The day after the Knicks' championship celebration, news broke early at 9 a.m.—Ringo Wells officially announced that Ben Wallace would not be re-signing and would instead enter unrestricted free agency.
At the same time, he also revealed on behalf of Hu Weidong that the Chinese shooting guard would opt out of his player option and test the free-agent market as a restricted free agent.
Hu Weidong's contract with the Knicks was a 2+1 structure, with the final year being a player option.
Although the trade window hadn't officially opened yet, the league was already buzzing. Multiple players declared their intention to hit free agency.
The two biggest names among them?
Gary Payton, The Glove—and Karl Malone, The Mailman.
The summer market was heating up.
Meanwhile, a number of players from the legendary 1996 draft class were entering restricted free agency.
Kobe Bryant, on a 3+1 deal, held a player option for the fourth year. While he hadn't officially opted out yet, it was widely reported that the Lakers were in active extension talks with him.
Allen Iverson, Marcus Camby, Stephon Marbury—these names were all on the restricted list. Their camps were in negotiation with their teams, but if no deals could be reached, they'd hit the open market too.
Even though Kobe and Iverson hadn't formally entered free agency, their agents were already fielding interest—unofficially, of course. The trade window hadn't opened yet, so everything was happening behind closed doors.
Back in New York, nearly half the Knicks roster was suddenly in flux. The names floated on the market included Chauncey Billups, Charlie Ward, Wang Zhizhi, and Rick Brunson. Add Hu Weidong and Ben Wallace to that list, and six players were on their way out.
To top it off, Larry Johnson—Grandmama—officially announced his retirement. That made seven.
Johnson's career ended at just eight seasons—two fewer than in his previous life. But this time, thanks to investments and massive playoff revenue shares with Zhao Dong, he retired a billionaire. There was no need to keep hooping for a veteran's minimum.
The Knicks, fresh off a dynastic championship defense, had suddenly turned into a trade hub. Their front office was swamped with calls from teams across the league.
Ben Wallace, known for his defensive grit and relentless rebounding, had fewer minutes during the playoffs, but that didn't hurt his market value. Championship contenders were lining up—looking for someone who could physically match up with the Knicks' monster, Zhao Dong.
Ringo wells' phone lit up nonstop. As soon as the offers came in, he headed to Ben Wallace's house to break down the options:
"Ben," Ringo said, flipping open his notepad. "Here's what we've got.
Spurs—5 years, $35 million.
Lakers—4 years, $32 million.
Heat—5 years, $31 million.
Pistons—4 years, $22 million."
Ben scratched his head, looking overwhelmed. "Man… which one's the best?"
Ringo grinned. "The Lakers, easy. That's eight mil a year, team option in the final year. Plus, it's LA. Big market, tons of media exposure, playoff bonuses, endorsements… look at those Knicks playoff shares. You made more this postseason than you did in your last three seasons combined."
Ben nodded, eyes lighting up. "Yeah, Lakers it is."
"The Heat are solid," Ringo added, "but they might get bounced in the first round. Less playoff games, less cash. Lakers have more upside."
Ben clapped his hands. "Let's get that deal signed!"
Ringo immediately dialed up the Lakers front office.
At Lakers HQ in El Segundo, Jerry West picked up the call. When he heard Ben Wallace had accepted the offer, he cracked a rare smile.
Wallace was technically a center, but his 6'9" frame made him a better fit alongside Shaquille O'Neal than most big men. Shaq often operated two meters away from the rim—leaving space in the paint for Ben to dominate defensively and clean the glass.
An O'Neal-Wallace frontcourt meant elite interior offense and defense. Jerry West knew this was the missing piece to elevate the Lakers from contenders to champions.
But his real target?
Karl Malone.
The Mailman was finally a free agent, unrestricted this time.
Jerry had already sent Malone's agent, Dwight, a two-year, $21 million offer. Negotiations were ongoing.
Meanwhile, Kobe Bryant's extension was also in the works. West had a 7-year, $70 million deal on the table for the young superstar. He was confident Kobe would sign.
The problem? Cap space.
Between the Wallace and Malone deals, plus Kobe's extension, the Lakers were about to smash through the luxury tax ceiling. West had already discussed it with team owner Dr. Jerry Buss. The offer to Malone was the max they could afford.
If Malone accepted, Wallace would be the odd man out. That was the reality of the cap.
West also had his eye on Chauncey Billups. He called the Knicks and offered Derek Fisher and two role players in exchange.
New York flat-out rejected the proposal.
With Big Ben handled, Ringo turned his focus to Hu Weidong and Wang Zhizhi.
Unlike Wallace, both Hu and Wang were still under contract. Hu had two years in, Wang just one. They couldn't walk—so Ringo needed to help them find favorable destinations. He reached out to teams the players liked, trying to secure soft landings.
Thanks to his relationship with Zhao Dong, Ringo had serious pull with the Knicks' management. They weren't about to burn bridges with Zhao's agent.
