I bought a prison in the United States.

On September 15, 1984, the wind outside Tulsa felt like someone was repeatedly rubbing sandpaper on your face.

Ringo Chen slapped his last handful of change on the front desk of the motel.

Fifteen dollars and thirty-seven cents.

This was only enough for a few more nights, and then he would be completely bankrupt.

"Mr. Chen."

The receptionist pushed the keys towards us, her red nail polish reflecting a glossy sheen.

"You said last time you were waiting for the money to arrive... but still no news?"

Her name is Betty, she's in her thirties, and her voice is so loud that the whole hotel can hear everything you say.

Her husband left her three years ago, leaving behind this forty-room motel with an occupancy rate of less than 25% year-round.

Lingo has been staying here for eleven days, waiting for the money to arrive every day.

"Soon."

Lin Ge took the keys, maintaining a polite smile.

This is the twenty-third day since he transmigrated to this world.

The previous one, Ringo Chen, was a Chinese businessman from Los Angeles who invested in a small electronic component assembly plant in Tulsa.

Unfortunately, it coincided with the last wave of economic recession during President Carter's term.

In just a few years, the factory went bankrupt and the partners absconded with the money.

The original body was poisoned by alcohol in a cheap bar. When the person woke up, the soul of the person had been replaced by a former small business owner who had gone bankrupt twice in 2026.

The irony of fate is that he never figured things out in either of his lives.

For a Chinese American living in America, the words "unemployment" and "bankruptcy" could send him teetering on the brink of ruin.

Although this concept was proposed in later generations, it has always existed, and it remains relevant even in this era of great economic prosperity in the United States.

So during this time, Lin Ge tossed and turned in bed.

If he can't find a way to make money soon, he won't be far from his death!

The room was on the second floor, at a corner, with the window facing the gas station.

The neon lights flickered in the twilight, alternating between red and blue, like some kind of cheap disco lighting.

He closed the door and emptied the contents of his backpack.

Two spare shirts.

I bought a well-worn copy of "How to Survive in a Small Business," the January 1982 edition, for fifty cents during a bookstore clearance sale.

And a copy of the Tulsa World, folded into quarters.

In the bottom right corner of the third page of the newspaper, there was an inconspicuous auction notice.

"McLean County Correctional Center is now up for auction due to poor management and financial deficits."

Starting bid: US$48,000.

Auction date: September 20th.

"For details, please call..."

Lingo first saw the announcement the day before he checked into the hotel.

At the time, he was just habitually looking for business opportunities, an instinct he had developed over two lifetimes.

Even if you only have a few dollars left in your pocket, you should still know where the opportunities are.

But the word "prison" caught his attention.

Normally, people looking for a job wouldn't pay attention to prisons.

In the eyes of ordinary people, prisons symbolize crime, imprisonment, stench, and violence. Who would associate them with making money?

But Ringo had seen a documentary about private prisons in his past life.

The film was very depressing, with gray concrete, gray uniforms, and gray eyes.

But there was one sentence he remembered very clearly:

"The 1980s marked the beginning of the private prison industry in the United States."

"Due to the drug war and financial pressures leading to prison overcrowding, an industry that was originally monopolized by the government has opened its doors to private capital."

He was a time traveler; he knew what would happen next.

Reagan was successfully re-elected, and the mandatory minimum sentence law and anti-drug abuse law were passed.

The prison population surged from 300,000 in 1980 to one million in 1990.

If supply cannot keep up with the growth rate of demand, private prisons will proliferate like weeds.

CCA, America's most famous correctional institution, started its business in this year and eventually succeeded in listing its prisons on the stock exchange, generating billions in annual revenue and being named one of America's best companies by Forbes.

At this point in time, this is a little-known blue ocean market with huge potential!

But that's a macro-level narrative.

Right now, he only cares about one thing: forty-eight thousand dollars!

He doesn't even have a fraction of that amount now.

Lingo lay in bed, staring at the patterns formed by water stains on the ceiling after the rain.

The pattern looks exactly like a pig with wings.

It was as if fate was telling him that once pigs could fly, he would be able to buy a prison.

At this moment, two voices were fighting in Lin Ge's head.

The first voice said:

"Are you crazy? You can't even afford next month's rent, and you want to bid for a prison?"

"You can't even fight, how do you plan to deal with those murderers and rapists?"

Another voice said:

"For just $48,000, you can have a small county jail that can hold a maximum of 100 to 150 prisoners."

"The facilities are dilapidated; no one will want to take them over."

"But if you can survive the trial operation and get the state government's prisoner subsidy, which is $30 a day per prisoner, that's $3,000 a day for 100 people."

"That's a million dollars a year!"

The first voice said:

"But where did you get forty-eight thousand dollars? You can barely afford a fifteen-dollar hotel room."

The second voice said:

"Then borrow money."

"Who should I look for?"

"Who do you know?"

Lin Ge turned over and buried his face in the pillow. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck him.

He knows someone.

To be precise, it was someone I knew in my previous life.

……

Ray Carson is the owner of a small investment firm in Tulsa.

Strictly speaking, he wasn't a boss, but rather a middleman somewhere between legal lending and usury.

His office is on the third floor of an office building in the city center, with a sign on the door that reads "Carson Capital Management," and everyone knows what he does.

Ringo met him during the bankruptcy liquidation.

After the factory that was his predecessor went bankrupt, Ray was the only person who was willing to sit down and listen to him.

This was certainly not out of kindness; it's just that Mr. Lei can find ways to make money from anyone's predicament.

"You need to borrow money?"

Ray sat behind a huge oak desk, which was completely empty except for a coffee cup.

Ray was a white man in his early fifties, bald, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and with eyes as small as two black beans.

