Sitting in the car, Steve Kerr looked around restlessly, bored out of his mind. He glanced over and saw Jerry West leaning back in his seat, eyes closed, resting.
"Jerry, why do you think Durant's team suddenly pushed things back?"
"You asking me?" West replied without even opening his eyes.
"Go knock on their door and ask them yourself. Why are you asking me? How would I know?"
Shut down like that, Kerr closed his mouth, sulking.
"But whatever the reason, it's not good for us," West added unexpectedly.
That instantly reignited Kerr's curiosity.
"Why do you say that?"
West slowly opened his eyes. Beneath their cloudy surface gleamed unmistakable sharpness.
"Normally, Durant's team would listen to everyone's offers first, then discuss their options tonight. The next day, they'd give us time to sweeten the deal."
"But a sudden delay like this usually means only one thing."
West straightened up in his seat.
"It means something came up—something Durant's team can't resolve right away or decided to postpone until later."
"And whatever it is, it's not in our favor. Do you know who went in before us?"
"Who else could it be? It's just Chen—"
Kerr stopped mid-sentence.
"Our little Hyena must be cooking up another surprise for us," West muttered, reclining again.
"Well, since we're already here, we might as well stay calm. Your junior's been stirring things up for a while now. We'll just stick to our plan."
West had no idea that Chen Yilun had already dug a trap for them—just waiting for them to fall in.
If he had known, the old man would've probably jumped out of the car and gone to strangle Chen Yilun himself.
A short while later, Durant's team notified the Warriors that they could come in.
"Alright, everyone, stay sharp!"
The old man cracked his neck and was the first to open the car door.
The familiar scene unfolded again—Jerry West leading the Warriors' delegation as they marched toward Durant's mansion.
...
"Boss, West and his people are heading over," the driver of a nearby car said, noticing the movement and quickly alerting the passenger behind him.
Phil Jackson slowly opened his eyes.
Sunlight reflected off his graying beard, giving it a silvery glow. He glanced at his watch, then closed his eyes again.
"If Jerry's not out in half an hour, tell them we'll pick it up tomorrow."
"Got it!"
The driver nodded but couldn't help asking curiously, "Boss, we've waited so long already. Why go back now?"
"That's called strategy," the Zen Master said with a Colonel Sanders-like smile.
"Durant's already entertained several groups today—Pat Riley, Danny Ainge, Jerry West, and that sly fox, Chen Yilun."
"Tell me, which one of those guys is easy to deal with? They're all sharp as knives, full of tricks. And they all have one thing in common."
At this point, Jackson seemed to get into it himself.
"Their teams are the kind that could take off the moment a superstar joins them."
"So they'll all be pitching dreams about team development, championships, future glory—stuff like that. I bet Durant's head is spinning by now. He's probably tuning it all out."
"And we can't offer any of that."
The Zen Master spread his hands helplessly.
The current Knicks had nothing but money.
They had New York's massive market and piles of cash burning holes in their pockets.
For players chasing paychecks rather than glory, it was paradise.
But for someone like Durant, who still wanted to win, it was hardly tempting.
Forget about whether Durant and Carmelo Anthony could coexist—the Knicks' current roster was such a mess that even Michael Jordan couldn't save it.
"All we've got going for us is a big market and big salaries," Jackson said. "So we'll wait. Let them tire themselves out tonight, then make our move."
"All those fancy promises the others are making? They can't beat cold, hard cash."
What Jackson was really betting on was this—after hearing everyone else's grand speeches, Durant would feel unimpressed. Then, when he dropped a solid offer with a massive contract on the table, he might just have a shot.
Today's visit was all about appearances—to show sincerity. Whether or not they actually met Durant wasn't that important.
"Genius move, boss!" said one of the Knicks staffers, flattering him.
"Ah, keep it low-key," Jackson said, clearly pleased. "Just lessons from years of trial and error, that's all."
...
Meanwhile, inside Durant's mansion, Jerry West's expression was growing darker by the minute.
Just moments ago, Steve Kerr had been passionately describing the bright future awaiting Durant if he joined the Warriors.
But West could tell immediately—Durant wasn't listening. It was like he was just sitting there out of obligation.
That's not right, West thought.
On the phone before, Durant had sounded genuinely interested in joining Curry in Golden State.
So how could his attitude flip completely overnight?
It was as if someone had hit the reset button on his mind.
As West racked his brain, a sharp, familiar Asian face flashed through his thoughts.
Chen Yilun.
Putting it together with the sudden delay in the meeting earlier, everything clicked at once.
That little punk—it has to be him! He must've said something to Durant!
West looked up, and his eyes met those of Durant's agent, Rich Kleiman.
Rich gave him a helpless smile.
As the biggest advocate for Durant joining the Warriors, Rich and West had been in frequent contact.
That single look confirmed West's suspicion.
He clenched his jaw, seething.
No wonder they say rivals make the worst enemies. He'd shown Chen Yilun nothing but respect, even tried recruiting him before.
But not only did the kid refuse—he turned around and stabbed him in the back!
...
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