At the thought of this, a faint smile touched his lips, and he drifted peacefully to sleep.
The days that followed became, just as Phil had expected, an almost heavenly indulgence.
The two billionaire owners, eager to win his favor, embarked on a silent, extravagant competition.
Today, Dolan arranged for a private helicopter to fly Phil over Yellowstone National Park, letting him admire the dazzling colors of the Grand Prismatic Spring from above.
Tomorrow, Dr. Buss would hire a three-Michelin-star chef to prepare a French feast from the freshest ingredients beside a picturesque lake.
They went clay shooting together at a private range, where Dolan used a custom Beretta hunting shotgun worth six figures.
They also rode beneath the stars, with Dr. Buss recounting tales of his legendary adventures in the West during his younger days.
They even played a high-stakes game of Texas Hold'em. Grunfeld and Kupchak lost until their faces went pale, while Phil Jackson quietly amassed a thick stack of chips with his unfathomable "mind-reading."
For those ten days, Phil Jackson lived more comfortably than any king.
He enjoyed the finest treatment and listened to the sweetest flattery, yet remained tight-lipped about his future.
They had enjoyed themselves for a full ten days.
Phil knew that this pleasant vacation had to end, and that it was time to give the answer that could shape the league's future landscape.
On the morning of the eleventh day, he sat alone on the balcony of the cabin, sipping a steaming cup of coffee as he gazed at the snowcapped mountains in the distance, still somewhat undecided.
Just then, the Nokia phone lying on the table vibrated twice in quick succession.
Two text messages had arrived, one from James Dolan and one from Jerry Buss.
Phil Jackson opened Dolan's message first