He was wearing an expensive but oddly tailored suit, as if the tailor had mixed up his size with someone else's.

Lingo said:

"Yes, forty-eight thousand dollars."

Ray took a cigar out of the drawer and trimmed the end with a cigar cutter that looked expensive.

Light it, then take a deep breath and let the smoke slowly dissipate in the air.

The whole process took about forty seconds, and only then did Ray speak:

"So, you've got your eye on that prison."

"How did you know?" Lin Ge asked, somewhat surprised.

"Because that's what I do in this industry."

Lei flicked his cigarette ash:

"That prison was mentioned in the Chamber of Commerce last week, but everyone thought it was a joke."

"Who would buy a prison?"

"Even the county government can't keep operating. It owes the prison guards two months' wages. Half of the prisoners have run away, and the rest are hardened criminals that nobody wants."

Lingo agrees with this, but it's also something he values:

"That's why the starting price is so low."

"The starting price isn't the problem, Chen, the problem is what happens next."

Lei leaned back in his chair, looking at him with a hint of mockery:

Do you know how much it costs to operate a prison?

"How many people are needed? How many approval procedures are required?"

"Do you know how many regulations the Oklahoma Department of Corrections has? Every single one of them could land you in court!"

Lin Ge's expression remained unchanged. "Lei, why do you think I dared to come to you to borrow money?"

Lei squinted at Lin Ge; the other man's confident tone didn't sound like a gambler trying to scam a loan.

"Have you done your homework?"

Lingo nodded calmly.

Ever since he saw that announcement, he has been researching information every day.

He spent no less than twenty hours using the microfilm machine at the Tulsa Public Library, going through all of Oklahoma's prison laws and regulations from the past five years.

He even found McLean County’s financial statements for the past three years and analyzed the prison’s operating costs and revenue structure.

Ray's tone sounded like he was testing him:

"Then you should know that private prisons have only just been decided to be piloted in Oklahoma."

"There are only three privately operated correctional facilities in the entire state, and two of them have already filed for bankruptcy."

When faced with Lei's questions, Lingo simply smiled.

He knew he had to demonstrate enough confidence to secure the investment.

Moreover, this confidence cannot be faked, otherwise the other party will see through it at a glance.

That's because their operating model is flawed.

He explained slowly and deliberately:

"The so-called contracting out of prisons is like contracting out a factory; prisoners should be treated as products, and what you're really selling is labor!"

"Oh?"

Lei's eyebrows twitched slightly; Lin Ge's words intrigued him.

"Interesting, continue."

Lin Ge picked up the coffee on Lei's table, and seeing that Lei didn't seem to care, he took a sip and continued:

"McLean County Correctional Center currently houses 67 inmates."

"According to state government standards, each prisoner receives a subsidy of $32 per day."

"67 people would cost $2144 a day, which would amount to nearly $78 a year."

"This doesn't even include the additional subsidies from the federal government."

"But why is the county government operating at a loss?"

"Because their expenses are too high, there are too many prison guards, too many administrative staff, and the procurement costs are too high."

"If they're willing to sell me the prison for $48,000, it means they're so badly losing money that they want to get rid of it."

"So how do you plan to save money?" Lei asked.

Lin Ge counted on his fingers and said:

"First, layoffs!"

"I heard that the county government previously used 22 prison guards to manage 67 prisoners, a ratio of nearly one to three."

"But in reality, if managed properly, I think one to ten is enough."

"Secondly, make the prisoners do manual labor!"

"There's an auto parts factory next to McLean County that outsources some of its stamping processes to the prison system because inmate labor is cheap."

"But the county government has never been able to expand this business because their managers simply don't understand manufacturing."

"third……"

"Do you understand the manufacturing industry?"

Before Lin Ge could even get to his third point, Lei couldn't help but interrupt him.

"My previous factory was an electronics assembly factory."

"Ling Ge said."

Although the factory went bankrupt, he learned one thing before it did.

The manufacturing industry is all about unit cost!

The unit cost of prison labor is unmatched by any free labor force in the United States!

The first two points that Ling Ge mentioned alone made Lei think for a long time.

The cigar burned slowly between his fingers, and the ash had accumulated to nearly two centimeters, but he didn't flick it off.

Lingo knew the other party had taken his words to heart, and as a professional investor, he was weighing the risks and value of the deal.

"You're an interesting person, Chen."

He finally spoke:

"But you've overlooked one problem."

"What?"

"You have no credibility."

Ray put down his cigar and said:

"You've just gone bankrupt, you have less than twenty dollars in your bank account, you have no collateral, and no guarantor."

"You're just a beggar, only wearing a clean shirt."

Lin Ge did not refute him, but simply waited quietly for the other party to continue.

Lei's lips curled up slightly:

"But I'm willing to give you a chance, $53,000, with an annual interest rate of 25%, for a one-year term."

"If you still can't pay after a year, everything of value on your body will belong to me, including your organs."

Lin Ge felt a chill run down his spine. Ray's nonchalant tone made it seem as if a heartless doctor was standing right behind him.

Ringo coughed. "I only need forty-eight thousand dollars."

"You don't think everyone at the auction will refrain from bidding and let you sell at the reserve price, do you? I estimate that no one will take the risk again beyond five thousand."

"But you just said I have no collateral."

Lei revealed a sly smile:

"Now you have it, your contract!"

"If you buy that prison, you have to mortgage the operating rights of the prison to me. In other words, if you can't pay back the money, that prison is mine."

Ringo stared into Ray's eyes.

Behind those small eyes was a shrewd, ruthless gambler who would never do a losing business.

Ray is betting he will succeed, but he is also prepared for his failure.

Lin Ge took a deep breath:

"make a deal!"