The Golden Chance Read Online Free PDF

“Best place in town. Everyone eats here on Saturday night.”
    “This is Friday night.”
    “Which explains why we didn't have to wait for a table,” she concluded smoothly. “I recommend either the chicken or the steak. Anything else is liable to entail a certain risk.”
    “I'll bear that in mind.” Nick gazed idly around the room again before bringing his attention back to the woman sitting across from him. He smiled. Being with Phila was like sitting in a lot full of parked cars and finding himself next to the one vehicle that had its key turned on in the ignition.
    Tonight Phila was dressed in a pumpkin-colored silk blouse and a pair of jeans belted with a sliver-and-turquoise-studded strip of leather. He was learning that Miss Fox favored bold colors. They went well with her air of restless energy.
    A waitress came by to take their order for drinks. Nick asked for scotch and was not unduly surprised when Phila ordered a prim white wine. The drinks came immediately. He gazed around the busy restaurant for a moment, thinking.
    “What's the matter, Mr. Lightfoot,” Phila purred as she examined her menu. “Not accustomed to such fancy surroundings?”
    “I've eaten in worse.” He opened his menu. “I've also eaten in better. Tell me, Phila, what made you decide to accept my invitation for dinner this evening?”
    “I figured we might as well get it over with. The suspense was killing me.”
    “Get what over with?”
    “Whatever approach you plan to use to convince me to give back the shares.” She studied the menu with a small frown, as if having a tough time choosing between a baked potato or fries.
    “I told you, I've already given it my best shot.”
    “Hah. I don't buy that for a minute.” She glanced up. “What are you having?”
    “The special.”
    “You don't even know what it is yet. You're supposed to ask the waitress.”
    Nick shrugged, unconcerned. “I'll take my chances.”
    “I told you it would be risky.”
    He smiled faintly. “I'm good at taking risks.”
    Phila scowled and snapped her menu shut. “Suit yourself. I'll have the chicken. As usual.” She put her elbows on the table, folded her hands together and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers. Her hazel eyes regarded him broodingly. “So tell me, Nicodemus Lightfoot, how long have the Lightfoots and the Castletons been in the business of building death machines for the government?”
    “Since before you were born, little girl.”
    She blinked. “You're not even going to deny it?”
    “Well, technically they're electronics and instrumentation products, not death machines. Some people think of them as a kind of technological insurance, a way to balance power in the world. In fact some people might even say C&L is a very patriotic company. But I suspect the definition of a death machine is in the mind of the beholder.”
    “Castleton & Lightfoot makes the kind of electronics and instrumentation used in fighter planes and command posts, from what I've been able to determine. It designs to order for the military establishment. That means you build death machines. It also means that C&L is intimately involved in some cozy financial arrangements with the Pentagon.”
    Nick nodded. Things were falling into place quickly. “I get it,” he said gently. “You're one of those.”
    “One of what?”
    “You're,” he paused delicately, “shall we say, of the liberal persuasion.”
    Her answering smile was grim. “If you think I'm bad, you should have met my grandmother.”
    “A flaming-pink, radical left-wing anarchist, right?”
    “Let's just say she didn't care for the idea of the world being run by your kind.”
    “My kind?”
    “Aristocrats with everything but the title. Too much money and too much power. She felt very strongly that having both power and money corrupts.”
    “So does a lack of either. Show me ten people who don't have enough money and power to control their own lives, and I'll show you nine