Chapter 74: An Opportunity

Squeak.

Shaq had planted himself on the left block, one hand up for the entry pass, while Eddie Jones waited on the weak side and Nick Van Exel walked the ball across the top.

Kobe watched Nick’s shoulders.

The play hadn’t developed yet, but he already knew where it was going. Shaq was working too hard for position for the entry to be the end of the action, and Eddie had shifted his weight toward the baseline before Nick even looked inside. The skip was coming. Kobe had seen variations of the same action thousands of times.

Nick fed Shaq.

Kobe waited.

Shaq caught the ball, felt Elden Campbell behind him, then turned his head toward the middle. Eddie started sliding toward the corner. Kobe took one step toward the paint as if he were going to dig, then changed direction before Shaq released the ball.

The pass came exactly where he expected.

Kobe got his right hand on it and knocked it loose.

Eddie recovered before Kobe could take it the other way, but the possession was broken. Fisher closed toward Nick, Elden stayed attached to Shaq, and Eddie had to pull the ball out instead of shooting. A few seconds later, Nick forced a jumper over Fisher that caught the back rim.

Del Harris blew the whistle.

“Hold it.”

Kobe turned toward him.

Del walked onto the floor and pointed toward the weak side. “That was a good fake-in and steal.”

“Yeah. Eddie moved way too early.”

Nick frowned. “Why am I catching strays?”

A couple of players laughed. Kobe glanced at him. “Your shoulders gave it away too.”

“Man, now my shoulders are snitching?”

Shaq laughed loud enough for everyone in the gym to hear.

Del let them have it for a second before pointing toward Kobe again. “The read was right. The timing wasn’t.”

Kobe’s attention returned to him.

“You left before Shaq committed to the pass,” Del said. “You get the deflection this time, everybody cheers. Next time Shaq sees you go, keeps it and turns middle. Or Eddie goes backdoor and now somebody else is cleaning up your gamble.”

Kobe looked toward the space he’d left.

Del wasn’t teaching him how to play weak-side defense. Kobe understood exactly why he’d gone. In another life, with teammates who had spent years learning his habits and defenses built around what he could anticipate, he would have trusted the read.

These Lakers didn’t have that history with him.

“You want me to make the read inside the coverage,” Kobe said.

Del nodded. “Exactly. I don’t care if you’re right if the other four guys don’t know what you’re doing.”

That was fair.

Kobe tossed the ball back toward Nick. “Run it again.”

Nick caught it. “See, this is why nobody likes rookies. Now we all gotta do extra work.”

“You missed the shot anyway.”

Nick stared at him for half a second before smiling.

Shaq slapped his hands together on the block. “Run the damn play.”

Nick entered the ball to Shaq again. Eddie started toward the corner, and Kobe recognized the skip just as early as before. This time he held his position for another beat. He showed toward Shaq without surrendering the passing lane behind him, waited until Shaq committed, then snapped back toward Eddie.

Shaq saw Kobe recovering and kept the ball.

The hesitation changed everything. Elden forced him farther from the middle than he wanted, Fisher shaded down from the top, and Shaq kicked the ball back outside. The possession ended with Nick taking a contested jumper as the shot clock wound down.

Del pointed at Kobe while the rebound bounced away. “That’s it. You still see it. Just don’t make everybody else guess.”

Kobe nodded and turned upcourt.

Shaq fell into step beside him. “Coach tells him one thing and now he thinks he’s Gary Payton.”

“Keep throwing that weak ass pass.”

The next possession was already starting before Shaq finished laughing.

They scrimmaged for another half hour. Kobe didn’t struggle with the speed of the game or the decisions hidden inside it. If anything, the problem sometimes ran in the opposite direction. He could see actions developing before they were supposed to become obvious. He recognized counters some teams hadn’t started using yet and habits players themselves probably hadn’t realized they’d developed.

But knowing basketball wasn’t the same thing as knowing this team.

