That afternoon, Zhao Dong and Lindsay were headed out to catch a horse race.
In the U.S., horse racing was more than just a sport—it was a cultural event, even more popular in certain circles than NBA games. It wasn't uncommon for the rich and famous to own their own stables, with thoroughbreds worth millions.
This particular race was a big one: the Belmont Stakes, one leg of the famed Triple Crown series. The Triple Crown had three stops—the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness Stakes, and finally, the Belmont Stakes held at Belmont Park in Long Island, New York. Belmont Park was considered the most luxurious racecourse in both America and the world.
The Belmont Stakes was a Grade 1 thoroughbred championship. The winner would be draped in a blanket of carnations, giving the event its nickname—the "Carnation Race."
The race had its own traditions, too. Men wore light-colored suits, while women flaunted elegant dresses and extravagant hats. Cameras would be flashing non-stop, capturing the most eye-catching, stylish, and unique looks.
Lindsay had arranged everything well in advance. She'd had a custom suit tailored for Zhao Dong, while her own dress and hat were specially designed by her personal stylist just for the event.
Even their housekeeper, Ms. Abel, had been busy preparing for days. She handled security, travel plans, food, and wardrobe for over twenty people in their entourage. Everything had to be perfect.
Ms. Abel wasn't just any housekeeper—she was a top-tier professional, personally sent over from Europe by Mrs. Dolores earlier that year. Her standards were sky-high. From appearance and manners to how the staff spoke and even their literary knowledge, she demanded the best. She even held regular training sessions for the household staff.
In just over two months, she had already replaced most of the previous workers with more competent hires.
When Zhao Dong first heard she required the servants to have "literary accomplishment," he had almost thought she was recruiting scholars from the Faculty of Arts instead of housekeepers.
The Belmont Stakes was an all-day event, featuring 13 races with different sponsors. The main event—the championship—would begin at 6 PM.
By the time Zhao Dong and Lindsay arrived at the Belmont Racecourse, it was already 4 PM and the tenth race was underway.
Click, click, click…
As soon as they showed up, a swarm of media turned toward them like bees to honey. Shutter clicks echoed like a wave, cameras flashing nonstop.
"Damn, even the servants are dressed like nobility. That girl Lindsay must come from a noble family, huh?"
"Nah, there ain't no noble family named Lindsay. Maybe she's some rich noble's illegitimate kid? Those are pretty common in European circles."
"So what? Illegitimate or not, she's a freakin' Wall Street giant now. How many nobles even got her kinda money?"
Around them, voices buzzed with envy, admiration, and whispers of gossip.
"Honey," Lindsay said, leaning in, "the last race is sponsored by Zhao Dong Sports."
"Oh yeah? Do we have our own horses racing?"
"The stables are built, but we haven't got the horses yet," she giggled. "I've already got someone handpicking the best purebred racers for us."
As they walked along the track, people in front naturally stepped aside, creating a path. Men tipped their chests in greeting to Lindsay, while some women even gave slight curtsies. Lindsay nodded back gracefully.
"Mrs. Lindsay! Mr. Zhao!"
A familiar voice called out. Zhao Dong turned to see James Dolan approaching with a smile.
Not long after, more familiar faces joined them—Wall Street elites, all from the finance world. Not a single industrialist in sight. People in the real economy rarely showed up at such events; this wasn't their circle. They didn't dare mingle too closely with financial bigwigs, fearing they'd get swallowed whole.
Birds of a feather flock together, Zhao Dong thought, chuckling to himself.
"Miss Lindsay, Mr. Zhao," James Dolan said with a friendly nod, "you two into horse racing?"
"We're building our own horse farm," Zhao Dong replied with a smile.
"I heard one of the horses today already won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes. It might just grab the Triple Crown title."
"Oh? Is that so?" Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow.
That got everyone's attention.
Winning the Triple Crown was an insane feat—only purebred racehorses under three years old were allowed to participate. And to win all three races within a few months? Nearly impossible. In over a hundred years, only eight horses in the U.S. had done it.
