At two in the morning, Jake sat alone in the hospital, finally receiving the official medical report. "It's a grade two sprain of the medial collateral ligament in CJ's left knee," the team doctor announced, holding the paperwork. "Fortunately, it's not a grade three, but it'll still take time to heal."
"How long are we looking at for recovery?" Jake asked, masking his worry.
The team doctor hesitated. "It depends on how CJ responds to treatment, but we're looking at a minimum of two months, possibly as long as four."
Jake took a steadying breath, his frustration carefully masked. "Got it. Thanks for the report. You've been up all night—go get some rest. We'll discharge CJ tomorrow and take him back to Sacramento to start rehab."
Early the next morning, Jake boarded the first flight to Sacramento. His mind was racing with ideas, but he knew the next steps wouldn't be easy. At the airport, he found Divac and Ajay waiting, looking tired and disappointed.
"Any luck?" he asked as he approached them.
"No," Divac replied with a scowl. "Every name on the list you gave me last night fell through. Teams know we're desperate, and they're jacking up the prices."
Last night, while waiting on CJ's diagnosis, Jake had compiled a list of potential trades. The Kings weren't the only team keeping tabs; league managers across the board seemed ready to take advantage of the situation. Jake scratched his head in frustration, looking at the weary Divac. "Stay calm. We can't afford to get rattled now."
"You too, Jake," Divac replied, concerned. "You're carrying a lot. Don't push yourself too hard."
Back in his apartment, Jake splashed cold water on his face, hoping to clear his mind. He sank onto the sofa, picking up the report Divac had compiled overnight. It was a disappointing read. Key options like Bledsoe and Thomas were locked in by their teams, with no chance of a trade. Jake closed the report with a groan, realizing he'd need to think outside the box. Feeling restless, he picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number.
After a few rings, the call finally connected. "Calling me at this hour? What's on your mind, little brother?" It was Kerr on the other end, his voice warm yet surprised.
"Big bro, I'm out of options," Jake said with a forced chuckle. "I'm trying to make a feast without ingredients."
Kerr laughed sympathetically. "Don't bother asking. I know you're after Livingston."
"You read my mind," Jake admitted.
"I'd love to help, but our roster's hands-off right now. We're building a dynasty, and messing with the lineup would make waves." Kerr paused. "But I can give you a lead. Have you thought about the Hawks? They're in the mood to rebuild, and they've got a promising young player who's starting to break through."
Jake's eyes lit up. He recalled that Atlanta's Schroeder had been playing well recently and that the Hawks were likely considering a rebuild. Thanking Kerr, Jake quickly ended the call and dialed Budenholzer, the Hawks' coach.
"Schroeder, huh?" Budenholzer said thoughtfully when Jake mentioned his interest. "It's not off the table, but the price—"
"Don't worry," Jake replied, cutting him off. "We're open to discussing future assets. We'll keep our current rotation, but we're willing to look at picks or other resources."
Budenholzer, sensing a fair deal, agreed with a chuckle. After wrapping up their conversation, he suggested that Jake coordinate the rest with the Hawks' GM, Wes Wilkes.
Relieved, Jake hung up, knowing he might have just secured a solid option. If they could bring Schroeder in, Booker could return to his scoring role, and LaVine wouldn't have to juggle playmaking again. Jake was cautious with LaVine; he saw huge potential in the young player and wanted to develop him properly. Moving LaVine back and forth could stymie his growth, and Jake was determined to protect his young guard.
Jake dialed Wilkes, who quickly picked up. "Yes, yes, Coach Bud mentioned your interest in Schroeder," Wilkes said respectfully. Given Budenholzer's dual role as head coach and operations president, his endorsement held weight.