Gaston hasn't slept for two days straight.
The television in the office was always on, the volume turned down low. But Matt Damon's young, angry face on the screen still haunted Gaston like a persistent ghost, making his temples throb.
On TV, Damon stood in front of a bunch of microphones, holding a marker, and drew a big X on a team ownership structure diagram that any Boston could understand.
" Chris Paul Gaston isn't rebuilding the team at all!" Damon's voice was inflammatory. "He's dismantling the Celtics ' engine, stripping away their most valuable assets, leaving only an empty shell for the Boston minority shareholders! This is blatant theft!"
That statement is both scathing and incredibly accurate.
So precise that even Gaston, a seasoned expert in the ways of capital, couldn't find the right words to refute it.
"That damn pretty boy..."
Gaston's temples bulged with veins as he grabbed the remote control from the table and smashed it hard.
With a loud crack, the remote control was thrown, sending batteries flying everywhere, and the TV screen went black instantly.
The office fell silent, save for the heavy rain outside. Gaston loosened his tie, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looked at the gray Boston outside, and cursed under his breath.
"That damn Matt Damon... I've never even met him, why is he so fixated on me?!"
He turned around abruptly and glared at the young man sitting on the sofa.
"Lin, I have no grudge against him, why is he doing this to me?"
Sitting on the leather sofa, Lin Qi didn't respond immediately. He was dressed in a sharp dark gray suit, his entire body shrouded in shadow, appearing calm and aloof. On the coffee table beside him sat a cup of black coffee that had gone cold and remained untouched.
After a few seconds, Wizards raised his eyes slightly and spoke in a calm tone.
"Mr. Gaston, he doesn't need to know you; he just needs to know how to manipulate the emotions of Boston."
Gaston's face grew even uglier. This stark truth was more jarring than any sarcasm, but he knew he didn't need comforting now; he needed to know just how far the fire had spread.
Lin Qi held up two fingers and tapped the Boston Globe from this morning on the table.
The headline on the front page, in bold bold letters, clearly read, "[Don't let the Celtics become an empty shell!]"
" Damon's brilliance lies in translating an extremely complex capital restructuring case into a story that dockworkers, taxi drivers, and bar owners can all understand," Lin Qi said casually. "The story is simple: a greedy New York outsider first led the team to a disastrous performance, then kicked the local minority shareholders out at a low price. In the media, a story that everyone is willing to believe travels faster than a hundred-page lawyer's statement. Now, all of Boston believes you're going to ruin their team."
Gaston slumped back into his massive executive chair, his voice hoarse.
"What can public opinion do to me? According to the internal trust agreement we signed, those small retail shareholders have no veto power at all. As long as I push forward, they can't stop me!"
Lin Qi nodded in agreement. "Of course, the steering wheel is still in your hands."
Gaston breathed a sigh of relief and was about to speak when Lin Qi's next words pierced his illusions like a cold, sharp knife.
"But the problem is, while they can't take the steering wheel now, they have enough power to completely break the car down before it reaches its destination, leaving you unable to even touch the garage door."
The office fell silent once again.
Gaston understood what he meant.
June 30th was the death knell hanging over his neck.
If the restructuring plan cannot be completed before the deadline, the subsequent chain reaction will be devastating: banks will demand repayment of their bridge loans when they mature, the Internal Revenue Service will conduct offshore tax audits, labor negotiations will soon reach a stalemate, and minority shareholders will jointly apply for a court injunction... These troubles will tighten like a noose all at once.
He certainly has control, but he simply doesn't have the time.
Lin Qi pulled a thin printed form from his briefcase and pushed it in front of Gaston.
" Chris Paul, since things have come to this, let's say something really unpleasant."
Gaston stared at the few pages of paper.
Lin Qi picked up his pen and drew a line across the first number on the paper.
"The official valuation is $176 million. Newspapers like this number, and banks are happy to approve credit lines based on this standard when the market is good. But now is not a good time."
The pen tip made a harsh scratching sound on the paper.
First, the Celtics currently have around $50 million in long-term debt on their books.
"Secondly, to facilitate this restructuring, you obtained a bridge loan of 40 million from Goldman Sachs, which is due at the end of next month, and the interest is compounding."
"Third, after the team was swept in the first round of the playoffs, the season ticket renewal rate plummeted, VIP box sales came to a complete standstill, and the originally projected playoff ticket revenue share became zero. All business expectations had to be discounted."
"Fourth, head coach Rick Pitino. In his first year, he led the team to a first-round sweep, and his lucrative contract still has several years left. Firing him now would result in an unmanageable and messy severance package."
"Fifth, and most critically, Kevin Garnett's maximum contract extension agreement is still pending, and his agent, Fleisher, is already leaking information. If the rebuilding deal drags on past June 30th due to the lawsuit, Garnett might opt out of his contract, causing the Celtics to lose this cornerstone of their team for nothing. At that point, the team's value will drop by another third."
Gaston gripped the edge of the desk with both hands, his knuckles turning white from the force.
Lin Qi's pen didn't stop; he continued to calmly list his findings.
"In addition to the more than $20 million in tax risks that the Internal Revenue Service is now targeting because of this exposure; the class-action lawsuit that Damon instigated among minority shareholders; and... your two partners, Dupee and Cohen, who used to follow your lead blindly, are now secretly contacting the court to betray you in order to get out unscathed."
The pen tip stopped on the summary column at the end.
"Mr. Gaston, with the June 30th deadline fast approaching, the banks will absolutely not consider this team a sustainable asset for appreciation. In their eyes, it's a ruin already ablaze, on the verge of collapse."
Gaston's gaze was fixed on the very end of the table, where a glaring number was highlighted in bold red...
[After liquidation discount, current net realizable value: US$70 million to US$80 million.]
"This is impossible! This is utter nonsense!" Gaston slammed his fist on the table and stood up abruptly, his voice shrill. "A team worth 170 million, how could they only have this much left?! This is extortion!"
Lin Qi remained calm and didn't even lift his eyelids. He simply turned his head slightly and cast his gaze at the Celtics' Chief Financial Officer (CFO), who had been sitting to the side, pretending to be dead the entire time.
Feeling their gazes, the CFO lowered his head even further, staring at the tips of his leather shoes.
This silence, this desperate attempt to hide oneself, says it all.
Gaston's facial muscles twitched violently, and he slumped back into his chair as if all his strength had been drained. He finally understood that Lin Qi wasn't trying to scare him. If he were to knock on the door of any Wall Street bank now, burdened with lawsuits and media scrutiny, the loan officers would only repeat the same facts in even harsher terms.
Gaston slumped back in his chair, panting heavily.
"So what? Lin... you came all this way just to read me the bankruptcy notice?"
Lin Qi smiled slightly, took back the first valuation sheet, and took out the second document from his briefcase.