If someone had told me years ago that the man I trusted with my soul was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I would have laughed. I believed in my pastor. I believed in his church, in his “prophecies,” and in the so-called miracles that made crowds scream “Amen!” every Sunday.

But little did I know, it was all an act, a performance to milk desperate people of their last coins.

It began when I fell into a rough patch financially. My business was crumbling, debts were piling, and my marriage was on the rocks. The pastor convinced me that I was under a “family curse” and that if I sowed a seed of faith, my problems would vanish. “God doesn’t bless empty hands,” he would say, as ushers paraded offering baskets. To read more Click here.