Render Unto Rome_ The Secret Life of Money in the Catholic Church - Jason Berry [76]
Follieri was indeed a big catch for the Justice Department in the national media, but the greater corruption was at the Vatican. Burkle’s people realized Raffaello was off the charts when he leased a private jet for $62,000 to make the quick hop from Los Angeles to Las Vegas instead of taking a commercial flight for a few hundred dollars. Why did the Sodanos get involved with him in the first place? Any number of real estate agents would have profited from unique access to Clergy property files, though Andrea’s greed would have become an issue. The Sodano scheme went sour because Follieri lost his grip on reality. When he crashed, at least $800,000 was tucked away in Italy.
CODA
“What Raffaello did in four and a half years takes a lifetime for some people,” asserts Melanie Bonvicino. “He put together a business that ended up making money for Burkle, and would have made serious money for Helios. In the end everybody ditched him. But the Vatican let this man run wild. Why?”
As Raffaello sat in a federal prison, abandoned by Anne, his parents back in Italy, Melanie Bonvicino made occasional visits. He owed her $131,000 for a blizzard of work at the back end, she says. They were never romantically involved. “But,” she adds with a trace of sympathy, “I actually do care about him.”
CHAPTER 6
THE CASE OF THE MISSING MILLIONS
As the Boston vigil protesters dug in, Peter Borré culled advice from sympathetic canon lawyers and drafted an appeal that he sent in early 2005 to the Congregation for the Clergy. His goal was to halt the suppression order, to undo Bishop Lennon’s handiwork. Archbishop O’Malley wanted the protesters to vacate the parishes, but for the prelate who had publicly confessed his agony over the parish closings—asking God to take him on the worst days—calling the cops seemed out of character. His religious order was founded by Francis of Assisi. Having cops arrest people for occupying pews could be a body blow to area Catholics already steeped in bad news about the church.
As solidarity grew among people in those empty churches, the culture of resistance drew on Catholicism as a tissue of values. The sacred spaces became arenas of family and community reimagined. On Friday nights at St. Frances Cabrini in Scituate, the parish near the sea, the seven-year-old Arnold triplets—Christian, Scott, and Sean—scampered down the aisle in their slippers, knelt before the altar, and lay down in their sleeping bags.1 Jon and Maryellen Rodgers, leaders of the vigil in Scituate, were mapping plans for a civil lawsuit to wrest ownership of St. Frances Cabrini from the archdiocese.
“We believe that we control the assets and the liabilities of the parish property,” an archdiocesan spokesman explained to the town newspaper. “The Archbishop understands the anger and pain people are feeling.”2
The civil lawsuit failed. The vigil continued.
At St. James in Wellesley, which sat on eight acres worth $14 million, vigil leader Suzanne Hurley evinced a rough pragmatism: “Once churches close, the towns can send tax bills to the archdiocese.” Hurley had children aged eleven and seven when the 2004 vigil began. She was well paid as an assistant to a corporate CEO. Four years later, sitting in a quiet pew of the once-bustling church, with a handful of women preparing for a Council of Parishes gathering, Hurley cited an independent contractor’s study which concluded that