Both raw talent and absurd luck were required.
"Babe," Lindsay leaned closer with a smirk, "you wanna place a bet?"
Zhao Dong laughed. "What kind of bets can we place?"
"There's tons—sole winner, top three, placing bets… all sorts of stuff," Lindsay explained, clearly enjoying herself.
"I'll just go for the champion," Zhao Dong said casually.
"How about we go all-in on the horse aiming for the Triple Crown?" she teased.
"Nah, I bet that horse won't win. The odds of hitting a Triple Crown are too low," Zhao Dong replied with a grin. "Not worth it."
"Yeah, and everyone's gonna be betting on that horse today anyway. The payout'll be trash, maybe a few cents if you win," Lindsay agreed, chuckling.
"A few cents? Forget it. Might as well not bet at all," Zhao Dong said, shaking his head.
"Then let's throw our money on an underdog!" Lindsay said excitedly.
"I'm down," Zhao Dong nodded.
The two of them leaned in and started discussing which longshot horse to bet on, ready to enjoy the thrill of a risky gamble.
With the kind of money they had, they could've easily gone all-in and cast a wide net on the racetrack. But Lindsay, being a sharp Wall Street tycoon, wasn't the type to play recklessly. Instead, she had someone gather all the data on the participating horses and dove deep into analyzing each one.
"Wife, why'd you choose that one?" Zhao Dong asked with curiosity, watching her stare at the data for twenty minutes before finally picking horse number 23.
"This one's in good condition and didn't race in the last round at Prenix. It placed third in the Kentucky race," Lindsay replied with a confident smile. "Based on my calculations, it has the highest probability of winning this time."
Zhao Dong nodded. "Makes sense. Winning is all about playing the odds."
They each placed 100 bets, five bucks a pop, all on horse No. 23.
"Jordan, you better haul ass. Time to make us some money," Zhao Dong muttered under his breath, eyeing the dark bay racehorse behind the fence.
Lindsay let out a chuckle. "Pfft."
BOOM—
The race began. The gate burst open and more than a dozen horses thundered onto the track. The crowd roared from both sides, the energy electric.
Meanwhile, in Chicago, Michael Jordan and his agent David Falk were sitting across from Nike's new Vice President, Weeks.
"This my new signature shoe?" Jordan held the sneaker up, surprised by its sleek new design.
"Yup, Michael. It's built with the Silver Demon tech. These are dropping next season and outperform everything you've had before," Weeks said, flashing a proud grin.
Falk leaned in. "Mr. Weeks, is Nike merging with Zhao Dong Sports?"
Weeks shook his head. "Nope. Lindsay's made the final call—Nike's staying intact. Zhao Dong Sports won't be breaking it up anymore."
"What?" Falk blurted, stunned.
He felt like someone had just slapped him across the face with a brick. For months, Storm Fund was hinting at splitting Nike up and had already dumped several of its assets. Because of that, he'd sold his Nike shares at a bargain price to minimize loss. And now they were saying Nike wouldn't be broken up? That meant he'd taken a huge loss for nothing.
Jordan was caught off guard too. Just like Falk, he'd sold off his Nike shares—but unlike Falk, he was feeling hopeful now. If Nike wasn't being dismantled, his brand line under Nike could still flourish.
"Then how the hell does my shoe have Silver Demon tech?" Jordan asked, narrowing his eyes.
Weeks laughed. "That's still under wraps for now. Top secret."
"Secret?"
"Zhao Dong Sports is acquiring a stake in Nike by using Silver Demon's tech as equity."
"What?!"
Both Jordan and Falk were dumbfounded.
This was incredible news for Jordan. But Falk? He was straight-up sick to his stomach. He knew once the public got wind of this—along with the news that Nike wasn't being split—Nike stock would skyrocket. The shares he sold off cheap? Yeah, no way in hell he's getting those back now.
Falk forced a smile. "So… when's this going public?"
