws and All

  “Michelle Lindo-Rice has written a sweet story of the power of love despite the main character (Tiffany’s) sordid past.”

  —Michelle Stimpson, bestselling author of Falling Into Grace

  “The author’s writing is crisp and her character’s emotions are authentic.”

  —Pat Simmons, award-winning and bestselling author of the Guilty series.

  “The author did a phenomenal job in drawing reader’s heart and spirit into the characters . . . Ms. Lindo-Rice developed an endearing, engaging, multi-layered story with realism and redemption.”

  —Norma Jarrett, Essence bestselling author of Sunday Brunch

  What readers are saying about Walk a Straight Line:

  “I could feel the breeze and smell the scent of the flower garden the wind was carrying with it; that’s how fresh this story is . . . I loved how the story flowed.”

  —Blessedselling author E.N. Joy of the New Day Divas series

  “The message of resilience in Colleen’s story is powerful and important . . . as is the message of commitment, love, and friendship that come through.”

  —Rhonda McKnight, bestselling author of An Inconvenient Friend and What Kind of Fool

  To my nephew

  Mark Anthony Lindo

  A truly gifted mind. I love you!

  A man’s heart deviseth his way but the

  Lord directeth his steps.

  —Proverbs 16:9

  Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down:

  for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand.

  —Psalm 37:24

  Acknowledgments

  I begin by thanking my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He makes all things possible and I’m thankful He’s using me for His purpose and to bring Him glory.

  I now take the moment to mention some special people in my life:

  My sisters who support me through this crazy process: Sobi-Dee Lindo & Zara Anderson.

  My parents, Pauline & Clive and my sons, Eric Michael and Jordan Elijah.

  My cousin, Kashief and my Uncle Willie for getting me on some radio stations to talk about my work. Much love!

  This time around I’m going to mention my special male friends in my life for over twenty years:

  A shout out to one of my best friends. Ever. Even though we barely talk: Linden ‘Lin’ Millwood.

  Another big hail up to John Millwood. He read half of my first ever written work in one night and told me I had a gift. If only I had listened from way back then when he told me I needed to write for God.

  My friends at work who listen to my nonstop diatribe about what’s going on with my books: Annemarie Maynard, Maryann Morehouse, Olive Pryce, Lisa Craig and Stacey Horstkamp are just a few. My boss lady: Linda Apple. Thanks for giving me my wings and allowing me to fly. To Jane Adams, Love you.

  My editor and talented writer, Rhonda McKnight, who has a heart of gold and is one of my biggest supporters. Thank you.

  Felicia Murrell, copyeditor. Her work ethic is above par. She had her work cut out for her helping with this project, and I am grateful for her diligence.

  The super gifted acquisitions editor, Joylynn M. Ross who is the blessed-selling author known as E.N. Joy. Thank you so much for believing in me.

  Thank you to the Mr. Weber and the Urban Books crew. They work behind the scenes and deal with my neurosis: Natalie Weber, Smiley, Karen, the copyeditor, proofreader and others I may not know about.

  I’d like to thank every single new reader who has reached out to me through e-mail. I’d like to thank bloggers and reviewers, Teresa Beasley, Paulette Harper, Faith Simone, Orsayor Simmons, Tiffany Tyler, Tan-ishia Pearson-Jones, Patricia Markham-Woodside and Kimyatta Walker—hope I’m not forgetting anyone—Forgive me, if I haven’t mentioned you.

  And, to loyal readers who took a chance on a new author and one-clicked, God bless you. Now strap on your seat belts and enjoy the ride.

  A Note to My Readers

  The Fall of the Prodigal is my most ambitious project yet. It features some sensitive subject matter. However, my aim is to deliver the content tastefully, and with artistry. I could only do that through the direct leading of the Holy Spirit.

  Yes, this is a work of fiction, and some events may seem farfetched, but the overall theme of love and forgiveness is true. It is my hope that after reading The Fall of the Prodigal, you’ll view everyone the way God sees them.

  When God looks at us, He sees us beautifully and wonderfully made. We are all precious in His sight. Our circumstances set us on a path to accept the gift of salvation, which is our Lord Jesus Christ.

  You have not chosen The Fall of the Prodigal by chance. May it inspire you and complete the purpose for which God intended.

