Chicago, Chicago Bulls training facility—Berto Center.
The atmosphere here was completely different from the tension in New York and Los Angeles. It felt more like the calm after a grand funeral.
The afterglow of the dynasty had faded, and the air was thick with the desolation of tearing everything down and starting over.
Inside the general manager's office, Jerry Krause was contentedly savoring a cup of hot coffee.
The general manager whom the outside world called "the fat man" was in an exceptionally good mood at the moment.
To him, Phil Jackson's departure was not a loss, but a relief.
"Phil costs too much."
Krause spoke casually to the team's assistant general manager, Jim Stack. "Five million a year, and he still wants to meddle in the team's operations. We're a team that needs rebuilding now. We don't need such an expensive 'Zen Master.' What we need is a 'gardener' who can develop young players."
Stack nodded. "That's true. If we don't renew Karl Malone's contract, combined with Phil's salary, we'll have enormous cap space next season. We can pursue any player we want on the free-agent market."
"No, we don't need to chase anyone."
A shrewd gleam flashed in Krause's eyes, a distinctive light belonging to a top scout, as if he could see through the surface of uncut jade. "Our best choice is right in front of us."
He pulled a report from a stack of scouting reports and gently placed it on the desk.
On the cover was a young man wearing the Toronto Raptors' number 1 jersey. His eyes were distant, his frame lean, and his face still carried a trace of youthful innocence.
Tracy McGrady.
"This kid..."
Krause lightly tapped McGrady's photo with a finger, his eyes full of admiration and fascination. "I've been watching