Chapter 316: Chapter 263: This Young Man Is Too Arrogant

In the general manager’s office at the US Airways Center.

Brian put down his phone and looked up, his gaze falling upon the O’Brien Champion Trophy on a display shelf not far away.

He had temporarily placed the trophy in his own office to admire. It would only be moved to the display area after the renovations were complete.

In addition, a sketch hung on the wall.

It was the design for the Championship Ring, which Brian had personally commissioned.

As he took it all in and recalled what Chen Yu had just told him, a surge of immense pride welled up within Brian.

’This is the empire I built!’

Taking a deep breath, Brian cast aside his hesitation, grabbed the phone on his desk, and dialed the number again.

Meanwhile, the Lakers’ management team had arrived in New York.

They still had a first-round pick and had to make a decision tonight.

Making the most of the remaining time, Kupchek was still discussing the final choice with Jackson. In truth, a late first-round pick didn’t offer many options—it was about the same as taking a gamble in the second round.

But the discussion had to be had. Given the Lakers’ current roster and salary cap, taking a gamble on a rookie was their only real option.

They were flipping through the scouting reports and past game stats of several potential targets when, in the middle of their discussion, Kupchek’s phone vibrated.

Recognizing the number, he immediately raised a hand, signaling for everyone present to be quiet.

"It’s the Suns," he said hurriedly before answering the call.

Jackson, who was sitting across from him, immediately perked up and gestured for Kupchek to put the call on speaker. He was extremely interested in the Suns’ latest move—or more accurately, in O’Neal’s.

They already knew that O’Neal had gone to Phoenix.

They were utterly shocked!

Jackson had immediately contacted Perry Rogers to ask what O’Neal was thinking.

Rogers’ exact words were, "I’m not sure either. We have to wait for O’Neal to make his decision."

Jackson had nearly cursed him out over the phone. ’You’re his agent! If you don’t know, how the hell am I supposed to? Just state your terms. Why are you playing these games?’

"Brian, what’s on your mind?" Kupchek asked, his voice calm.

Over the phone, Brian’s voice was just as calm. "Mitch, let’s stop beating around the bush. It’s ten in the morning, which means there are nine hours until the draft begins at seven tonight. I’m giving you eight hours to discuss and decide. I expect a call from you before six p.m. with your final answer."

"If you agree to trade O’Neal, I’ll give you this year’s number one pick, plus Olajuwon, Tom Gugliotta, and Teylon Hill. If you don’t agree, then all trade talks for O’Neal are off the table."

"That’s all. Good luck today."

With that, Brian hung up, leaving only a dial tone on the other end.

Kupchek’s mouth fell slightly open, his face a mask of disbelief.

’O’Neal! The most dominant center in the league! You’re just going to lay out a blockbuster trade of this magnitude in a few sentences and call it a day?’

’And he was so final about it, giving the Lakers only eight hours to think it over. Anyone who didn’t know the situation would think the Lakers were the ones begging the Suns for a trade, not the other way around.’

Right then, Kupchek had only one thought: ’This kid is way too cocky!’

He picked up his phone and checked the number again to make sure it wasn’t a prank call. Only then did Kupchek look up at the others and say with a wry smile, "Well, gentlemen, it looks like the Suns have laid their cards on the table. What do you all think we should do?"

"Eight hours is too little time," assistant coach Kurt Rambis said, his brow furrowed.

The others nodded one after another. How could a decision on such a major trade be made so quickly?

Besides, their plan had always been to drag things out until free agency began, wait for the Suns to make the first move, and then react.

They never expected the Suns to make a move, let alone for them to come out and drop a bomb like this.

Jackson took off his glasses, wiped the lenses, and put them back on. "Gentlemen," he said, "we need to give this our serious consideration. We can no longer afford to engage in wishful thinking."

Even though rumors were flying, O’Neal’s stance was ambiguous, and the Suns were clearly interested, the Lakers’ front office had been clinging to the hope that they’d wake up one morning to find O’Neal had changed his mind and decided to stay.

But now, it was clear that was just a fantasy.

O’Neal had already gone to Phoenix and made his intentions clear. The Suns were being even more ruthless, stunning them with an eight-hour ultimatum on draft day itself. If the Lakers didn’t agree, the deal was off.

"Jim, contact your father and find out where he stands," Jackson said, turning to Jim Buss.

Little Bass nodded and quickly left the room.

Jackson then turned back to the group. "For now, let’s discuss the trade package the Suns are offering."

Everyone sighed and nodded one by one.

Kupchek rubbed his temples, trying to clear his head. "We can’t say the Suns are offering this in good faith," he said. "They have their own agenda."

Jackson nodded in agreement.

Take Olajuwon’s age. He stayed in great shape with the Suns last season, but who knows what he’ll look like next season once he’s away from the Suns—and away from Chen Yu.

And on top of that, he’s still got a two-year, $12 million contract.

It was the same story with Gugliotta. After treatment from Chen Yu, his performance saw a resurgence last season, and he played well in the playoffs. But he had the same problem: his contract was too big and had several years left on it.

Even Teylon Hill was in a similar boat. His $6.6 million contract for next year was nothing to scoff at either.

