Zhao Dong had his own reasons for wanting to help Michael Jordan take over an NBA team.
In this lifetime, Jordan hadn't reached the legendary heights of his previous career. His influence wasn't what it once was, and now that he was retired, that aura was slowly fading.
Zhao Dong Sports—Zhao Dong's brand—was still seen as foreign in the United States. To gain true traction, it needed a local powerhouse brand to balance its identity, otherwise it risked being pushed out by American xenophobia. That's exactly why he hadn't bought Nike—because in America, outsiders are rarely welcomed with open arms.
Helping Jordan secure ownership wasn't charity—it was a strategic alliance.
The MJ Brand and Nike were still making serious money. Zhao Dong and Lindsay had a large stake in those profits, so helping Jordan keep his cultural weight alive would only protect their investments.
He gave Jordan a nod. "Alright. I'll support it."
Jordan's eyes widened. "For real?!"
He was beyond excited—this was a dream opportunity: to become the majority owner of an NBA franchise.
"Congratulations, Michael," David Falk said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Congrats, Mike," added Mickey Arison with a friendly grin.
"Thank you, thank you!" Jordan could barely contain his smile.
Zhao Dong leaned in. "You can put together your own investment group. But if you don't have the right people yet, Storm Fund can help assemble a top-tier investment team for you."
"That's incredible," Jordan said, nodding in appreciation.
---
The yacht had now left the dock, the sea breeze rolling in stronger by the minute. Within half an hour, land had shrunk into a horizontal line, and even Lady Liberty on her island faded into the horizon.
Despite the tight schedule, Mickey Arison had gone all out. He'd hired a live orchestra—thirty musicians strong—to perform on the deck. It was classy, high-end, and uniquely relaxing.
After a round of casual deep-sea fishing, it was tea time—around three in the afternoon.
Arison was waiting for the perfect moment. He wanted insight—not from rumors, not from analysts, but directly from Lindsay herself—about where the U.S. stock market was headed. With Storm Fund dominating returns across Wall Street, and Lindsay becoming a name whispered in every boardroom, her opinion carried more weight than any brokerage report.
As the CEO of a major listed company, Arison had personally seen his wealth triple in the past two years. The market had soared, and he had soared with it.
But now… Storm Fund was quietly pulling money out.
That sent a message.
He stirred his tea slowly. "Mrs. Lindsay, there's a lot of chatter on Wall Street about Storm lately."
Jordan and David Falk both perked up, casually listening in.
Lindsay, cool and composed, set down her coffee cup and smiled. "Yes, the market is still doing well. Nasdaq is just about to cross 5,000. But Storm pulled out some capital because of our investment philosophy. Wall Street doesn't quite agree—but that's normal."
Arison tilted his head. "So… you're bearish on the U.S. market?"
"I wouldn't say bearish," she replied smoothly. "We just believe the U.S. stock market is no longer the best place for our capital. That's all."
"But Storm Fund manages hundreds of billions," Arison said, puzzled. "No other market in the world can absorb that kind of liquidity."
Lindsay chuckled softly. "The world is big, Mr. Arison. There are always opportunities if you know where to look. Storm is only withdrawing a portion of funds, but if we keep everything here, it'll inflate asset prices beyond logic. What used to cost a dollar might soon cost five. Inflation would spiral. And when the capital leaves, it'll trigger a major correction. We're simply avoiding the blast radius."
Arison nodded thoughtfully, absorbing every word. He didn't press further.
Just then, Lindsay's personal assistant, Miss Meilin, walked over holding a satellite maritime phone. She leaned down and whispered, "Madam, ZL Investment Fund just received word. The two founders of Google—Larry Page and Sergey Brin—want to sell the entire company for $800,000."
Lindsay's calm composure finally cracked. "What?!"
Back in 1998, Page and Brin had developed Google's search engine in their dorm and incorporated their company on August 7. It hadn't even been a full year since then.
Zhao Dong and Lindsay had spotted the opportunity early and invested. They had created an overseas shell company, ZL Investment Fund, based in the Cayman Islands. Through this entity, they had invested $500,000 in Google for 40% ownership—Page and Brin each retaining 30%.
At the time, Google had no revenue and no market value. People thought Zhao Dong was insane to pay that kind of money.
Of course, without such a generous offer, Page and Brin never would've sold that much equity.
Zhao Dong was deliberately cautious. The ZL fund had no visible ties to him or Lindsay, and certainly none to Storm. In fact, even the fund's managers didn't know who the real investors were. Only Miss Meilin had the authority to speak for them.
That secrecy was no accident.
Zhao Dong was planning far ahead. If Google eventually grew into a tech giant, it might be targeted in the U.S. due to his Chinese background. So he hid his involvement carefully.
