When Joel Osteen's Butler Discovered He Was Being Scammed
Even an ex-con can't serve a wolf in sheep's clothing... [A Fictional Tale]
No one plans to be Joel Osteen’s butler. Tom sure didn’t. But what else would a 53-yr old ex-con do?
Joel said he saw something in Tom—a useful quality inspired by God. Whatever that means.
Lord knows Tom hasn’t followed the narrow path. His granny did though. She would be none too thrilled with Pastor Osteen.
But is honoring your dead granny, the woman who raised you, worth losing your job? Or worse, risk going back to prison?
Tom shakes his head as he rifles through Joel’s mahogany desk. Can’t believe I’m doing this. Well, I can. Liftin’ something outta a rich fella’s house was never a problem for me. Not for this reason though. I usually ain’t a rat.
The celebrity pastor believes he’s hypnotized Tom with his stunning eyes, pearly whites, and slick motivational delivery.
But Tom doesn’t fool easily. He’s bunked with enough crooks the past 20 years to know when he’s being conned.
Pens. Post-it notes. A letter-opener. Dang. Nothing.
Wait, what’s this? A $64,000 landscaping invoice. Eh, everyone knows he’s rich.
I need somethin’ good, Tom thinks. Proof that exposes this self-help hustler— while making me some extra cash.
He tilts books off the shelf, each one an Osteen bestseller. Wealthy folk usually have secret rooms in their mansions, right? No dice.
What about paintings? Tom pulls on Joel’s self-portrait hanging behind the desk. Bingo. The frame swings open, revealing a safe secured by a keypad.
Too bad Stevie’s dead. There ain’t a safe in the world that guy couldn’t crack. What combo would Joel use? I’ve watched his moves the past few months, but I need more—
The door knob turns. “Yes, Frank. I won’t do the event unless that stadium is sold out. I can’t be seen preaching in front of any audience less than 10,000. Got it?”
Tom swings the painting shut and pretends to peruse the bookshelf.
Joel puts away his phone. “Tom, what are you doing in here?”
“Ummm….Mrs. Osteen was looking for her copy of Your Best Life Now. Thought it may have ended up in your collection.”
Joel rolls his eyes. “You won’t find that here. It’s not a first edition. She knows better than that.”
“Sorry, Sir. I’ll check in the main bookstore, I mean library.”
“Good. But first, I want to chat about something.”
Tom glances at the painting. “About what?”
Joel sits in a leatherback chair next to the fireplace. “Take a seat.
“Tom, I like you. You keep your head down. Work hard. And most importantly, you don’t ask questions.”
“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate what you’ve done for me. Taking me in for a job when no one else would.”
Joel puts up a hand. “I’m just getting started. My personal assistant quit today. Something about her needing to follow her conscience. I don’t know how that happened. Anyway, the role is open and I want you to apply.”
Tom widens his eyes. Deeper into the inner-circle I go. “I’d be honored, Sir. Do I need to fill out a paper?”
“First of all, no need to call me Sir. Mr. Osteen is fine. Secondly, nope. I do my interviews a little differently. Follow me.”
Mr. Osteen leads Tom down a long corridor usually off-limits to staff, and even family. They enter an elevator that’s playing audio from Joel’s most recent sermon and offers only three buttons: M, H, and O. Joel presses O.
“If you’re going to be my assistant, I need to see you can handle my daily routine. I’m a mega-successful guy who’s been super-blessed by God. The average joe can’t handle that. Can you?”
“I think so, Mr. Osteen. You’ve set a great example since I started. I’ll understand better once you show me more.”
The elevator dings and the door opens to a windowless room.