Chances Are Read Online Free PDF Page B

was silent. She was illegitimate in a city where lineage was everything, a city unforgiving in its prejudice. The oldest New Orleans families were like royalty; here you were judged by the high school you attended and the number of Mardi Gras courts you were invited to participate in. The social structure was clearly delineated. And she was definitely not one of the upper echelon.
    She had no regrets. She recognized the social merry-go-round for what it was—superficial and discriminatory. She'd chosen her path years ago. What hurt was that her mother couldn't, or wouldn't, see that a man of Robert Bergeron's or Brandon Rhodes's social stature would never marry her. Not in New Orleans.
    Veronique sighed. It shouldn't hurt; her mother's blind spot was nothing new. When she was a child her mother had refused to see the snubs, the barely veiled barbs, the disdain. At thirteen she'd realized that she would never change the social set's opinion of her and had stopped trying. She suspected her mother would never lose her illusions.
    "No, it's not wrong," Veronique murmured, covering the older woman's hand with her own. "I know I've disappointed you, Maman. But I can only be who I am."
    Marie's smile was tremulous. "You haven't disappointed me, sweetie. I just want you to have it all."
    Veronique lifted her mother's hand and kissed it. "I already have it all, Maman. I promise."

 
     
     
    Chapter 3

     
    Brandon stared at the pile of thirty-year-old letters and newspaper clippings. It couldn't be true, he thought for the hundredth time since opening the safety deposit box. He gingerly picked up one of the clippings, squinting to make out faces in the yellowed and faded photograph. The caption read Blake Rhodes and associate David Goldstein at ground breaking of new store.
    So there was some memorabilia, Brandon thought bitterly, that his father hadn't wanted framed and hanging on the wall. He set aside the photograph and picked up a letter from David Goldstein to Blake Rhodes, dated 1955. The letter proposed a partnership between Goldstein and Rhodes. A partnership in which one partner would put up the idea—a store the likes of which New Orleans had never seen—and the sweat; the other would provide the capital and the connections.
    The young Blake Rhodes must have seen the potential for making a lot of money, because he answered Goldstein's letter. And the one after that. Brandon's eyes narrowed as he wondered how long, how many letters, before his father had decided to cheat Goldstein out of it all.
    Brandon rubbed his temple. After going through all the papers, he'd deduced that his father had agreed to Goldstein's proposal. They set everything up using Rhodes's attorneys, and poor Goldstein hadn't been crafty enough to realize that the legal advice he was getting had been bought and paid for.
    Now the only things that linked Goldstein and Rhodes were the long-forgotten newspaper article and the letters. Brandon shook his head, wondering what his father had told Goldstein when he no longer needed him. Had he been gleeful when he delivered the news that Goldstein owned none of it? Had he wielded the Rhodes name and connections, warning that the man would get nowhere in an attempt to claim what was rightfully his? There wasn't even evidence that his father had offered him money. Damn.
    Dropping the letter back onto the stack of correspondence, Brandon swiveled around to face the window. Anger and betrayal welled in his chest until he thought he would burst with it. Rhodes hadn't been his father's idea at all. He'd stolen it. All the excuses he'd made to himself about his father, all the concessions he'd granted him because of his business genius had been a lie. Not only had his father not been a marketing genius, he'd been a thief.
    Brandon jumped as his secretary tapped on the door then peeked in. "Yes, Maggie?"
    "I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving. Do you need anything before I go?"
    "No. See you Monday."
    "Good