He remembered Shaq as a teammate, an opponent, a champion, a rival and eventually something close to family again. The Shaq standing in front of him now was twenty-four years old and had barely begun his Lakers career. The same with Nick, Eddie, Elden, and Fisher.

His memories couldn’t manufacture trust.

That had to be built possession by possession.

By the time Del ended practice, Kobe’s shirt was soaked through. Shaq was already near the scorer’s table talking loudly enough for half the gym to hear him, while Nick wandered past Kobe with a towel hanging around his neck.

Most of the team headed toward the locker room while he started his usual work. Ten free throws became another ten. Then he moved to the elbows, working both sides before stepping farther out. Catch, turn, rise. One dribble left. One right. Shot fake, step-through. Nothing complicated. Just repetitions.

He noticed Rob sometime during the second set.

His agent was standing near the tunnel with his tie loosened and a folder tucked beneath one arm. He wasn’t talking to anyone or trying to get Kobe’s attention. He simply waited.

Kobe saw him and kept shooting.

Rob had been around long enough to know better than to interrupt.

A few minutes later Kobe hit his last jumper, retrieved the rebound and returned the ball to the rack. He grabbed his towel and headed toward the tunnel, wiping his face as Rob pushed himself away from the wall.

Kobe’s eyes dropped to the folder beneath his arm. Rob noticed and smiled.

“Practice go well?”

“You didn’t drive over here to ask me about practice.”

“Not really.”

“Is it about the movie?”

Rob lifted the folder slightly. “You told me to make calls.”

That got Kobe’s full attention.

The transition from the court to everything else happened without ceremony. Kobe headed toward the training room, and Rob followed. They passed two equipment guys pushing a laundry cart in the opposite direction before Kobe stepped through the door and started peeling off his practice gear.

“Cold tub,” Kobe said.

“I was hoping for somewhere with chairs.”

Kobe smiled as he lowered himself into the water. The cold seized his legs immediately, forcing a breath through his teeth. Rob dragged a chair closer and sat with the folder across his lap.

“You asked me three things,” Rob said. “Who’s financing the movie, who owns what, and whether they’re looking for more money.”

Kobe reached for the bottle beside the tub. “What’d you find?”

“Enough to know it’s not in my wheelhouse.”

Rob opened the folder. “First, I don’t have contracts. I don’t have Fox’s books. Most of what I have is people talking to people who know people, so don’t treat any of this like it’s been verified or 100%.”

“That’s fine.”

“Fox and Paramount are both involved. From what I can piece together, Paramount has limits on how much additional money it’s expected to contribute, and Fox is carrying more of the pressure as the production gets more expensive.”

“How much more expensive?”

“Depends who you ask. Everybody agrees they’re beyond where they expected to be. Nobody agrees where or when this movie is going to wrap up.”

Kobe took a sip of his water.

That didn’t surprise him. He remembered how big the Titanic became, not the accounting or what went into it. The finished movie existed clearly enough in his memory: Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet, the ship against the night sky, the music that seemed to play everywhere, and theaters staying full long after most movies would have disappeared.

He remembered the phenomenon.

Rob flipped to another page. “This is the part I thought you’d care about. I’ve now heard from two different people that there’s money the production expected to have available that isn’t there right now.”

“How much?”

“Around three million.”

Kobe rested his arms along the edge of the tub. “Why isn’t it there?”

“I’ve heard delayed commitment, somebody getting nervous, and terms being reworked. Pick whichever rumor you like. Until somebody shows me paper, I don’t know.”

“Fox can cover three million.”

“Of course they can.” Rob looked at him. “This isn’t Fox wondering how they’re going to keep the lights on. They can write the check themselves. The question is whether they want to keep adding every new dollar directly to their own exposure.”

That made more sense.

Three million dollars wasn’t enough to rescue a studio, and Fox didn’t need rescuing. But outside capital could still be useful if the production was becoming harder to predict. It could give them flexibility without forcing them to absorb every additional dollar themselves.

