"I wouldn't presume to ask for your advice. But didn't you all receive the expanded draft details this afternoon?" Lin Qi said casually. "Any player selected by the Charlotte Bobcats in June will have their salary wiped off their original team's payroll, without paying a single penny in luxury tax. With such a readily available tax avoidance method right there, instead of going back to drink with Michael Jordan and Bernie Bickerstaff, you're coming to me for advice?"
"Don't even mention Michael!" Whitsit complained in a low voice, seething with anger. " Jordan and Bixdaffy are ruthless. They helped us get a contract, and not only did they demand a whopping $3 million in cash and a first-round pick, they also forced us to let them pick our young starters. Thomas tried to negotiate, but it was the same. Jordan insisted that everyone was begging the Bobcats to absorb the salary cap pressure, and they wouldn't give us any way out."
Thomas picked up his glass, took a small sip, his eyes flickered, and lowered his voice tentatively, "Lin, we're all smart people. Some rumors have already spread. We've all heard that David Stern privately spoke with you, specifically asking you to help the Bobcats out. Someone even saw you, Michael, and Charles Barkley playing 18 holes over two days at the Aspen golf course. You two must have already discussed and planned this, right?"
Whitsit nodded repeatedly, his eyes burning with enthusiasm. "Yeah, Lin! Michael might not even give David Stern all the credit, but he'd definitely respect you. Right now, the whole league is watching the Bobcats, their only outlet. Jordan's appetite is so huge, you have to give your brother a heads-up, show him a way out, right?"
Lin Qi toyed with the glass in his hand, listening to the two men's unfounded probing questions, secretly amused, but his expression remained calm and composed.
"Rumors, nine out of ten are baseless." Lin Qi put down his glass, the marble countertop making a crisp sound. He leaned back and spoke slowly, "My games with Michael and Charles were purely for vacation and relaxation; the stakes were just a case of golf balls and a few dinners. As for David Stern... David only cares about preventing any lockout crisis. He'd love for every owner to pay the luxury tax to the league on time; why would he be a babysitter for anyone?"
At this point, Lin Qi looked at Thomas and Whitsett, whose expressions had changed slightly, and softened his tone, truly resembling an objective and neutral bystander explaining the situation to his lost colleagues.
"However, now that you two are seated, I can give you some practical advice. By crowding around Jordan and Bixter's doorsteps, you're essentially offering yourselves up for a beating."
The two men's expressions tightened, and they immediately perked up their ears.
"Do the math yourselves," Lin Qi said, holding up one finger. "As a first-year expansion team, what's the salary cap the league granted the Charlotte Bobcats? Only two-thirds of the average team's, which is just over $30 million. With so little space, how many overpaid long-term contracts can they possibly take on? Two? Three at most! But how many teams in the entire league are desperate to avoid the tax? New York, Portland, Dallas, even Phoenix —they're all eyeing Charlotte like glue."
Lin Qi's expression was calm, but his words were sharp. "You're all rushing in now, competing to see who can offer the most in assets to Jordan. Isn't that blatantly inflating Charlotte's value? Bixdaff might have only wanted a first-round pick, but after you snatched him up, he's naturally willing to take the first round plus young starters, and even the maximum three million cash bonus. You've practically delivered yourselves to be fleeced, and now you're complaining that they're too ruthless?"
Thomas and Whitsit exchanged bewildered glances after Lin Qi's words. Whitsit scratched his head, somewhat confused. "Then... Lynch, what do you mean we should do now?"
"What's the rush?" Lin Qi smiled calmly. "There are still four months until the expansion draft in June and five months until the free agency market opens in July. Are you all focused on Charlotte? Is there no other team in the entire league besides the Bobcats?"
Lin Qi picked up his soda, his gaze sweeping across the banquet hall. "By this summer, after the big-name free agents have settled their contracts, all the salary cap space that teams missed out on will be free. The Hawks are going through a complete rebuild and selling off their players, the Clippers have always kept tens of millions in cap space, and Denver and Utah have tons of expiring contracts waiting for an opportunity. When teams have circled the free agent market and realized they haven't landed any big fish, your overpaid contracts, combined with suitable draft picks, will have plenty of teams willing to help you share the burden. At that time, to fill their salary cap gaps, the offers teams will be much less outrageous than they are with Jordan now."
Lin Qi leaned forward slightly, looking at the two managers who seemed to have just woken up from a dream. "Slow down the pace. Don't blindly run into Jordan's gun like headless flies. The more you act like you absolutely need Charlotte, the harder Jordan will go."
These words were reasonable and to the point, and were entirely based on the perspective of macro-level strategic maneuvering within the alliance; there was not a single flaw in them.
Thomas and Whitsit exchanged a glance, their anxiety easing somewhat. Thomas quickly calculated for a moment, then let out a long sigh and forced a grateful smile, "Lin, you really are insightful. We were indeed driven mad by the luxury tax and the boss's pressure these past few days, almost doing something foolish like drinking poison to quench our thirst."
"Alright, in business, you can't just ask for the moon; you have to haggle." Lin Qi patted his trouser leg and stood up. "Go back and carefully calculate your salaries. Don't hand all the power to others. As for how to negotiate... that's between you and Charlotte. I don't have time to get involved in your business dispute for now."
Thomas and Whitsit also stood up, shook hands politely, and thanked each other profusely before dispersing with their wine glasses.
Watching the two figures walk away, Sam Presti, who had been standing behind the sofa, whispered, "Boss, these two companies are having a tough time right now..."
"Let them suffer," Lin Qi straightened his suit cuffs. "Next Thursday's trade deadline has nothing to do with us. Let's go, let's go check on Michael in the back."
Walking through the cigar-smoky corridor, Lin Qi pushed open the wooden door of a semi-enclosed VIP room at the far end of the banquet hall.
Presti stood guard outside the door for him, while Lin Qi went in alone.