"On the face of it, I'd say to get your money," replied Attok sympathetically. "You were a very successful psycho-artist before your ... ah ... misfortune."
"I don't have any money. I have saved nothing."
"You are familiar with the law, aren't you? If they win the suit, they're entitled to half of everything you make above a minimum five thousand dols annually, until the judgment is paid."
"I don't make five thousand dols a year. I don't have a job. What can I do, Voter Attok?"
"Why, as long as you make less than five thousand dols a year, they can't touch you," replied Attok. "But to safeguard your finances in the event you do regain your former financial status, I'd suggest you incorporate yourself, with your wife as the controlling stockholder. Then you can limit your personal salary to five thousand dols a year, and the remainder of the income will be under her control. The law can't touch it."
"But ... but I'm not married," said Lao.
Attok raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter," he said at last. "As long as you make less than five thousand."
The wheels in Lao's brain were clicking as he left Attok's office. He thought he saw through the whole scheme against him. Whoever was behind Colorvue Publicity had engineered the frauds that got him blackballed and discharged from Consolidated. They had maneuvered him into a position where he would be vulnerable to a million-dol legal judgment. Now, undoubtedly, the next move was to clear him and restore his reputation, so he'd be financially able to pay off.
It was devilish—and he saw no way out.