Marcus thought it was Wade who had come in, and he had just put on a tough-guy pose like a neighborhood boss lecturing his underlings when he looked up and realized that Wade wasn't among the five people who had walked in.
Leading the way were Sam Presti, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and a lawyer in a sharp three-piece suit. Close behind were Gary Payton and Artest, who were there to watch the spectacle.
Finally, security director Jim entered, along with two tall, burly white men in dark trench coats. As soon as they entered, the two white men slammed the conference room door shut behind them and stood guard with their arms crossed.
Artest walked straight to the conference table, and without saying a word, raised his right foot and kicked Marcus hard in the leather boot that was resting on the edge of the table.
With a bang, Marcus's legs were kicked so hard that he slid off the table, spilling his coffee all over his crotch.
"Take your dirty shoes off the table!" Artest glared down at Marcus. "Do you think this is some underground casino on Chicago South Side?"
Marcus yelped in pain from the burn and was about to jump up and yell when he looked up at Artest, then at the two menacing white men in trench coats at the door. His arrogance immediately diminished. "Who... who are you? Where's Dwyane? I'm his older brother from his hometown. Tell him to come out and see me!"
Presti pulled out the head chair and sat down, tossing a thick stack of documents on the table. He said coldly, "I'm Sam Presti, assistant general manager of the Boston Celtics. This is Mr. Arthur Morgan, the club's chief legal counsel. As for Dwyane, he's been training all day and doesn't have time to see you. Just talk to us if you need anything."
Marcus's eyes darted around, and he forced a calm expression as he patted a crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. "Fine, talking to you is fine too! This is the car detailing shop investment contract that Dwyane and I have agreed on. As long as you sign it for him and give us a check for $150,000, we'll take the money and go back to Chicago immediately, and we promise not to say a word about it outside."
The elderly lawyer next to him, Arthur Morgan, opened the folder and said slowly, "Mr. Marcus Jenkins, before we talk about your car wash, I have two things I need to formally inform you of."
"First, at 8:30 this morning, Mr. Dwyane Wade officially signed an irrevocable athlete trust agreement jointly overseen by State Street Bank and the Boston Celtics. Effective today, all of Mr. Wade's team salary for the next four years, as well as his Converse shoe endorsement income, will be transferred 100% directly to this trust account."
"According to the trust terms, Mr. Wade is only entitled to a monthly allowance of $5,000 for personal expenses. Any private transfers, loans, or business investments exceeding $2,000 are not authorized for Mr. Wade's signature and must be approved by the club's finance committee and the three independent trustees. In other words, even if Dwyane were sitting right here today, he wouldn't be able to give you a single penny."
Marcus's expression froze. "What bullshit trust? That's his own money from playing golf, he can give it to whomever he wants! Don't try to fool me with legal statutes. If I don't see $150,000 today, I'm going out right now to find a Boston newspaper reporter and expose all the things Dwyane's mother did for drugs back in the day!"
"Looking for a newspaper reporter?"
Old Jim, who had been standing to the side, chuckled and turned to nod at the two burly men in trench coats by the door, "Detective McDonald, it seems these out-of-town friends aren't quite familiar with the customs of Boston."
The two burly white men guarding the door stepped forward, lifting the front of their trench coats to reveal Glock pistols in their holsters. They then pulled out gleaming Boston Police Department detective badges and slammed them onto the table in front of Marcus.
Boston Police Department, Organized Crime Investigation Unit.
Detective McDonald's voice was deep as he reached into his trench coat pocket and pulled two clear plastic evidence bags, tossing them next to his badge. One bag contained two switchblades, and the other contained two packets of contraband.
"At 7:10 this morning, acting on a tip, we found these two items in room 304 of the motel where you were staying," Detective McDonald said coldly, looking at the three men, whose expressions had suddenly changed. "Furthermore, Mr. Darnell White, the parole officer in Cook County, Illinois, just sent us an arrest warrant half an hour ago. You used forged documents to flee across state lines while on probation, and you are now officially arrested."
Darnell, the dreadlocked thug standing behind Marcus, was so terrified that his legs went weak and he almost collapsed to the ground.
Morgan, the elderly lawyer, calmly took out a miniature audio cassette and several printed text message records from his briefcase and placed them next to the police badge.
"Mr. Marcus, considering your threatening remarks that you just confessed to in this room, and the extortionate text message you sent to Mr. Wade across state lines at 10:42 PM last night, the evidence is overwhelming. Under the Massachusetts Penal Code and the federal Interstate Wiretapping Act, extortion amounting to $150,000 carries a minimum sentence of eight to twelve years in federal prison. You don't need to rush to find the newspaper reporters now; think about how to explain this to the federal judge."
Marcus and the other two thugs turned deathly pale instantly, large beads of cold sweat streaming down their temples.
They might be able to intimidate honest neighbors on the streets of Chicago South Side, but they've never seen anything like this, where State Street Trust, federal interstate felony laws, and even a police detective pulling out a gun and brandishing handcuffs in a conference room.