But now? After a year of growth, Google had made a dent in the search market, but it was struggling. Yahoo dominated. The pressure was immense, and it looked like Google might never break through.
"Husband?" Lindsay called out sharply across the private suite.
Zhao Dong, lounging casually while chatting with Michael Jordan courtside during Game 5 of the NBA Finals, turned around. The energy in Madison Square Garden was electric—Shawn Kemp had just thrown down a vicious alley-oop, and the crowd was still buzzing.
He jogged back over. "What's up?"
Lindsay leaned close and whispered, "Google. It's up for sale."
Zhao Dong's expression shifted immediately. "Already?"
He remembered this moment from tech history—the one where Google's founders almost gave up on their dream. Back in 1999, when Google was struggling to stay afloat, Larry Page and Sergey Brin were desperate enough to try selling the company for just $1 million. Yahoo rejected the offer.
Three years later, Yahoo came crawling back, offering $3 billion for the now-thriving search engine. Google countered with $5 billion. Yahoo backed out again. From then on, they never got another chance.
Zhao Dong chuckled inwardly. Yahoo had a track record of fumbling historic opportunities. In 2006, they offered $1 billion to buy Facebook, but when the deal hit turbulence, they slashed the offer by $150 million. Mark Zuckerberg, feeling insulted, tore the contract up in front of the entire board.
Then in 2008, Microsoft tried to acquire Yahoo for $40 billion. Yahoo declined.
By 2016? Yahoo was sold for a measly $4.6 billion.
Legendary misplays. Like letting a rookie cook you in the Finals.
Zhao Dong refocused. Unlike Yahoo, he wasn't here to fumble.
The ZL Investment Fund he and Lindsay had registered in the Cayman Islands was the only outside shareholder in Google. If Page and Brin wanted out, ZL had right of first refusal—a clause Zhao Dong had insisted on when he invested last year.
Buying the company was easy.
Money wasn't an issue. He'd once dropped $2 million just to have Dita Von Teese bathe in champagne at a charity gala. Spending $1 million to own the future of tech?
That's a steal.
But there was something more important to consider.
"If we buy all their shares, and they walk away... would Google still become what it's meant to be?" Zhao Dong asked himself.
He pulled Lindsay aside. "We can't let them leave."
"Meaning?"
"We buy the majority, but leave each of them with 5% equity. Keep them on fat salaries and promise bonuses if Google scales. Let them stay in control of the product. We handle the board—oversight only. No micromanagement."
Lindsay trusted him. She didn't know what the future held for Google, but if Zhao Dong was serious, that meant it was worth it.
Besides, $1 million? She burned that much shopping in Shanghai last weekend.
She nodded. "We haven't meddled with Google before, why start now?"
"Exactly. Let them drive innovation—we just make sure the car doesn't crash."
"Got it. I'll notify Los Angeles."
"How much are they asking?"
"$800,000," she replied with a smirk. "Same price as last year. Apparently, the company's out of money and on the verge of collapse."
Zhao Dong let out a loud laugh. "Then let's give them $1 million. Show some respect for the future kings of the internet."
Lindsay laughed too. "Done."
---
Los Angeles, California
Inside Google's small, cluttered office, Larry Page and Sergey Brin sat behind their desks, visibly frustrated.
They didn't want to sell.
But the company was bleeding cash. Burn rate was through the roof. Without funding, they'd have to shut it all down.
They had already agreed—if ZL Investment Fund passed, they'd go to Yahoo.
Then came a knock.
The door opened, and Rochek, ZL's financial director stationed in LA, stepped in. He didn't know much about the tech world. He was just a numbers guy hired by Zhao Dong and Lindsay.
"Mr. Chek," Larry asked, unable to hide the tension in his voice, "has the fund made a decision?"
Brin leaned forward, trying to read Rochek's face.
"You're in luck," Rochek smiled, looking like he was delivering a lottery ticket. "Our boss wants to buy your shares."
The two founders exhaled in relief.
Page blinked. "Really?"
Brin added, "You're serious?"
"Yes. But..." Rochek paused dramatically. "There are a few conditions."
Their faces tensed again.
"Good ones," he added quickly. "You've got a great boss. You'll be thanking him later."
Page and Brin looked at each other.
"Our fund is offering $1 million."
The two froze.
"W-what?" Brin stammered.
They were asking for $800,000, and even that felt like a stretch given their position. Why would anyone offer more?
"And," Rochek continued, "the fund is only asking for 50% of your shares. Each of you keeps 5%. On top of that, you'll both be kept on board with high salaries and bonus incentives."
"Why?" Page and Brin exchanged confused glances.
Rochek smiled helplessly. "Because our boss said this company is too small. He's not interested in running it personally. He'll let you continue managing things. He said he believes in your abilities and hopes you'll do a good job."
