The aftershocks of draft night had yet to subside, but Boston's media had already evolved from "bewildered" to "furious."
A columnist for The Boston Globe wrote:
"In a single night, Lin Qi dismantled a team that had only grown tougher with age, leaving a heap of spare parts."
"He sold off slam dunk champion Dee Brown, shipped out the soul of the locker room, Pinckney, and kicked the newly acquired Edwards around like a ball. Is this really rebuilding? It looks more like demolition."
Lin Qi folded the newspaper and casually tossed it into the wastebasket.
He knew the real show was only just about to begin.
Because on that list of names in his memory, two men still remained.
One came from the defending champion Houston Rockets, the other from the tangled mess that was the New Jersey Nets.
And the key to acquiring those two utterly unconnected men at the same time happened to be the very "spare parts" he had stockpiled the night before.
"Sam Cassell." Lin Qi said only one name into the phone.
The Rockets' assistant general manager answered, his tone full of wariness. "Sam is an indispensable part of our roster, Mr. Lin."
"He's your third point guard."
Lin Qi bluntly exposed the truth.
"Kenny Smith needs to start, and Vernon Maxwell needs the ball too. Sam Cassell has proven himself, sure, but having a twenty-four-year-old point guard play only off the bench is a waste for both him and you. Leave it unresolved, and you'll have problems in the locker room."
The other man said nothing, effectively conceding the point.
"I know where your real weakness lies." Lin Qi kept rubbing salt into the wound.
"You won the championship by letting The Dream dominate inside, but what about your forwards? Maxwell is an unstable liability, and Horry is still young. Those groups of forwards out West... what are you going to use to battle them?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Rick Fox," Lin Qi named him.
"Twenty-five years old, six foot seven. His build can immediately give you elite defensive toughness on the perimeter, letting him hound those big perimeter stars in the Western Conference. With him locking down your first line of perimeter defense, Horry will be completely freed up to stay at power forward and help The Dream shoulder the dirty work of banging inside. Without Fox serving as an iron gate on the wing, how are you going to defend your title with The Dream plugging holes inside and out all by himself?"
"Fox alone isn't enough." The other man's voice was hoarse, but he was clearly wavering.
"Then I'll add a second-rounder." Lin Qi was ready. "The Pistons' 1996 second-round pick. They finished at the bottom of the Eastern Conference this year. That 1996 pick will be frighteningly high, essentially late-first-round quality."
At almost the same time, Lin Qi had his assistant connect him to the New Jersey Nets on another phone.
The Nets in 1994 were a half-cooked mess.
Head coach Chuck Daly had retired and left after the season, the team had been bounced in the first round of the playoffs, and the locker room was utterly disunited.
What the newly installed management needed most were some tough guys who could change the atmosphere, along with... future assets they could stockpile.
"I want P.J. Brown," Lin Qi said without preamble. "I'll trade you Derek Strong for him."
"Why would we do that? Brown is the future of our frontcourt."
"Strong averaged 5.4 rebounds last season. His game is solid, he's low-key, and he doesn't need the ball. In your system, he'd be even more consistent than Brown. You won't suffer a cliff-like drop in production from your blue-collar big men."
"Just Strong?"
"Plus the Philadelphia 76ers' 1996 second-round pick," Lin Qi raised the offer.
"The Philadelphia 76ers finished last in the Eastern Conference this year. That second-rounder is projected to land between thirty-third and fortieth, practically a first-round pick in disguise. Everyone recognizes 1996 as a loaded draft. You're stockpiling assets for a rebuild. A high second-rounder is much more practical than holding on to Brown."
The Nets were tempted, but still wanted to squeeze out a little more. "Add more."
Lin Qi could feel that it was time to reel them in.
Two phone lines, two trading partners, each biting the hook and refusing to let go.
Covering one receiver, Lin Qi paced back and forth twice in front of the whiteboard in the strategy room.
The Rockets thought one second-rounder was too little, and the Nets wanted another pick too.
He stopped and spoke into the two phones in turn.
"Rockets, I'll add another second-rounder: the Seattle SuperSonics' 1998 second-round pick, top-forty-five protected."
"Nets, on your side, I'll add the Suns' 1996 second-round pick."
"Listen carefully. This is the final offer."
"The Rockets get Rick Fox, plus the Pistons' 1996 second-rounder and the Seattle SuperSonics' 1998 second-rounder."
"The Nets get Derek Strong, plus the Philadelphia 76ers' 1996 second-rounder and the Suns' 1996 second-rounder."
"And Boston gets Sam Cassell, P.J. Brown, and that Croatian throw-in center from the Rockets... Zan Tabak."
"I'm not adding a single thing beyond that."
He paused, then enunciated each word.
"You wanted players you could use right now, and I gave you those... you wanted future assets, and I gave you those too. All four second-rounders are right here."
"Add anything more, and this stops being a trade."
"It becomes robbery."
A long silence came from each end of the two phone lines.
The Rockets relented first. The defending champions wanted immediate help, and Fox was immediate help. The two future second-rounders were merely extras. They accepted.
The Nets deliberated longer... but Derek Strong could handle the blue-collar work, and two high second-rounders were respectable future assets. That was a dignified enough way to come to terms.
"Deal."
"Deal."
Lin Qi put down both phones, turned, and wrote forcefully on the whiteboard.
When he finished the last stroke, everyone in the strategy room stared at the writing, unable to recover for quite some time.
[Boston Celtics send out]:
Rick Fox, Derek Strong, four future second-round picks (Philadelphia 76ers '96, Pistons '96, Suns future pick, Seattle SuperSonics '98, top-forty-five protected)
[Boston Celtics receive]:
Sam Cassell (clutch point guard), P.J. Brown (versatile defensive tough guy), Zan Tabak (interior meat shield)
The scouting director murmured to himself, "One young wing, one young big man, and four second-rounders... we got back a playoff point guard and a tough forward who can guard positions three through five."
"And," Lin Qi added, his tone as light as though he were discussing the weather, "we haven't touched a single real cornerstone. Eddie Jones, Wesley Person, Dino Radja, and the two first-round picks over the next two years. Not one of them moved."
He drew a horizontal line at the bottom of the whiteboard, as though putting a final period on the entire draft season.
But he knew full well that this was far from over.
The framework of the roster was in place. But the team still lacked one thing... a name that could set all of Boston's box office alight and immediately deliver on those promises on the scoreboard.
The second condition on Gaston's note was written in black and white: attendance, top ten in the league.
A bunch of unfamiliar new faces and complementary pieces alone could not fill the stands at the Old Boston Garden.
Lin Qi picked up the internal phone and dialed the top-floor office that always smelled of cigars.
"Cardinal," he said into the receiver, "I've got a team that can win. Now I need your help bringing in someone who can get the people of Boston buying tickets again."
An aged, delighted chuckle came from the other end, along with the faint sound of a deep draw on a cigar.
"Kid," Auerbach the Cardinal said leisurely, "you've finally said something I like hearing. Bring up that bottle I've kept hidden for thirty years. We're going fishing for a big one."