A chorus of 'Amens' resonated throughout the room and I plopped back down in my chair. I had to press my lips together to stop myself from calling all of them liars.

But Rena must not have remembered how many times Cecily had shared someone else’s story with us, because she said, “It's Monty.”

When Rena said her husband’s name, Cecily scooted to the edge of her seat.

“This was delivered to me this morning.” Rena pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to Sonya.

The First Lady took her own deep breath before she stood, though she didn’t move from Rena’s side. For a moment, she stared at the envelope as if she knew there was nothing but poison inside. When she opened the envelope’s flap, she pulled out what looked to be pictures, and she scanned the first one. Then, the second, and the third.

Now, all of the women were on the edge of their seats, and even I began to wonder what was going? Sonya’s expression never changed, even when she stuffed the pictures back into the envelope.

“Nuh-uh.” Cecily jumped from her seat and made it around the table to where Sonya stood like a guard over Rena. “You are not going to look at those photos and not tell us what’s going on.” She reached for the envelope, but Sonya held it out of reach of her grasp.

“Really, Sonya?” Cecily crossed her arms. “What makes you think Rena doesn’t want us to know?” She turned her glance from Sonya to the rest of us at the table. And they all nodded as if they were part of her Amen corner. Cecily continued, “Seems to me, she came in here so that we could all see, I mean, so we could all support her, right?”

“Amen,” Cecily’s Amen corner sang out.

Sonya stood steadfast, though she did turn her glance from Cecily to Rena. Rena’s eyes moved between Sonya and Cecily and after a couple of seconds, she nodded.

Not a milli-second after that, Cecily practically snatched the envelope from Sonya’s hand. But unlike Sonya who’d tried to protect Rena’s privacy, Cecily flipped open the envelope and spread all the pictures across that end of the table.

The gasps, the oh-my-Gods, the lawd-have-mercies were immediate. Even I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening and my lips from parting in shock.

The first picture was of a young boy, no more than maybe fourteen or fifteen. He wore an open pink button-down shirt that he’d tied at his waist. The boy’s head was tilted to the side and his eyes were rolled back in ecstasy — as Reverend Monty Bradley’s lips were against his neck.

I pressed my hand against my chest, unable to turn away, even though I wanted to. But each picture was more risqué than the last, until finally, the last photo was of the boy and Reverend Bradley laid up in the bed — butt-naked.

Closing my eyes, all I could do was shake my head. This was going to be another scandal that would rock the church. We’d had quite a few since Jeremy and I had come to D.C. Affairs, pastors embezzling money, even one who’d been involved in a laundering scheme that had something to do with celebrities and their tithes. The challenge when these kinds of things happened was that Jeremy always had to address it from the pulpit. Because people, especially those not in the church, pointed fingers and lumped all pastors together.