The next morning, a Gulfstream private jet took off from Los Angeles International Airport, slicing through the dawn as it headed north toward Montana.
Inside the spacious cabin, Jerry Buss sat on a comfortable sofa, gazing at the rolling sea of clouds beyond the window with a calculating smile on his face.
Across from him, Shaquille O'Neal wore headphones, gently swaying to the rhythm of the music, looking relaxed and at ease.
Kobe Bryant, meanwhile, sat perfectly straight, engrossed in a book analyzing Triangle Offense tactics.
Two completely different men had gathered here for the same goal.
Dr. Buss raised his glass and smiled at them. "Gentlemen, remember, we have only one mission on this trip—when we return, there will be four people on this plane."
The plane cruised steadily above the clouds as sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing the cabin in a pale golden glow.
Montana gradually came into view below, its endless mountains and vast plains woven together in a landscape of raw, rugged beauty.
Phil Jackson's lakeside cabin stood in a quiet corner of Flathead Lake.
Far from the noise of the world, it was surrounded by lake and mountain scenery, with the fresh scent of pine and earth lingering in the air.
When Buss's private jet landed at a nearby small airport, the Zen Master was already waiting by the lake. Dressed in a plain flannel shirt, faded jeans, and hiking boots dusted with dirt, he looked more like a rancher enjoying retirement than the championship coach who commanded from the sidelines and struck fear throughout the league.
A lakeside breeze stirred his signature gray-white beard. His eyes were as calm as still water, as though he had long since seen through the intentions of his visitors.
Jerry Buss was the first to descend the