"Misunderstanding! Officer, it's all a misunderstanding!" Marcus jumped up from his chair, his voice trembling. "Those two knives belonged to Darnell, they have nothing to do with me! Dwyane and I grew up together, I was just joking with him, I wouldn't dare blackmail him! We don't want the $150,000, not a single penny!"
At this moment, Gary Payton, who had been leaning against the wall chewing gum, slowly walked forward, placed his hands on the conference table, leaned close to Marcus, and said in a low voice.
"Listen up, you scum. Mr. Lin has arranged for the Converse Chicago branch's security team to pick up Dwyane's mother and sister at eight o'clock this morning and take them to a high-end, fully enclosed security apartment near Lincoln Park. They'll be guarded by armed security personnel 24 hours a day, and their monthly living expenses will be directly deposited into a special account through a bank trust."
"Darnell will be handed over to Illinois Marshals today by the Boston Police Department and taken back to jail. As for you and the kid next to you, Detective McDonald has already bought you one-way tickets back to Chicago for 11 a. m. The plainclothes officers from the police department will take you both directly onto the plane."
"Once you're back in Chicago, if you dare to hang around within three blocks of Dwyane's mother's new apartment, or utter a single word to any tabloid paparazzi, don't bother Morgan with filing a federal lawsuit. I have a few old friends in the underworld on Chicago's West Side, and I'll have them take you for a cold-water bath at the Lake Michigan. Understand?"
Marcus looked at Gary Payton, who was so close, then at the Boston detective beside him whose metal handcuffs had been removed, and his trouser legs trembled with fear. He nodded frantically, "Got it! Got it! We'll get on the plane and head back to the South Side. We'll never call Dwyane again, never mention his name again!"
"Take it with you, don't leave it in the way of the stadium." Old Jim waved his hand.
With a click, Detective McDonald and his partner stepped forward and handcuffed Darnell, who had violated his probation. They covered his hands with their trench coats and pushed Marcus and the other two out of the conference room like they were carrying chickens, then shoved them into the plainclothes police car in the yard via the freight elevator at the back of the arena.
In front of the transparent glass window of the weight room on the first floor, Wade, who had just finished a set of bench presses, stood by the window and watched as Marcus and his two thugs, who usually swaggered around back home, were shoved into the back seat of a police car and slunk away from the training center compound.
Lin Qi walked down the stairs, pushed open the door to the weight room, and went to Wade's side.
"Boss, thank you," Wade turned around, his eyes a little red. "If it weren't for you and the club stepping in, I really don't know how I would have handled this."
"You're the starting point guard I drafted for Boston. I pay you to dominate at New Garden, not to worry about those Chicago thugs," Lin Qi patted Wade's sturdy shoulder, his tone calm. "If anyone back home asks for money again, tell them to call Sam and Morgan, the lawyers. The villain club is yours; just focus on the court."
Wade took a deep breath and nodded vigorously. "Understood, boss. Watch me tomorrow night."
November 18th, evening, New Garden.
After a day of rest, the Boston Celtics hosted the Toronto Raptors, led by Vince Carter and Jalen Rose.
Dwyane Wade, who was frequently distracted in New Orleans the day before yesterday, seemed to have shed a heavy sandbag the moment he stepped onto the home court tonight.
On the first possession of the game, Raptors guard Alvin Williams dribbled the ball just past the half-court line when Wade immediately lowered his center of gravity and closed in on him. He moved with lightning speed, using his chest to block Williams ' driving path. As Williams changed direction in front of him, Wade's right hand shot out with precision, shoving the ball away from Williams's hands!
Wade, having secured possession, charged forward like lightning.
Vince Carter sprinted back from the weak side, leaping high to attempt a block. Wade took three big strides into the air during his high-speed sprint, and facing Vince Carter's long arm that was blocking his shot, he forcefully tucked his stomach in mid-air to avoid a direct block, then switched to his left hand and banked a layup on the other side of the rim, drawing a foul on Vince Carter in the process!
Two plus one!
After landing, Wade clenched his fists, turned around, and yelled at Gary Payton and Garnett on the sidelines.
Having shed his off-court mental burden, the guard maximized his speed advantage in the following game. Midway through the second quarter, Wade used his first step to get past the Raptors' perimeter twice in the first eight and a half seconds of transition. Once, he made a behind-the-back pass in mid-air to Ben Wallace, who was cutting to the basket, for a two-handed dunk. On the other hand, he stopped abruptly at the free-throw line, faked out Maurice Pete, and calmly sank a mid-range jump shot.
In just three quarters, Wade scored 26 points, shooting 10-for-15 from the field and 6-for-6 from the free-throw line, along with 8 assists and 3 steals, with only one turnover.
With two and a half minutes remaining in the third quarter and the score at 89-61, the upbeat disco music of "Gino Time" blared through the arena once again. Wade walked off the court amidst cheers from nearly 20,000 Boston fans, giving a high-five to Gary Payton and Garnett who had stood up on the sidelines, a relaxed and bright smile on his face.