Chapter Four: The Seven-Million-Dollar Reserve

On Monday morning, thirty-seven pairs of shoes surrounded Lin's locker. They were brand samples. The team that had nearly cut him yesterday had assigned him a private interview room, a publicist, and a four-year, twenty-eight-million-dollar extension. “Seven million to sign,” his agent, Joel, said, pushing over a pen. “One game bought you seven million.” Lin stopped at page nineteen. The player agreed to all designated neurological monitoring, with medical data available to the club and unnamed partner institutions. “Delete this.” The general manager's smile thinned. “Standard language.” “Standard contracts name the people receiving my brain scans.”