With Zhao's backing, Ringo was now one of the most powerful agents in the league. He had influence—and leverage.
At 11 a.m., Zhao Dong was just about to head to the Storm Fund headquarters for lunch with Lindsay when his phone buzzed. It was Michael Jordan.
"Hey, Mr. Jordan," Zhao Dong answered with a smile. "What's up? Got something you want to talk about?"
"Come on, Zhao, don't play dumb," Jordan said, sounding slightly annoyed but still amused. "I've been waiting on you for days now. Don't tell me you forgot what you promised. You got time to talk now?"
"Alright, alright," Zhao Dong chuckled. "Let's talk about how you can become a boss."
"I'll set the spot and call you back," Jordan said, his voice suddenly excited.
"Cool," Zhao Dong replied and hung up.
Inside his hotel suite, Jordan turned to his agent, David Falk. "He's in. Time to lock down a good spot."
Falk grinned. "Perfect timing. I've got a good relationship with Heat owner Mickey Arison. We could borrow one of his yachts. What do you think?"
"A yacht?" Jordan raised a brow. "Hell yeah."
Mickey Arison, billionaire owner of the Miami Heat and CEO of Carnival Cruise Line—the world's largest cruise company—wasn't hard to reach. His company was headquartered in New York, and he'd been spending a lot of time in the city lately. After Falk explained the situation and mentioned Zhao Dong, Arison immediately agreed.
Jordan called Zhao Dong again.
"Yo Zhao, I've got the perfect setup. You're gonna love this..."
"A yacht?" Zhao Dong blinked in surprise, already halfway to Wall Street.
"Yeah. Private dock. Arison's yacht," Jordan confirmed. "I'll send the address now."
"Got it."
"Oh, by the way," Jordan added, "Mr. Arison's hosting the lunch and wanted to know—can Mrs. Lindsay come too?"
"I'm about to reach her office now. I'll ask and get back to you," Zhao Dong said and ended the call.
Jordan gave Falk a nod and the two headed straight for the elevator.
"David," Jordan asked as they descended, "what's Arison's angle? Why's he so eager to meet Lindsay?"
Falk replied calmly, "I've been watching the financial pages. Storm Fund's been going against Wall Street's bullish trend. They've been openly bearish, and recently got hit with billions in redemptions. Wall Street's not happy."
Jordan frowned. "So Storm's in trouble? Could this mess with Nike somehow?"
Falk shook his head. "Storm manages hundreds of billions in assets. A few billion in redemptions isn't the end of the world. As long as they control the outflow, they'll be fine. Their return rate still beats the market and crushes other funds and banks."
"So Arison wants to invest in Storm?" Jordan asked as they stepped into the waiting car.
Falk chuckled. "Who knows? But with Lindsay at the helm, she's a power player. Everyone on Wall Street wants a seat at that table—including me."
He turned serious. "That's why this meeting with Zhao is big. You've got to bring your A-game."
Jordan nodded. "Always."
—
By now, Zhao Dong had arrived at Storm Fund HQ in Manhattan's Financial District.
"Good morning, boss."
"Morning," Zhao Dong responded with a nod as employees greeted him on his way in.
He entered Lindsay's office and got straight to the point.
"Eve, Jordan wants to talk. He borrowed a yacht from Mickey Arison, the guy who owns Carnival Cruise Lines and the Miami Heat. Arison wants to meet you. Interested?"
"Right now?" she asked, surprised.
"Yeah, they're prepping lunch and plan to cruise after. Maybe even fish a little," Zhao Dong said with a grin.
Lindsay smiled. "Sounds good. I'll go."
As they walked out, Zhao Dong suddenly said, "Why don't we buy our own yacht?"
Lindsay's eyes lit up. "Let's also buy a private island! We'll build a runway, a dock, gardens, a vineyard... maybe even a private amusement park."
Zhao Dong laughed. "It's all up to you."
—
At exactly 1 p.m., Zhao Dong and Lindsay arrived at the Arison family's private dock, flanked by a dozen bodyguards.
Docked ahead was a massive, luxurious yacht—over 100 meters long, a gleaming symbol of excess.
Waiting to greet them were Jordan, Falk, and Mickey Arison himself.
"Welcome, Mrs. Lindsay. Welcome, Mr. Zhao," Arison said politely, stepping forward with a warm smile.
"Appreciate it, Mr. Arison," Zhao Dong said as they shook hands.
Lindsay responded with a polite nod.
After exchanging pleasantries, Arison led the group aboard.
Before stepping on, Zhao Dong paused to admire the yacht's sleek build.
Arison noticed his interest and proudly began to introduce it. "This beauty's called Rolls. Built in '91 over a 30-month period. She's 125 meters long, five decks, over 11,000 tons. She houses 120 crew, 30 bar staff, and can host 50 guests. There's a 20x12-meter swimming pool, cinema, spa, dance hall, game room, even a helipad..."