"Before the market opens tomorrow," Weeks replied coolly.
"Of course it is…" Falk muttered bitterly.
He could already see it coming—when the bell rang tomorrow, the market would explode with buy orders, and Nike stock would go through the roof.
"LET'S GO!"
"We actually won?!"
Back at Belmont Park on Long Island, Zhao Dong and Lindsay were high-fiving like mad. Horse No. 23 crossed the finish line first, and their gamble had paid off.
"How much are we taking home?" Zhao Dong asked excitedly.
Lindsay glanced at the group of Wall Street suits lingering nearby and smirked. "Not that much. Each bet couldn't exceed ten bucks."
Zhao Dong blinked. "Huh? That's it?"
"Because they followed our lead and placed bets too. It diluted our returns."
She pointed discreetly at the people around them. "These guys are technically Storm Fund's satellite capital. And now, they're also our ammunition."
---
The Next Morning – 8:30 AM, Domestic Time
A bombshell press conference was held—Storm Fund, Zhao Dong Sports, and Nike all appeared together in a rare joint announcement.
First, Storm Fund publicly confirmed that Nike would not be split up.
Second, the trio announced a major financial move: Nike would issue 250 million new shares in a targeted capital increase and Zhao Dong Sports would be the sole subscriber.
The deal was structured so Zhao Dong Sports would contribute both patented tech and cash: 631 Silver Demon-related patents valued at $3.75 billion, plus another $500 million in cash—totaling $4.25 billion for 250 million shares.
Nike previously had 366 million shares. After the issuance, it'd total 616 million. That meant Zhao Dong Sports would own 40.58% of Nike—just enough to become its largest shareholder, but not a complete owner.
At Nike's closing price of $20.50, the company's market value was about $7.5 billion. But Zhao Dong Sports' buy-in was well above market price—a major vote of confidence.
It was a double whammy of good news for the market. First, Nike wouldn't be disbanded. That alone stabilized investor confidence. Second, the Silver Demon tech would power Nike back into the sneaker game, likely putting it on the comeback trail.
As for whether those 600+ patents were actually worth over $3 billion? That was up to Storm Fund and Zhao Dong Sports. Both buyer and seller were on the same team—it was like transferring money from one pocket to another. As long as they claimed it was worth it, that's all that mattered.
Of course, the true test would come down to how the market reacted.
---
9:30 AM – U.S. Market Opens
Nike didn't open immediately due to the new share issuance—it was temporarily halted. The market waited in anticipation.
---
11:30 AM – Nike Reopens
Lindsay sat in her Beijing office, eyes locked on her screen, watching Nike's chart with a calm smile.
This move was going to pay off.
With Silver Demon technology already securing 30% of the North American basketball shoe market, Zhao Dong Sports had been crushing industry giants like Nike and Adidas, sending their stocks into a tailspin.
Now? Nike was back in the game, armed with Silver Demon. Even if they didn't regain the crown, they'd hold onto their turf—and that meant money.
Even without the latest breaking news, the mere announcement that Zhao Dong would no longer be splitting from Nike was enough to send the market into a frenzy.
Sure enough, the moment the U.S. market opened, a wave of massive buy orders flooded in, pushing Nike's stock price straight to the sky.
Of course, the driving force behind this surge was none other than Zhao Dong's Storm Fund.
Unlike the Chinese stock market, the U.S. market doesn't take a lunch break and closes at 4 p.m. sharp. By the end of the trading day, Nike closed at $48.8, with an intraday peak hitting $52.5. There was a slight pullback during late trading, the only dip all day.
Nike had recently expanded to 250 million shares. Yet, despite the ex-rights adjustment, its stock didn't fall—hell, it doubled and more. From a $7.5 billion market cap just the day before, it exploded to $30 billion in a single session—a fourfold increase.
"Success."
Lindsay whispered to herself, her tone filled with satisfaction.
