4 PM on December 7, 2000
Lin Qi and Margaret stepped out of Beth's office, a gust of cold Boston winter wind hitting them.
The sun was beginning to set, and the people coming and going on North Beacon Street were mostly blue-collar workers just off work and children leaving school. There were no well-dressed people on the street; most people were wrapped in thick, old jackets, holding cheap hot coffee bought from a street corner.
"What did Beth mean by those last few words?" Margaret pulled her coat tighter. "Did she mean we should get down to business?"
Lin Qi lit a cigarette and looked at the Italy restaurant across the street with its mottled exterior.
"She means that $60 million and a fancy PowerPoint presentation aren't enough to get a ticket to Brighton." Lin Qi exhaled a puff of white smoke. "This is an old-school working-class neighborhood, naturally wary of outsiders. She wants to see if we're even qualified to have a foothold here."
So what do you plan to do?
"Let's start with this." Lin Qi pointed to the Celtics crest pinned to his coat collar. "I want the people of Brighton to realize that Celtics isn't just a business, but part of the city. And I am the owner of this team."
Where exactly should we start?
"Spend money. But spend it smartly, don't be like a nouveau riche and an eyesore." Lin Qi stubbed out his cigarette on the trash can. "Back to the office, call a meeting with the public relations department and the community foundation."
December 8, 2000, Celtics headquarters.
Lin Qi called Dave, the team's public relations director, and Linda, the community relations manager, into his office.
"This month, we'll shift the focus of community activities entirely to Brighton District," Lin Qi said bluntly. "Player meet-and-greets, basketball camps, school visits. We'll put the other areas on hold for now."
Dave and Linda exchanged a glance. As seasoned professionals, they immediately sensed that their boss was up to something in Brighton. But neither of them asked any questions.
"How large-scale should it be? How many media outlets should we arrange to follow up?" Dave asked.
"No invitations, no press releases, no staged photos." Lin Qi's answer surprised the two. "This weekend, let Chris Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett go to the Brighton community center and actually work up a sweat with the kids there. Tell them to put away their star personas."
"Understood, keep a low profile." Dave jotted it down in his notebook.
Lin Qi turned to Linda: "The foundation needs to immediately set up a special program for Brighton. The initial budget is one million dollars."
Linda paused, her pen poised. "One million? All spent in one district?"
"Yes, and quickly." Lin Qi placed his hands on the table. "It's almost Christmas, let's throw a free community party in Brighton. Buy the best gifts for the kids. Keep the packaging clean, don't make it look like a sales pitch with Celtics logos everywhere, make them feel like it's the team giving the neighborhood a holiday gift at the end of the year."
"Boss," Linda cautioned hesitantly, "The people in Brighton aren't easy to fool. If we're too deliberate, they'll think we're just throwing money at them."
"We're buying people's hearts, but we have to do it in a way that makes them feel comfortable." Lin Qi stood up. "Go and get it done."
December 9, 2000, Brighton Community Centre.
When Chris Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett pushed open the doors of the community gym, it was crammed with forty or fifty kids in their early teens.
When they saw who had walked in, the entire old stadium erupted in screams that nearly lifted the roof off.
This event completely avoided cameras and sponsors. For the next two hours, the two rising stars mingled with the kids like older brothers on the street.
Pierce patiently taught the boys how to use their footwork to create shooting space. Garnett, on the other hand, deliberately lowered his center of gravity, protecting the ball in his arms, allowing a boy wearing a Celtics #5 jersey to try to steal it from him. His exaggerated dodging movements made the children laugh.
In one corner of the stadium stands, a dozen or so parents were sitting, there to pick up their children.
"What's the Celtics ' star player doing in this godforsaken place?" a middle-aged man wearing heavy work boots muttered.
"Who knows? Probably just some community event," the neighbor next to him shrugged.
The middle-aged man watched his son excitedly high-fiving Garnett on the sidelines, and his guard gradually relaxed. "Who cares? At least these two don't seem annoying."
As the event concluded, Pierce and Garnett headed towards the bus.
"What's the boss after when he sent us here?" Garnett asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Whatever your motives, doing something worthwhile is never a bad thing." Pierce carefully tucked a handmade greeting card from a girl into his backpack. "Honestly, this is much more enjoyable than going to those dinner parties where you're sipping wine and forcing smiles. The kids here genuinely love basketball."
December 10, 2000, St. Columbkille Catholic School.
Founded in 1907, this school is one of Brighton's oldest and holds memories for generations of Ireland immigrants.
Sister Mary, the headmistress, was nearly sixty years old, with sharp eyes. She led Lin Qi through the dilapidated corridor, making no attempt to hide the predicament. "Government funding is dwindling, and most parents are blue-collar workers who can't afford extra sponsorships. Our gymnasium floor is full of potholes, and even the windows let in drafts."
"So, Mr. Lin Qi," the nun stopped and stared at Lin Qi, "I heard you want to buy that land. Are you here today hoping to shut us up with a donation?"
Lin Qi was not angered by those words. He looked through the dilapidated window at the children running on the playground.
"Sister, my parents are China immigrants who ran a restaurant in Chinatown their whole lives. In the 1990s, the city government carried out development projects, and many long-time residents were evicted. I know all too well what those ruthless developers can bring to the community."
Lin Qi turned his head, his tone calm. "I don't want to fool you with fancy words like 'saving the community.' I'm a businessman, and I want to buy that land to build a training base. But I know that if my project makes the locals destitute, my base won't have a single day of peace here."
