He climbed into his Cadillac, the engine purring as smoothly as his sermons. As he pulled onto the dark highway, he glanced at the rearview mirror and chuckled. He had spent the night stealing in the name of the Lord, and for a man like Jimmy Wonder, heaven could wait—as long as the collection was full.

"Brothers and sisters," Jimmy purred, his voice like warm bourbon. "The Lord told me that some of you are holding onto weights that are too heavy to carry. He told me that gold is a burden, and paper is a vanity."

Jimmy Wonder adjusted his silk tie in the vestibule mirror. He wasn't a preacher by trade, but he had the voice of an angel and the hands of a card shark. Tonight, the "Reverend" was late, and the congregation was restless. Jimmy saw an opportunity.

By the time the final "Amen" echoed through the rafters, the velvet-lined buckets were overflowing. Jimmy didn't wait for the benediction. He slipped out the back door, the heavy bags clinking in his grip.

The neon sign above “The Holy Tabernacle of Deliverance” flickered, casting a bruised purple light over the gravel parking lot. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of floor wax and expensive cologne.

He stepped onto the pulpit, not with a Bible, but with a microphone. The organist, sensing the shift in energy, struck a low, humming chord.

As he broke into a sweat-soaked, soulful rendition of his newest "hymn," the buckets began to circulate. Jimmy sang about sacrifice while his eyes tracked the rings on fingers and the thickness of envelopes. He spun a tale of a golden cathedral in the clouds that only their "seeds of faith" could build.