After he finished speaking, he didn't spare the two men across from him another glance. He stood, turned, and strode out of the conference room.
His back was straight and resolute, carrying away the last glimmer of the Bulls' Dynasty.
When he stepped out of the cold administrative building, the hot afternoon wind in Chicago rushed toward him.
But it couldn't dispel the chill and frustration in Jordan's heart.
He got into the back of his black private car and remained silent the entire ride.
His driver knew his temper and didn't dare say a word, simply driving steadily toward his private estate.
Back at his detached villa, the vast grounds were quiet and empty.
There was no noise, no entourage—only desolation all around.
Jordan took off his suit jacket, tossed it onto the sofa, and loosened his collar.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and gazed at the meticulously maintained lawn outside, his thoughts in turmoil.
To be honest, he had never imagined leaving Chicago in such a humiliating way.
This was where his Dynasty had begun, the home court where he had battled for half his life.
He had once thought he would wear the number twenty-three jersey and spend the rest of his career at the United Center.
But the front office's greed, callousness, and shortsightedness had personally cut off every possibility.
After briefly calming himself, Jordan took out his phone, intending to call his personal trainer.
No matter where he went in the future, or whether he stayed, he had never stopped respecting the game.
Even at thirty-six, his discipline in training still surpassed that of ninety percent of the league's stars.
He wanted to resume his systematic training immediately, maintain his peak form, and wait until the offseason to make his final decision.
Just as