With Zhao Dong's moves in the secondary market, he now owned 45% of Nike. When combined with the shares controlled by Storm Fund, that gave him 80% control of the company—total domination. He could now manipulate Nike's stock price however he pleased.
The entire plan—from acquiring the Knight family's shares to the bulk buy-ins—used $6 billion from the Storm Fund, $500 million from Zhao Dong himself, plus hundreds of patented technologies. That landed them 24 billion shares in Nike. The profit margins? Off the charts.
As long as Zhao Dong didn't let go of Nike, those patents stayed in the vault. Now, his only job was to turn Nike into his personal cash cow.
Next step? Storm Fund and Zhao Dong would gradually offload some shares to recoup their investments. When that's done, the entire acquisition would've cost them just those patented technologies. Everything else was pure gain.
This win meant a lot for the Storm Fund. The impressive returns would skyrocket Lindsay's reputation on Wall Street.
As for business strategy, Zhao Dong had it all figured out—playing both inside and outside lines.
Given Western countries' xenophobia, Nike would focus on overseas operations, mainly targeting the mid-to-high-end market. Meanwhile, Zhao Dong's own brand would handle the Chinese, Asian, and Third World markets, with a focus on mid- to low-end consumers.
That night, the Knicks hosted the Cavaliers and secured another solid win.
The packed schedule didn't let up. Injuries were piling up fast—over 110 players across the league had gone down already. The long shutdown had taken a toll, and the NBA was feeling the pain.
"This is straight-up trash…"
On the 5th, during a game against the Heat, Karl Malone—the Mailman himself—went down with a knee injury. He was out for a week.
Talking to the media afterward, he didn't hold back:
"I ain't tryin' to play a season like this again. For real."
Across the league, just about everyone—from stars to key subs—was fed up. Nobody liked the aftereffects of the shutdown.
Well… except for one guy.
Zhao Dong.
He didn't seem to feel the pain from the brutal schedule. That freak of nature had unreal physical fitness. As the season wore on and others faded, he only seemed to grow stronger.
While legends like Jordan, Duncan, and Karl Malone were managing minutes or sitting out to recover, Zhao Dong was still logging heavy minutes and dropping big numbers game after game. He was the league's biggest highlight, hands down.
That unstoppable energy had people finally accepting it—Zhao Dong might really be the best active player in the league.
---
8:00 p.m. — April 30.
Zhao Dong switched out his SIM card and made a call back to China.
It was early morning there—Labor Day.
His father, Zhao Zhenguo, was on duty at his office. As the head of the municipal bureau, holiday or not, he had to be present.
Three phones sat on his desk. The red one suddenly rang, its sharp tone cutting through the quiet room. His expression tensed immediately, and he picked up fast.
"This is Zhao Zhenguo."
"Dad, it's me."
The old man froze for half a second, then scolded, "Zhao Dong, are you nuts? Why the hell are you calling this number?"
"Didn't you give me this number for emergencies?" Zhao Dong replied, not backing down.
"Hmph…"
Zhao Zhenguo snapped back to form. His tone grew serious.
"What's going on? If this isn't important, you better not come home. I'll beat your ass myself."
"Comrade Zhao Zhenguo, can you quit with the tough guy act and just listen up? I've got something big. Real important."
"Speak."
Zhao Dong lowered his voice, dead serious now.
"I got word from a private source… the embassy in the South got bombed."
The moment the words landed, sweat beaded on Zhao Zhenguo's forehead.
He stayed quiet until Zhao Dong finished, then asked sharply, "You sure? You better not be spouting bullshit, or I swear—don't even think about coming back. I'll arrest you myself."
"I can't reveal my source. Let's just say I picked it up through Wall Street channels, people I meet via Storm Fund. I'm not 100% certain it's confirmed. You guys will have to judge that yourselves."
"Alright. I'll handle it. You just stay safe out there."
Zhao Zhenguo hung up fast. Click.
Zhao Dong exhaled deeply, removed the SIM card, snapped it in half, and flushed the pieces down the toilet.
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