On a humid North Carolina night in July 1993, James Jordan pulled his red Lexus to the side of Highway 74. He was tired, returning from a funeral, and the road home stretched endlessly through the darkness. He rolled down the window, letting in the chorus of crickets, and fingered the Bulls championship ring his son Michael had given him. “You earned this as much as I did,” Michael had said. James smiled, remembering that moment, then closed his eyes for a brief rest.
He never made it home.
Three days before, James had been in Chicago, watching his son lead the Bulls to their third straight championship. In the locker room, amid champagne and celebration, Michael had hugged his father. “We did it again, Pops.” James had always been there, from backyard hoops to NBA glory. He was Michael’s anchor, his hero.
But that night on Highway 74, as James drifted into sleep, two young men drove past. The red Lexus caught their eye. They pulled over, whispering about the car, about the cash they might find. James, exhausted, didn’t stir.
In Chicago, Michael was restless. He thought about calling his father but decided to wait until their golf game the next day. He wanted to talk about the future, about maybe leaving basketball to pursue baseball—a dream he and his father had shared. But the call never came.
The next morning, James’s Lexus was gone. Only a Bulls cap and a scrap of paper remained on the roadside. For days, the Jordan family waited, hoping for news. Michael called home constantly. His mother, Dolores, tried to stay calm, but worry crept into her voice. “He wouldn’t miss a golf date with you,” she said. “Not without calling.”
When the police finally got involved, the search was slow. James was a grown man, after all, and adults sometimes disappeared for a while. But Michael knew his father. “He’s never been unreliable,” he insisted. “He’s the most dependable man I know.” The family’s press conference brought national attention. The world’s greatest athlete, suddenly just a son searching for his dad.
Two weeks after James vanished, a fisherman found a body in Gum Swamp Creek, South Carolina. The heat and water had done their work, but a gold watch and a Bulls ring clung to the wrist. Dental records confirmed it: James Jordan was dead.
The news shattered Michael. He retreated from the world, grieving in private. At the funeral, surrounded by teammates, coaches, and rivals, he spoke through tears: “People always ask who my hero is. It was him. It was always him.” The world mourned with him.
Police soon arrested two teenagers, Daniel Green and Larry Demery. They’d been found with James’s possessions—his ring, his watch—and a video showed Green dancing with the stolen items. Demery confessed, blaming Green for the shooting. The official story was simple: a random carjacking gone wrong.
But even as the case closed, questions lingered. Why had James pulled over on such a lonely stretch of road? Why were there inconsistencies in the blood evidence and the timeline? Why had the coroner’s report been changed to match the prosecution’s version of events?
Michael tried to move forward. The grief was overwhelming. Without his father, basketball lost its joy. He stunned the world by retiring at age 30, chasing a baseball dream in honor of James. But the questions about that night haunted him.
Years passed. Michael returned to basketball, winning more championships, but every victory was tinged with loss. He pointed to the sky after big moments, a silent tribute to his father. Yet, beneath the triumphs, doubts gnawed at him. The randomness of the crime, the details that didn’t fit—it never sat right.
Twenty-five years later, a journalist named Tanner Reed began digging into the case. He found troubling inconsistencies: blood patterns in the car that suggested James hadn’t been shot there, a bullet that didn’t match the alleged murder weapon, and financial records showing James had made large unexplained cash deposits before his death. There were also rumors—never proven—that James had been meeting someone the night he died, perhaps to resolve issues related to Michael’s own gambling controversies.
A witness from a gas station remembered seeing James with a white man in a business suit, arguing before they drove off together. Phone records confirmed a call to a sports management company with gambling ties. The deeper Reed dug, the more it seemed the official story had been crafted for convenience, not truth.
Michael, confronted with the new evidence, reached out to Marcus Williams, the detective who had always questioned the case’s neatness. Together, they reviewed bank statements, phone records, and the missing personal items—James’s briefcase, his address book—that had never been recovered. Was it possible James had been targeted, not for his car, but for what he knew or carried?
Interviews with the convicted men revealed more. Demery, dying of cancer, recanted parts of his testimony, hinting at a third man—a fixer with NBA connections—who had orchestrated the crime and forced the teenagers to help cover it up. Green, too, described a man in a suit who had taken a briefcase from James’s car and ordered them to make the scene look like a robbery.
The revelations were devastating. Michael’s father, always trying to protect his son, may have gotten involved with dangerous people. The “random” murder might have been a warning, or a silencing, connected to secrets Michael never fully understood.
In the end, Michael chose to pursue the truth, no matter the cost. He worked with Reed and Williams to bring the new evidence to light, risking his own reputation and the legacy of the game he loved. The scandal rocked the sports world, but Michael knew his father would have wanted the truth, no matter how painful.
Standing at his father’s grave, Michael placed the championship ring—finally recovered—beside the headstone. “We found the truth, Pops,” he whispered. “You taught me to fight for what’s right, no matter how hard. This is for you.”
Some questions are better left unanswered. But for Michael Jordan, and for James, the truth was worth any price.
N.C. judge argues for release of man convicted in murder of Michael Jordan’s father
The judge who presided over the case petitioned for the release of Daniel Green, who was sentenced to life in prison for the fatal shooting of James Jordan in 1993.
Michael Jordan with his father, James, in Phoenix, on June 20, 1993.Andrew D. Bernstein / NBAE via Getty Images file
The North Carolina judge who presided over the 1996 murder trial over the killing Michael Jordan’s father petitioned the state’s parole commission to release one of the men convicted in the case.
Retired Judge Gregory Weeks on Tuesday called for the release of Daniel Green, who was sentenced to life in prison for the fatal shooting of James Jordan, a North Carolina Department of Corrections communication officer confirmed. Green and his co-defendant, Larry Demery, were convicted of killing the basketball legend’s father on July 23, 1993, during a botched robbery. Both were 18 years old at the time of the murder.
Details about Weeks’ petition were not available as parole commission hearings in North Carolina are confidential and not open to the public. Weeks and Michael Jordan did not return requests for comment.
Prior to the murder in 1993, James Jordan was sleeping in his red Lexus along a North Carolina highway when he was shot. The car was gifted to him by his son, who at the time had led the Chicago Bulls to the first three of his six NBA titles.
His body was found in a South Carolina swamp days after the killing and was identified through dental records.
Green was found guilty of murder during the commission of a robbery and conspiracy to commit robbery, according to The Associated Press. Demery testified that Green pulled the trigger and killed James Jordan. Demery pleaded guilty to first-degree murder, armed robbery and conspiracy to commit robbery, and like Green, received a life sentence.
Green has always said he did not kill James Jordan but admitted to helping dispose of the body.
