Highland Park, a northern suburb of Chicago.
A dry breeze swept across Lake Michigan at the end of August. The lawns of the private golf club were neatly manicured, and oak and maple trees cast long shadows on the undulating fairways.
An electric golf cart slowly came to a stop beside the tee box.
Charles Barkley laboriously scrambled his massive frame out of the passenger seat, carrying a driver in his hand. He deliberately held his right hand high, a huge ring on his thick middle finger dazzling in the afternoon sun.
According to league rules, the official 2003 championship rings would not be awarded until "Ring Night" at the start of the new season at the end of October. But Barkley obviously couldn't wait even a day longer. Right after winning the championship in July, he paid out of his own pocket to have a high-quality replica of a pure gold ring made to his size by a jeweler in California, and he wore it on his hand every day to show it off.
"Hey, Lin!" Barkley grinned, his booming voice carrying across half the fairway, "Look at this! Fourteen years! Fourteen years of being laughed at by every sports column in America! Now I have one too, and I got it by beating your Boston team in Game 7!"
Standing to the side, Lin Qi, wearing white lambskin the Glove and casually tossing his iron bar, chuckled at the remark, " Charles, in Game 7, which went to double overtime, Phil only let you play six minutes. Two defensive rebounds, three fouls. If it weren't for Michael's crucial performance in the last two minutes, where would you be wearing your ring now? The entire nation's newspapers would be lining up to mock you for failing to ride on someone else's coattails."
"Who cares if it's six minutes or sixty minutes, as long as my name is on it!" Barkley laughed nonchalantly.
Leaning against the other side of the basketball cart, Michael Jordan took the half-smoked Cuba cigar from his mouth and gave him an annoyed look. " Charles, stop embarrassing yourself here. You've only been retired for two months, and you're already starting to gain weight? For the past two years in Los Angeles, I watched you measure your body fat in the locker room every day, and it was so hard to get you to lose that much fat. Now that you don't have to play games, you're already eating pizza every day?"
" Michael, I'm retired now! Retired, you understand?" Barkley proudly puffed out his round belly. "I no longer have to be dragged out of bed at six every morning to run laps! I've got the championship ring, so I can eat as many donuts as I want!"
Jordan snorted, too lazy to pay him any more attention, and continued smoking his cigar.
Barkley chuckled and swaggered onto the tee. The former regular season MVP got into position, but as his backswing reached its highest point, his body inexplicably froze for half a second before he slammed the ball down with tremendous force.
With a dull thud, the white ball traced an extremely awkward arc in the air before plunging headfirst into the deep grass two hundred yards to the right.
"Damn it, the fairway went off course again!" Barkley muttered as he stuffed his club back into his bag, grabbed a can of Budweiser from the ice bucket on his golf cart, pulled the tab, and took a big gulp.
Jordan was wearing a black sleeveless T-shirt, a dark beret, and sunglasses that covered most of his face. Although he had just exchanged a few words with Barkley, the sullen look on his face hadn't dissipated much.
The falling out with Jerry Buss a few days earlier at the closed-door review meeting on military expansion in Charlotte, New York, was clearly still weighing on his mind.
" Michael, it's your turn." Lin Qi pointed to the tee box.
Jordan placed his cigar on the cart rack, picked up his driver, and walked onto the tee. He didn't even do a practice swing; he stood still, took his back, and rotated his hips—the movement was fluid and natural.
A crisp sound of impact pierced the air.
The white ball flew straight through the breeze and landed steadily on the flat grass in the center of the fairway, 290 yards away.
"Good shot," Lin Qi commented objectively.
Jordan handed the club to the caddie, walked back to the golf cart, put his sunglasses back on, and turned to look directly at Lin Qi.
"Lin, you took an early morning flight from New York to Chicago, you didn't come just to see Charles and me play golf, did you? I heard... David Stern spoke with you?"
Barkley, sensing the tense atmosphere, discreetly strolled a few steps away with his beer, muttering that he was going to find his unlucky ball in the deep grass, giving the two some space.
Lin Qi stepped onto the turf, set up the tee, and placed the ball securely.