“How quickly do they need it?”

Rob paused.

“What?”

“That’s the first thing you ask?”

“The timing changes what the money is worth.”

Rob looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “That’s fair. From what I’ve heard, quickly enough that somebody who can actually close has more value than somebody who needs a month to think about it.”

Kobe held out his hand for the folder.

Rob passed it across.

The pages contained more questions than answers, which was exactly what Kobe expected. There were names, rough estimates and notes from Rob’s calls, but nothing that told him where new capital would sit or what rights Fox could actually offer in return.

“Where does new money sit in the recoupment order?”

“Entertainment lawyer?”

“What does Fox control?”

“Also a lawyer.”

“What gets paid before outside financing?”

“Definitely a lawyer.”

Kobe looked over the folder. “You found me a very expensive list of questions.”

“I’ve been working hard.”

Kobe smiled and handed it back. “I guess we’ve got to find us a Hollywood lawyer.”

“Already started.”

Rob closed the folder, but Kobe wasn’t finished.

“That three million fixes the problem in front of them.”

“Assuming what I’ve heard is accurate.”

“Right. What happens after that?”

Rob leaned back. “Meaning?”

“They’re already beyond where they expected to be, and nobody you talked to knows where the final number lands. So let’s say somebody gives them the three. What happens if they need another two next month?”

“They find another two.”

“That’s where the leverage is.”

Rob watched him.

Kobe continued. “Don’t just find out what they’d give somebody for today’s three million. Find out what they’d give someone willing to stand behind the next problem too.”

Rob’s expression changed slightly. Not surprise at the concept, exactly. More recognition of where Kobe was taking it.

“A standby commitment.”

Kobe nodded. “Defined investments. Defined limits. They only get the money if the expenses qualify.”

“How high a limit?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Kobe could remember packed theaters all he wanted. It didn’t tell him how much cash he could responsibly put at risk in October 1996. His Adidas deal was worth seventy million dollars over seven years, not seventy million sitting in an account. His NBA salary had its own schedule. Taxes existed. Representation existed. So did the simple fact that money tied up in one opportunity couldn’t be used somewhere else.

Rob seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“Before you decide that number,” he said, “we’re going through what you actually have.”

“I know.”

“I mean actually. Cash available now, payment schedules, taxes, obligations, everything. The number Adidas put in the newspaper doesn’t matter if the money doesn’t arrive for three years.”

“I’m serious,” Rob said, although he was smiling now. “Three million is real money. Whatever number you eventually decide on has to be something you can actually honor if they call it.”

“Agreed.”

“And before you sign anything, your parents know what you’re doing.”

Kobe’s smile faded slightly. “They’ll know.”

“Before you sign.”

“Before I sign.”

Rob nodded, satisfied.

Kobe looked again at the folder. “I don’t want net-profit points.”

“We don’t even know what they’re offering.”

“If that’s what they offer, I don’t want them.”

Rob laughed. “All right.”

“I’m serious. I’m not putting millions into a movie for a percentage of a number the studio gets to define after the fact. I want to know where the money sits, how it comes back, and what the upside is tied to.”

“That,” Rob said, tapping the folder, “is exactly why I’m finding you an entertainment attorney.”

Rob stood and tucked the folder beneath his arm as he walked out. “Anything else you’d like me to accomplish before lunch?”

Kobe smiled as Rob disappeared into the hallway.

The training room became quiet again.

He stayed in the cold tub another few minutes, letting the ache drain from his legs while his thoughts moved between the folder Rob had carried out and the practice he’d just finished.

He knew what Titanic became. That was useful.

It wasn’t enough.

He didn’t know Fox’s contracts. He didn’t know the exact financing structure, where his money would sit, what participation could be negotiated or even whether Fox would take him seriously once they learned the person asking questions was an eighteen-year-old rookie who hadn’t played an official NBA game.

Those were problems information could solve.

There was no reason to pretend he knew what he didn’t.