The main light was off; only the firewood in the fireplace crackled and popped.
Michael Jordan, wearing a light brown linen shirt without a tie, held a large Partagas cigar in his hand, his long legs propped up on a low coffee table. On the coffee table sat a half-empty bottle of Don Julio tequila.
After retiring from the NBA and leaving Los Angeles last year, Jordan didn't stay idle. He invested a large sum of cash in the Charlotte Bobcats, owned by Robert Johnson, the founder of Black Entertainment Television, taking on the title of partner and top decision-maker in basketball operations, intending to fully experience being a boss in his hometown of North Carolina.
"What were those two unlucky guys talking about?" Jordan exhaled a puff of bluish-white smoke and pointed to the single leather chair opposite him.
"He came to me complaining that your offer was too outrageous, wanting both draft picks and young players." Lin Qi pulled up a chair and sat down, casually picking up a metal cigar cutter from the table and fiddling with it. "So, Michael, how does it feel to be the bookmaker on the other side of the table?"
Jordan laughed heartily, put his legs off the coffee table, picked up his glass and took a sip. "That was satisfying. But... satisfying as it may be, Charlotte's current situation is much harder to clean up than I expected."
Jordan's smile faded, and he flicked off his cigar ash. "Former Hornets owner George Shinn ruined Charlotte's basketball market. A couple of years ago, the city government's referendum on a new arena was rejected by the citizens, and the locals are furious with professional teams. Robert just paid a $300 million franchise fee and is strapped for cash. Yet, he insists on starting his own local cable sports channel, which has caused a rift with Time Warner Cable that monopolizes the local market."
Jordan shook his head, his tone tinged with frustration. " Time Warner demanded that the games be played on the basic channel, Robert insisted on charging exorbitant channel access fees. As a result, Time Warner simply crammed our channel into a pay-TV package that nobody buys. This means that when next season starts, 80% of households in the Charlotte area won't be able to watch Charlotte Bobcats games on TV. Without TV exposure, local sponsors are all waiting and seeing, and so far, we've only sold less than six thousand season ticket deposits."
Jordan leaned forward, looking at Lin Qi: "I'm not going back to North Carolina as an owner, like when I was president in Washington, losing every day and being laughed at on TV. Before the new arena is built, Charlotte needs some tough guys in its first year to boost ticket sales and reputation. That's why I forced New York and Portland to release their young, capable players. Otherwise, how can we win next season if we just rely on expansion drafts to pick a few greenhorns?"
" Michael, you've got it wrong." Lin Qi put down his cigar cutter and spoke slowly and deliberately. "The bunch of troublemakers that New York and Portland have are all roughnecks spoiled by the losing culture of bad teams. You can't sell tickets or win games with them. You have the expansion privileges the league gave to the Charlotte Bobcats; using them to trade for these guys would be a complete waste."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Take a close look at the expansion draft details that came out this afternoon." Lin Qi held up one finger. "The league's privileges for the Charlotte Bobcats are very clear: they are not subject to salary cap restrictions when drafting in the expansion draft. And most importantly, any player drafted by the Bobcats, if you waive him before the start of the new regular season, his salary will not be counted towards the Charlotte Bobcats ' total salary."
Jordan's hand, holding a cigar, froze in mid-air. Bixter was so focused on figuring out how to save Robert Johnson's cash that he hadn't yet delved into the deeper implications of this rule.
"This means that the poison pill contracts of Phoenix's White, New York's Eisley, and Portland's Dale Davis —contracts that triggered a one-to-one penalty tax for their original teams—can be waived by you before the season starts without affecting the team's future operations," Lin Qi explained, laying it all out for him. "You can simply demand that the original teams include the league-allowed cash compensation with the trade, using other people's money to pay the buyout fee. Robert Johnson won't have to pay much of his own money."
Jordan took a puff of his cigar, his eyes darting around. "So you mean I don't need to care how long those lousy contracts are, I should just take them all for them?"
"Take their overpaid contracts and make full use of the privileges the league gives the Bobcats." Lin Qi looked at Jordan, "But at the negotiating table, don't touch any of the fringe players they throw at you. You only want two things: draft picks and cash compensation."
Jordan frowned. "All draft picks? This year is widely considered a weak draft class. Apart from Howard and Okafor, the top ten picks are all high schoolers and short guards. Even if Charlotte manages to amass a bunch of first-round picks, how can they win games and sell tickets in their first year with a bunch of rookies?"
"You don't need to worry about that." Lin Qi leaned back in his chair, his tone calm yet exuding absolute composure. "Those guys outside are begging you to absorb their salaries; you just need to siphon all the draft picks from their hands into the Bobcats ' pockets. Around the time of the draft in June, I'll naturally give you a satisfactory plan on how to monetize this asset."
Jordan stared at Lin Qi: "How are you going to help me? Charlotte needs tough guys who can keep the arena packed."
"I definitely won't let you down." Lin Qi met Jordan's probing gaze, his expression ambiguous yet undeniably confident. "But business is business, Michael, I need something in return. I can provide the prestige Charlotte wants, but as leverage, you'll need to have a sufficient number of draft picks ready."
Jordan held a cigar between his fingers, smoke slowly escaping from his lips.
"No specific solutions offered, just results?" Jordan asked, squinting slightly.
"Just look at the results." Lin Qi smiled faintly. "The more chips you have, the better you can get in return. As for how to operate, Bobcats just needs to harvest those fat sheep eager to avoid taxes according to the established rules."
A brief silence fell over the VIP room, broken only by the occasional soft crackling of the firewood in the fireplace.
Jordan quickly weighed the pros and cons in his mind. Taking advantage of the Bobcats' expansion privilege of not being subject to the salary cap to demand draft picks was a sure-fire way to make money, and he could also get millions of dollars in cash subsidies from each team.
Jordan's signature arrogant smile finally reappeared on his lips. He placed his cigar on the crystal ashtray, picked up the tequila bottle on the table, poured half a glass for Lin Qi, and then filled his own glass as well.
"Alright, whatever you say." Jordan picked up his glass and waved it at Lin Qi. "I want to see if the players you give me can actually fill up Charlotte's arena."
Lin Qi smiled, raised his glass, and clinked it against Jordan's in mid-air.
"Don't worry, Michael, you won't regret it."
The glasses clinked together, making a crisp sound.
Jordan tilted his head back and downed the liquor in one gulp, then picked up a metal cigar cutter and snipped off the burnt ash from the cigar head with a snap.