" David did speak with me," Lin Qi said calmly, adjusting his position. "I'm not here today to act as David's advocate. Michael, I'm here because we're going to be dealing with each other in different capacities from now on—as team managers and investors."
Upon hearing those two words, Jordan's lips twitched slightly, his tone laced with mockery. "Investors? The entire league's management probably knows what Jerry Buss did in New York. Does that old man from California really think he can erase the promises he made two years ago with a mere 'drunken slip of the tongue'? What does he take me for?"
Lin Qi didn't rush to reply, and swung his club cleanly to hit the ball.
The white ball traced a beautiful parabola in the air and came to a steady stop on the flat fairway less than ten yards from where Jordan landed.
Lin Qi finished his rounds, took off his the Glove, and walked back to his golf cart.
" Jerry Buss is a pure businessman, Michael." Lin Qi looked at him, his tone very calm. "Two years ago, Boston won three consecutive championships, and Los Angeles was defeated by us in the NBA Finals for two years in a row. Jerry Buss was extremely anxious. In order to break the deadlock, he and Phil flew to Chicago to find you, and they were willing to agree to anything as long as it meant winning. But this year you helped the Lakers win the championship and announced your complete retirement."
Lin Qi paused for a moment, then stated matter-of-factly, "In Jerry Buss's eyes, retired Michael Jordan could no longer provide immediate impact on the court. The Lakers ' equity is the core of the Buss Family's wealth; he wouldn't give such an asset to someone who no longer plays basketball and owns an independent brand in the business world. He was betting on your desire to win, and you treated that negotiation as a mere verbal agreement between respectable people. He was using you, nothing more."
Jordan's jaw tightened slightly as he stared at Lin Qi without saying a word.
This was the thing he found hardest to accept.
Throughout the 1990s, he engaged in a power struggle with Chicago Bulls general manager Jerry Krause, particularly resenting Jerry Krause's statement that "management is what wins championships." Two years earlier in Washington, Abbey Pollin had invited him to become the Wizards ' president of basketball operations, entrusting him with the task of using his reputation to streamline salaries and attract ticket sales and attention. However, when Jordan completed the management overhaul and attempted to further consolidate his control over the team, Pollin decisively stripped him of his power, effectively excluding him from the decision-making process.
It was that incident in Washington that fueled Jordan's determination, leading him to accept Jerry Buss's offer to return to the Lakers as a player in the summer of 2001.
In his first year, the Lakers lost to the Celtics in the NBA Finals again. But in his second year, the season that just ended, Jordan gave his all to help the Lakers end Boston's winning streak and win the championship. He thought he had earned his place in the Lakers' management and a minority stake through his achievements, but Jerry Buss completely reneged on the verbal agreement from back then, saying it was just a "drunken slip of the tongue."
"Abby Pollin dangled you along with a management position, Jerry Buss squeezed every last drop out of you with the promise of equity," Lin Qi calmly pointed out the facts. " Michael, you can see the situation clearly on the court, but in the power struggles within the team's upper management, you're still dealing with those established owners with a player's mindset. In the rules of the game for investors, anything not written in black and white on the contract doesn't exist. That's the face of a businessman, Michael."
A silence fell over the green.
Jordan took a deep drag on his cigar and slowly exhaled white smoke. Lin Qi's words, though direct, thoroughly revealed the essence of the whole matter.
"How does David Stern plan to handle this?" Jordan turned around, his voice turning somber. "He puts on a show of rules and procedures in meetings, but behind the scenes he's been desperately cleaning up Jerry Buss's mess."
" David won't let anything happen to the Lakers," Lin Qi said calmly. " Kobe's lawsuit in Eagle County has already caused the league a huge headache. If another Western Conference powerhouse is embroiled in scandals involving illegal recruitment by the owner and equity disputes, the entire NBA's commercial image will be affected. Unless you have recordings and signed documents, David's discretionary power will allow him to characterize this as a private dispute with conflicting accounts."
Jordan's tone was cold. "Should I just swallow this insult?"
"Of course not." Lin Qi got into the driver's seat of the basketball cart and gestured for Jordan to get in. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Jerry Buss broke his promise, and the Lakers have always been Boston's arch-rivals. I'm here today to offer you another option."
Jordan opened the car door and got in. "What options?"