Sister Mary narrowed her eyes slightly.
"How much money would it cost to renovate this school?" Lin Qi asked.
"Roof, floor, computer room, at least 500,000."
" The Celtics Foundation will contribute one million," Lin Qi said, noticing the nun's astonished expression. "Five hundred thousand will be used for renovations, and another five hundred thousand will be used to establish a special scholarship to send the children here to university."
The corridor was quiet, with only the hum of the heating pipes audible.
"What do you need me to do for you?" Sister Mary's voice lowered.
"I don't need you to go around praising me," Lin Qi said calmly. "I only hope that, in the future, when someone leads the opposition to the Celtics ' projects, the school can speak up for them."
On the afternoon of December 11, 2000, at Finneran Construction Company.
A two-story gray brick building in the Brighton industrial area. The yard is full of muddy heavy pickup trucks and excavators.
When Lin Qi and Margaret walked in, Attorney Beth was standing next to a burly white man.
Patrick Finneran, the real voice of the Brighton Ireland community.
They skipped the pleasantries. Patrick, wearing a flannel shirt, leaned against the large wooden table, his rough hands fiddling with a metal lighter.
" Beth showed me your proposal," Patrick said in a deep voice with a heavy Boston accent. "It promised to settle our debts, build affordable housing and a community center, plus a $20 million construction contract. It sounds like a big promise, but can it really deliver?"
"This isn't just empty promises; it's a contract that can be signed and taken effect immediately." Lin Qi sat down calmly.
"Listen, kid." Patrick stared at Lin Qi. " Jim Davis is a 30-year friend of mine. He may only offer $55 million, but he's a true Boston. If he says he'll build New Balance headquarters, he'll definitely build it. And you? Who knows if you'll sell the team and this land together, leaving us with a mess?"
Lin Qi looked at Patrick, his voice low but decisive.
"With Davis's $55 million, not only will you not get your $3 million final payment for the project, but a large number of lower-level creditors will also lose everything. What I'm offering is a restructuring plan that will allow you to get your principal back."
Patrick scoffed. "You've been spending money on events in Brighton lately, and you've even made contact with Sister Mary. A lot of moves, but that doesn't change one thing... this neighborhood doesn't trust you."
"The strongest trust is when everyone's interests are tied together." Lin Qi leaned forward slightly. "I'm willing to build affordable housing because I need a community environment that won't cause me trouble. I'm building free community centers because I want to turn Brighton's next generation into die-hard fans of the team, ensuring that my future ticket sales will be successful."
Lin Qi placed his hand on the table and tapped it with his fingertips.
"This is purely a business transaction. Beth, take that supplementary agreement to your uncle."
Beth pulled a piece of paper from the folder and pushed it in front of Patrick.
"Look at the last clause," Lin Qi said. "If I acquire the land but fail to build affordable housing and a community center, you have the right to immediately freeze 30% of the land's ownership and allocate it directly to the community."
Patrick's previously nonchalant gaze froze the moment it swept over the line of text.
Beth instinctively held her breath. In the real estate industry, no one dared to sign such a self-destructive clause.
"Are you serious?" Patrick looked up. "You're practically begging for our lives."
"That's called sincerity." Lin Qi leaned back in his chair. "Now, tell me, does Davis, that old friend of thirty years, dare to sign this for you?"
A brief silence fell over the office, broken only by the roar of truck engines outside the window.
After a long pause, Patrick threw the lighter on the table with a sharp crack.
He stood up, reached across the table, and extended his large, calloused hand toward Lin Qi.
" Jim Davis really doesn't dare sign." Patrick's voice held less hostility and more scrutiny and respect for the businessman. "Deal."
Lin Qi grasped that hand.
"But I'm warning you upfront," Patrick said, staring intently at him, "If you try anything funny, even if it's in writing, I'll make sure you can't get anywhere in this community."
"That's only natural," Lin Qi said with a slight smile.
On the way back, in the evening of December 11, 2000.
Night falls in Boston, and festive lights twinkle outside the car window.
"My back was sweating just now," Margaret, who was driving, breathed a sigh of relief. "With that last supplementary agreement, the lawyers in the legal department are probably going crazy."
"If we don't hand him the knife handle, we won't be able to intimidate that old Ireland." Lin Qi loosened his tie and rubbed his temples wearily.
Margaret's tense shoulders finally relaxed. "We've passed the toughest hurdle. That old Ireland finally nodded."
Lin Qi lowered the car window slightly, and as a gust of cold wind rushed in, he lit a cigarette.
"It's still early days," he said. "The real battle is yet to come. We have to deal with the bank's bad debts, the city council's approvals, and Jim Davis's counterattack."
Are you confident?
"Yes." Lin Qi, a cigarette dangling from his lips, said calmly, "It's actually quite simple. Banks only care about money, so I'll just use $60 million to settle the bad debts. City councilors care about votes, so I'll just show them the support of the Brighton community. No matter how capable Jim Davis is, he can't pull off this mess."
He exhaled a puff of smoke, the ash quickly swept away by the wind outside the window.
"So, the Christmas party can't be messed up," Lin Qi said. "Forget the high-handed PR frenzy. We need to make sure that the whole of Brighton is eating our turkey, receiving our gifts, and all they can say is how great the Celtics. Once that sentiment takes hold, even Jim Davis and the city council will have to give way."