Zhao Dong raised a brow. "What's it worth? Where's it ranked among yachts?"
"Seventy-five million dollars," Arison replied. "It's world-class—though not quite at the level of the top private yachts."
Jordan let out a whistle. "That's damn near the value of a small NBA franchise."
Zhao Dong smirked. "When Dolan bought the Knicks a couple years ago, it wasn't even this price."
Arison nodded. "Now that the Knicks built a dynasty, their value's through the roof. Easily over $400 million now. James Dolan made a killing—probably six or seven times his original investment."
He looked genuinely impressed.
"Zhao Dong," Jordan said with a curious smirk, "didn't you also make bank off buying the New York Jets?"
Zhao Dong replied casually, "Yeah, the U.S. stock market's been on a tear. Valuations are way up. The Jets' market value has multiplied several times."
Jordan smacked his lips, visibly envious. The itch to become an owner was clearly growing stronger in him.
"Mr. Arison," Zhao Dong turned to the Miami Heat owner, "how much does a top-tier private yacht go for these days?"
Arison chuckled. "Depends. A real top-of-the-line yacht's usually over 150 meters long, six decks minimum. You're looking at upwards of $100 million. The best ones? They can hit $200 or even $300 million."
"$200 to $300 million?" Zhao Dong nodded like he didn't even register the lower price point.
"Thinking of buying one?" Arison asked with a grin. "Not a bad idea. With a yacht like that, you could sail around the world in style."
Zhao Dong gave a confident smile. "That's the plan."
"I had the same dream…" Jordan muttered to himself, "Just didn't have the money."
After a quick tour of the luxury yacht, the group settled in on the fourth deck. The onboard bartender got to work prepping lunch, and soon enough, plates were served. It was an elegant spread—classic seafood starters, followed by a high-end Western main course, and finally, desserts with fresh fruit and chilled drinks.
But Jordan wasn't here for the food.
He put his fork down and leaned forward. "Zhao Dong, what was that you were talking about earlier?"
Zhao Dong paused for a moment, then said, "Last year, Paul Allen bought the Trail Blazers for $70 million. And guess what? He's already made a good return."
"The Blazers are up for sale?!" Jordan's eyes lit up.
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Relax. You're getting ahead of yourself. Paul's worth $10 billion—he's Microsoft royalty. He just bought the Seahawks too. Selling the Blazers? No way."
Arison nodded. "Paul's net worth dwarfs mine. Different league entirely."
Jordan leaned back, then glanced at Zhao Dong with genuine curiosity. "So between you and Paul Allen… who's got more money?"
Zhao Dong didn't answer, just smiled. He had no intention of revealing the full picture.
His wealth wasn't easy to track. Domestically, he owned Julong Investment and Zhao Dong Sports—both private. On top of that, he held 45% of Storm Fund, a hedge fund that had exploded in success. Most of the massive earnings—subscription fees, profit-sharing—weren't even in his name. Storm Fund had made nearly $200 billion for its clients in just two years. Zhao Dong and Lindsay controlled 60% of the fund and had taken home over $30 billion in indirect profits.
But none of it was in plain sight. The money was routed through various holding entities, trusts, and international structures. On paper, Forbes had Zhao Dong at $3.5 billion and Lindsay at $1.8 billion. Neither made the top 50 on the world's richest list.
This year, however, things were bound to change. Zhao Dong Sports had acquired indirect equity in Nike, and once that news got out, valuations would skyrocket. The media might finally start catching on.
Seeing that Zhao Dong wasn't answering, Jordan wisely let it go and changed the subject. "Alright then—so which teams are looking to sell?"
Zhao Dong leaned back. "First, you've got the Dallas Mavericks. Then the Cleveland Cavaliers, Denver Nuggets, and even the Boston Celtics. The major shareholders for all four have been quietly shopping their teams around through investment banks."
He continued, "Besides that, there are partial share opportunities. Some major stakeholders are looking to cash out a piece, others are small owners looking to exit—like in Washington and Utah."
Jordan sat up, eyes gleaming. "Zhao Dong, I want in. You said you'd help me get a team, remember?"
Zhao Dong looked at him and smiled. "Alright, let me ask—how much can you put together right now?"
Jordan hesitated. "Fifty million. That's all I've got in liquid assets."
Zhao Dong chuckled. "You know, two or three years ago, that could've bought the Knicks. Now? That won't even get you a bottom-tier franchise."
Jordan scratched his head, frustrated. Then he turned to Zhao Dong and said, "What if I use my share of the MJ Brand at Nike as collateral? That's gotta be worth something."
As he said that, he shot a glance at Lindsay, hoping for a reaction.
But Lindsay, seated under the sunshade with a drink in hand, didn't even flinch. She faced the sea, completely ignoring the conversation.
Jordan sighed, knowing that this was going to take more than just a legendary jump shot.
(End of Chapter)
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