  Sincerely,

  Mi
chelle Lindo-Rice

  Chapter One

  Rape.

  What an ugly four-letter word. The very idea was preposterous. He had been arrested for rape. Michael Ward shook his head, remembering the charges written under his mug shot. He did not have to take any woman by force. Look at him.

  He was at the top of his game. He began as an architectural designer. Then he moved into real estate where he purchased, rebuilt, and resold properties. It took some time, but his name meant something in the hotel resort business. Patrons knew any building bearing the MJW seal signified quality and topnotch service, for a price, of course. He had two MJW hotels in New York City, three in Atlanta, two in London, and one in Dubai. He had spa resorts sprinkled across Florida, Texas, and Chicago, all with the MJW stamp of approval.

  Now, after all his hard work to build his empire, Michael could not imagine a nineteen-year-old bringing him to his knees.

  Last week, he had been cracking open a bottle of champagne, celebrating his newest property acquisition in Colorado. This week, he was squatting in the corner of a four-foot cell, waiting on Verona “Tiger” Stachs to post his bail and negotiate the terms of his release.

  How had he gotten here?

  He had been booked on multiple sex and assault charges and had almost lost his cool at his arraignment. The fact that it was September 11 was not lost on him either.

  Someone had set him up, and once he was out of here, he intended to find that person and make him pay. For the past few years of his life, Michael had become an expert at payback.

  “It’s all set,” Verona stated from the more desirable side of the bars. “You’ll be home within the hour.”

  “Took you long enough.” He did not say thank you. He paid her an annual salary to the tune of $700,000 and felt she should be thanking him. Michael walked to the entrance of the cell. “Did you bring it?”

  Verona wrinkled her nose at his rudeness. She reached inside her briefcase and retrieved a handkerchief and wipes and thrust them at him. “As you ordered.”

  Michael wiped his face and hands. He couldn’t wait to take a shower and let the water run for days. He doubted he’d ever feel clean again. The stench of jail would remain with him. “What about the press?”

  “The hounds are barking,” came the wry reply.

  He glared. “Is this amusing to you? Do you know what it’s like to sit in this squalor inhaling the stink of dried urine and other body fluids I refuse to dwell on?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It was bad taste. It won’t happen again.”

  Michael took pity on her. He was good-natured, but his reputation and life were on the line. This was no laughing matter. Verona had worked through the night to find a judge to grant his bail hearing. Thanks to her, he would spend the night in his own bed. He could cut her some slack. “I’m sure I’ll laugh about this at some point in my life,” he said in a gentler tone, “but for now, I want to get home.”

  Verona yawned and stretched, but her eyes were still sharp. “Let me go over the terms of your release.”

  The guard on duty unlocked his cell. Michael used the handkerchief to touch the iron door as he came out. His first stop was the restroom. Next, Verona led him to a small meeting room. On the table, he saw Chinese food, juice, and coffee. The aroma of chicken lo mein and beef with broccoli filled the room. His stomach growled and his mouth watered. Michael twirled some of the noodles around the small plastic fork and took a bite. He smiled. “Thank you.”

  “With your estate, the judge sees you as a flight risk. Therefore, your business assets, bank accounts, and credit card accounts have all been frozen. You must surrender your passport.”

  Michael munched as he processed Verona’s words. He felt like punching a wall but took another bite of his food instead. He was not a criminal. It was debasing to be treated as such, but what choice did he have?

  He wiped his mouth. “Where do I sign the papers?”

  “The press is camped outside the police station. You’re worldwide news. The chief of police agreed to shuttle you home in an unmarked police car. I’ve arranged for a stand-in to lead them off your trail.”

  “I like the way you think.” Michael arched his eyebrow in appreciation. She was smart, cunning, and deserved every dollar he was paying her.

  “There’s one other thing. I can’t represent you. I specialized in criminal trial in law school and I practiced for a short time so I was able to fill in tonight. But you need the best. I have some referrals.”

  “No, I have someone in mind.” Michael tapped his fingers on the table. He knew the perfect person. It had been years since Michael had spoken to him. There was no time like the present.

  “Great! Who is he? Give me his name. I need to brief him.”