Page looked hesitant, then turned to Brin. "But..."
"Our boss has also decided your annual salary will be temporarily set at $300,000 each," Rochek added. "Future salaries will depend on how the company performs. If the company takes off, there'll be significant dividends—maybe even hundreds of millions annually."
As he spoke, Rochek's expression turned odd.
In his mind, this shabby little internet startup wasn't worth even a million bucks. And now, his boss was offering two guys a combined $600,000 annual salary? To him, it was absurd.
He only made $4,000 a month at ZL Fund. Why did they deserve so much?
Page and Brin stood in stunned silence.
Were there still such crazy investors in the world?
But $300,000 a year? That was equal to the money they would've gotten selling the company—and now they could still own 5% of the shares plus receive dividends?
Where else could they find a deal like this?
"Can all of this be written into a formal contract?" Page asked, cautious but tempted.
"Of course." Rochek nodded.
"I'm in," Page said without hesitation. "What about you, Brin?"
Brin grinned. "Same here."
---
One hour later, inside a black Rolls-Royce heading back to New York, Merlin received a message:
"ZL Fund has officially acquired 50% of Google's shares. Combined with the previous holdings, ZL now owns 90% of the company. Page and Brin have both agreed to stay on."
---
At a private dock owned by Allison, Zhao Dong and his group departed. Allison returned to the Rolls and chose to stay on his yacht overnight to think.
He hadn't gotten any real information from Lindsay—but that was expected.
What troubled him now was the big decision:
Should he follow Storm, or should he follow the mainstream trend of the U.S. stock market—in other words, Wall Street?
Storm Fund now controlled over $100 billion in market value.
But Wall Street was the market. It held global dominance. The answer seemed obvious.
Still, Storm's rise had been meteoric. In under two years, it had gone from obscurity to the top firm in the industry. Every move they made was spot-on. That wasn't just luck.
So, Allison decided to wait a little longer.
Storm had only just begun pulling out tens of billions. If they started withdrawing on a larger scale, it would signal the fund's collapse—and then, his decision would make itself.
What he didn't know, however, was that Zhao Dong and Lindsay were already planning a complete withdrawal.
They would dissolve all Storm funds, shift their focus to China, and invest in real industries—starting over from scratch.
In a country built on financial hegemony, Zhao Dong's identity as a Chinese businessman meant Storm would eventually become a target of Wall Street. Lindsay's true identity could only stay hidden for so long.
Even worse—Storm's bearish stance on the future market directly contradicted Wall Street's bullish agenda.
The clash was inevitable.
---
June 21st, 10:00 AM – Storm Fund Headquarters, Wall Street.
NBA legend Michael Jordan and his longtime agent David Falk arrived at the firm's gleaming office tower. Zhao Dong had invited them personally.
Inside, Jordan looked around, clearly impressed. "So this is what a place that controls hundreds of billions looks like?" he muttered. "Man… I feel like a small-town kid walking into a palace."
Falk chuckled, equally stunned. "Yeah, I get that."
Zhao Dong soon walked in and led them into a meeting room. Inside were six or seven professionals, a top-tier investment team handpicked for Jordan.
After brief introductions, Zhao Dong got straight to the point.
"Michael, between the Cavaliers, Celtics, Nuggets, and Mavericks, which team are you most interested in?"
Jordan sat up, eyes shining. "I've thought about this a lot. The Cavaliers' market is too small. And Boston? With Red Auerbach's legacy and all that Celtics pride—they're not welcoming outsiders. I wouldn't be accepted there."
Zhao nodded. "So, it's down to the Mavericks and Nuggets?"
"Exactly," Jordan confirmed. "Both are strong markets with room to grow. I want to turn one of them into something legendary."
"Then I'll leave the rest to you and your team," Zhao Dong said with a smile.
---
Meanwhile, in Louisiana, Karl Malone was on his farm talking with his agent Dwight.
The summer air was thick, but the conversation was heavier.
Dwight frowned. "Karl, you've played 13 seasons in the league, and your total career earnings? $37 million. That's Jordan's annual salary. After taxes and expenses, what do you even have left?"
Malone leaned on a fence post, his expression dark. "Man… except for what I spent… everything else is in this farm."
Truth was, he was nearly broke. His spending had been out of control, and now he needed a big contract more than ever.
Even worse, the child support payments were killing him.
At 18, he'd fathered a child with a 13-year-old girl named Bell. Before that, back in 1981, his high school girlfriend, Ford, had given birth to twin daughters. He'd only met them last year—when they were already 17.
He and his wife had four more children. On top of that?
Multiple illegitimate kids from various affairs.
The lawsuits, settlements, and monthly checks had drained him.
"I need that money," Malone muttered. "I really do."
---
End of Chapter
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