Of course, like Gugliotta, he had suffered a major torn meniscus injury and had been treated by Chen Yu. He’d been healthy ever since his return last season. While his offensive game was gone, he was still a solid blue-collar defender.

So, as Jackson saw it, the Suns were basically using this opportunity to dump all their unwanted contracts on the Lakers.

But those players were just salary filler to make the trade work. The real prize was the number one pick.

A number one pick is worth an All-Star player.

To expect the Suns to give up the number one pick *and* a bunch of players in their prime on good contracts would be pure fantasy.

Just then, another assistant coach, Frank Hambledon, spoke up. "Actually, getting Hakeem wouldn’t be so bad. He could mentor Yao and help him develop more quickly."

The NBA’s official player comparison for Yao Ming was Rick Smits, the second overall pick from ’88.

However, many in the media believed that Yao Ming and Olajuwon had many similarities.

So, trading for Olajuwon, regardless of what kind of shape he was in, would be a decent option. A veteran mentoring a rookie, guiding Yao Ming, was an attractive prospect.

Kupchek nodded thoughtfully, but was then startled by his own train of thought. ’We’re already discussing what happens after the trade. Doesn’t that mean we’ve implicitly agreed to it?’

"Phil, since the Suns are forcing our hand, why don’t we give Shaq an ultimatum of our own? We’ll tell him straight up: if he wants to stay with the Lakers, things go on as usual. If not, we’re trading him."

As he said this, Kupchek felt a surge of irritation. The whole O’Neal affair had given him more than a few gray hairs these past few days.

’If that hot-headed kid Brian can pressure me, why can’t I put some pressure on O’Neal?’

Jackson thought for a moment, nodded, and then said, "Let’s wait for Jim to come back."

Not long after, Little Bass returned and shook his head at everyone. "Father said he hasn’t decided yet. He wants you guys to discuss and come to a conclusion first, then he will make a decision."

Jackson wore an "I knew this would happen" expression. He nodded at Kupchek, signaling for him to call Perry Rogers now.

By the time the call came, O’Neal had already settled in at Chen Yu’s clinic.

The place was beautiful, complete with a huge entertainment center with every facility imaginable. He could sunbathe, take a dip in the rehab center’s pool, get a jolt in the cryotherapy chamber, and even discuss business investments with Jordan. He’d listen to Jordan brag about his grand ambition to become a team owner after retirement. Life was incredibly comfortable.

So, O’Neal had gleefully settled in.

When he got the call from Rogers, O’Neal was playing indoor golf with Jordan.

"Is that what Mitch said?" O’Neal frowned.

’Giving me only six hours to decide whether I want to stay with the Lakers? What do they take me for? Some expendable rookie they can just toss a take-it-or-leave-it contract at?’

’I’m Big Shark O’Neal!’

Hearing the edge in O’Neal’s voice, Rogers quickly tried to smooth things over. "Shaq, those were Mitch’s words, but I think they just want a firm commitment from you before the draft. It’s going to affect their decisions on draft night."

Kupchek hadn’t told him about Brian giving the Lakers only eight hours to decide.

O’Neal huffed, still seething with irritation.

"Still about the trade?" Jordan, having just finished his swing, turned his head with a disdainful look. "Shaq, you’re the best center in the league, and look at this. Back in the day, when the Knicks wanted me, Dolan just slid a blank check my way and told me to fill in any number I wanted."

"They never had a chance of getting me, but that’s the kind of attitude I command. Because I’m the best player on the planet. Now look at you. Back in Orlando, the Magic’s management actually took out a newspaper ad asking fans if you were worth a hundred-million-dollar contract. It’s a joke."

Jordan scoffed. Same old Jordan, tearing someone else down to build himself up.

’And this whole thing... the trade rumors started after the Western Conference Finals and have dragged on all this time. What is this, a soap opera?’

Jordan’s words made O’Neal so embarrassed he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

If the person standing across from him hadn’t been Jordan, he would have decked him.

"Shaq, what are you thinking?" On the phone, Rogers was still pressing.

O’Neal covered the mouthpiece and said to Jordan, "Michael, you play on. I need to take this."

Jordan waved his hand impatiently.

O’Neal walked away, his face a mask of frustration. The anger and resentment in his heart crashed over him in wave after wave.

Jordan’s seemingly casual words had struck a raw nerve with O’Neal.

That incident with the Magic’s management taking out an ad to ask fans if he was worth a hundred-million-dollar contract was a particularly deep and bitter humiliation.

And now, the Lakers were making the same mistake.

’Why can’t those bastards use their heads for a second? Who brought you a back-to-back championship? Who made the Lakers a powerhouse again? It was me! Not that hot-headed kid!’

’It’s just like when the Magic insulted me with that disgraceful contract offer. Why can’t you people just show me some respect?’

All this time, O’Neal had been thinking one thing: if only the Lakers’ management had publicly and unequivocally backed him after the conflict with Kobe, if they had just told the world that he was, and always would be, the leader of the Lakers, he never would have even considered leaving.

As he was thinking, a figure suddenly appeared at the entrance of the entertainment center in the distance. The person spotted him and waved in his direction.

O’Neal did a double take. The newcomer was none other than Hardaway.

"I’ll call you back."

After a moment’s thought, O’Neal hung up and walked over to greet him.