  “I’ll have to handle this one myself.” He did not relish begging, but he needed someone with tenacity and a proven track record of winning hard-to-prove cases. There was only one man who fit that bill.

  “Do I know him?” Verona asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact you do.” Michael said. “Do you remember when you handled my paternity case?” He referred to the time when he had pursued custody of the two children from his previous marriage. Michael knew they were not his, but he had wanted them. It was selfish. In his defense, he had been on a different track then.

  “Oh, yes, I remember. If memory serves me right, didn’t you drop that case? Wait a minute, wasn’t it against—”

  He cut her off. “I sure did after I found out—”

  “What happened? What aren’t you telling me?” Perched on the edge of the seat, Verona’s eyes shone with curiosity.

  Michael clammed up when he saw the interest in Verona’s eyes. He knew she was curious to know why he had suddenly dropped the custody case three years ago. He had not told her then, and he did not intend to now.

  Michael dropped the case when he learned he had fathered his own children. No one but his mother knew about his fraternal two-year-old twins. Twins he had never seen.

  Old hurt surfaced. Michael hardened his heart. He did not share too much of himself anymore. Not after he had been burned by love.

  He said, “What you may not remember is my ex-wife’s husband, Keith, is a former attorney. I plan to ask him to lead my defense if we go to trial. Note the word ‘if.’”

  “The likelihood is one hundred percent,” she said. “Wait. Are you talking about the same Keith I’m thinking of? Minister and host of Second Chances you put on blast on national television, when you revealed he’d slept with your ex-wife and fathered her two children? That Keith?” She looked at him like he was crazy.

  Michael dared her to say something. He had not gotten where he was in business by being a coward. When he wanted something, he went after it with dogged tenacity. Right now, he wanted—no, needed—Pastor Keith Ward.

  The man who had stolen his wife.

  His brother.

  Chapter Two

  “You can’t be serious about representing him! You haven’t practiced law in years. Have you forgotten what that man did to you, me, and our children on live television? And, did you forget he was a no-show at his own mother’s funeral?”

  “How can I? You’ve been reminding me about it for weeks. He’s my brother. I’m going to take the case.” Keith Ward addressed Gina Ward, his wife of three years, with as much patience as he could muster.

  Gina jutted her chin. “And, what about the church? Did you forget the four thousand members of Zion’s Hill who depend on you every week?”

  “Did you forget I have several qualified people like Bishop Combs and Deacon Broderson who are more than capable of delivering the Word? I’m not abandoning the television show or the church. I’m taking a hiatus while I help Michael. He’s my blood. I have to help him.”

  Gina’s face crumbled. “He’s your brother but he’s also the one who put Trey and Epiphany through hell. You might be able to forgive, but I won’t ever forget, and you’re all kinds of foolish for
even talking to him. Michael is not the man you knew as a child. He’s bitter and evil. For all we know, he could’ve staged this whole thing to get close to you.”

  Keith looked up from his law journals. This time she had call him foolish, which was better than stubborn mule, ox head, buffoon, or, his personal favorite, nincompoop.

  “Not even Michael is that diabolical. He could spend the rest of his life in jail,” Keith said.

  Her chocolate eyes darkened. “You mean to tell me after three years of excommunicating you, all he has to do is come begging and you jump to do his bidding? Some things never change.”

  “He’s my brother and your ex-husband!” Keith said.

  Gina clutched her chest. “Don’t remind me. You don’t think I regret marrying Michael because of guilt? You don’t think I regret walking down that aisle, all the while knowing I was in love with you?”

  “I was making a point that Michael—”

  “That Michael’s what?” she interrupted. “He’s not the same! He’s cold, unfeeling, and heartless.”

  Keith glared. “How would you know?”

  “Don’t you read the papers? He holds his employees to an exceptionally high standard. Any little mistake and they’re fired.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “Ha!” she scoffed. “It’s true. He bragged about it on CNN, said his clientele is particular and he prides himself on delivering the absolute best.”

  “That’s business. This rape charge is personal. Even if he’s tough and demanding, it doesn’t mean he’s a monster,” Keith said.

  “Quit defending him!” Gina yelled.

  The woman was exasperating! “I’m taking the job.” He injected a note of finality.

  Gina changed tactics. “Well, make sure you charge him four times whatever your retainer used to be,” she demanded.