April 27, 2000, Detroit, the Palace of Auburn Hills.
In Game 3 of the first round of the playoffs, the Boston Celtics visited the Detroit Pistons. With a 2-0 lead after the first two games, this should have been a one-sided final game.
At six o'clock in the morning, the only sound in Lin Qi's hotel suite was the air conditioning.
The secure cell phone on the bedside table suddenly emitted a dull vibration.
Lin Qi quickly sat up and pressed the answer button.
"Mr. Lin, it's done." The private investigator's voice on the other end of the phone was hoarse from staying up all night, but couldn't hide his excitement. "We've obtained substantial evidence. We've completely uncovered the financial dealings between Donaghy and LeBron James Battista, the head of the Philadelphia underground gambling syndicate."
Lin Qi instantly woke up, threw back the covers, and walked to the French windows. "Get to the point."
"Starting in 1998, Donaghy transferred funds to Battista through third-party accounts. Before each match he officiated, he would receive an advance payment of $20,000 to $50,000. If the final score of the match matched the expected spread in the betting odds, additional bonuses would be deposited into his offshore account after the match."
"We not only obtained complete bank statements from the past two years, but we also recruited a fringe member of Battista's gang who is willing to provide testimony."
Lin Qi lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and asked, "Anything else?"
"The most lethal part is here." The person in charge lowered their voice slightly, "Last night, we intercepted a private phone call between Donaghy and Joey Crawford using unconventional methods. The recording is extremely clear."
Lin Qi paused slightly, the fingers holding the cigarette between his fingers. "What's the content?"
"They were discussing how to 'tame' Rasheed Wallace in Game 3 tonight. Donaghy's exact words were: 'That Boston idiot has a temper like a powder keg; just give him a few hair-twisting calls and he'll explode.' Crawford not only agreed but also suggested that if Rasheed dared to complain, they should call two technical fouls and eject him, 'to teach him who's in charge in this league.'"
Lin Qi slowly exhaled a puff of bluish-gray smoke, his eyes as cold as knives in the morning light.
This is no longer just a matter of biased officiating; it's about using the power granted by the league to manipulate the game and even deliberately ruining a player's career.
"Very good." Lin Qi's voice was completely flat. "Pack the bank statements, witness testimonies, and that damn recording all onto a hard drive. Also, tonight, Donaghy is the referee, and Crawford is the assistant referee. Keep a close eye on every phone call they make before and after the game."
"Clear."
After hanging up the phone, Lin Qi looked down at the gray skyline of Detroit, the old industrial city.
The chain of evidence is now closed. If this information falls into the hands of the FBI or the media, not only will Donaghy spend the rest of his life in jail, but the credibility of the entire NBA will suffer a devastating blow.
Lin Qi wondered what he could possibly get in return for this nuclear bomb from David Stern.
Lin Qi picked up the internal phone on the table and dialed his assistant. "Book me a flight from Detroit to New York tonight. It needs to be one that takes off immediately after the game."
"Understood, Mr. Lin. Where will the accommodations be arranged..."
"Whatever," Lin Qi interrupted him coldly. "Just book me a private meeting with David Stern at the NBA headquarters on Fifth Avenue tomorrow morning. Tell his secretary he'll regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn't make time."
4 PM, the Palace of Auburn Hills.
Three hours before the game started, the entire Celtics team arrived at the away locker room.
Lin Qi pushed open the door to the players' locker room. The previously noisy room instantly fell silent, and all the players stopped what they were doing.
"Tonight's head referee is Donaghy, and the first assistant referee is Crawford." Lin Qi stood in the center of the locker room, his gaze sweeping over every face. "I'm only here to say one thing: tonight, you're not just facing the Detroit Pistons, but also three referees who have come with a mission."
Garnett paused in tying his shoelaces, looked up, and his eyes flashed fiercely.
"They'll use every nasty whistle imaginable to disrupt your rhythm and provoke you," Lin Qi said calmly, yet with a sharp, penetrating edge. "But I demand that you keep your mouths shut. No matter what they whistle, no arguing, no complaining, just put that damn ball into that damn basket!"
"Are we just going to let them run wild?" Gary Payton asked through gritted teeth.
"You're responsible for scoring on the field," Lin Qi said sharply. "I'll handle the off-field matters."
Lin Qi walked up to Rasheed, placed his hands on his broad shoulders, and stared into his eyes.
" Rasheed, they'll be targeting you tonight. You'll be targeted, even expelled." Lin Qi lowered his voice, each word carrying weight. "But remember, you're taking Bullets for Boston. Bear with it, wait until I completely eradicate these cancerous cells."
Rasheed looked at Lin Qi, a strange emotion flashing in his eyes. He took a deep breath and nodded. "I understand, Lynch. I believe you."
The competition officially began at 7 PM.
The deafening boos from 20,000 Detroit fans turned the Palace of Auburn Hills into a boiling cauldron.
From the very first second of the jump ball, Donaghy and Crawford's "performance" began.
In the very first round, just as Gary Payton crossed halfway with the ball, Donaghy's whistle blew sharply.
"Beep..."
Donaghy pointed at Gary Payton and made a walking gesture.
Gary Payton froze on the spot. "Are you kidding me?!"
Donaghy stared at him expressionlessly. Gary Payton remembered Lin Qi's words before the game, swallowed back the profanity, and retreated to his half of the court.
In the next possession, Pistons' Stackhouse drove hard with the ball. Eddie Jones was already in position defensively, arms raised high. Stackhouse deliberately bumped into Jones, and the ball slid off the rim.
"Beep..." Crawford blew his whistle from the baseline.
Defensive foul, two free throws.
Jones helplessly spread his hands, but remained silent.
In the first quarter alone, the Boston Celtics, the cleanest and most efficient defensive team in the league, were called for a whopping eight fouls. The Pistons took an eight-point lead at the end of the first quarter thanks to their free throws.
Rasheed came on as a substitute in the second quarter.
The real encirclement and suppression began.