I bought a prison in the United States.

In the United States, this type of situation occurs where at least half of the drivers in ten pulled over will receive a ticket.

However, if the same thing happened to Hammond, the outcome would be quite different.

A moment later, the patrol car door opened.

A young policeman stepped down, his right hand resting on his holster.

He was about twenty-five years old, with a thin face and his hat brim pulled low.

Hammond didn't recognize the face; he guessed it was someone new.

"Driver's license and vehicle registration, sir."

Hammond took his driver's license from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and his vehicle registration from the glove box, then handed them over together.

His movements were practiced and his expression was very calm. He obviously didn't think he had done anything wrong. The one who made the mistake was the policeman who stopped him.

The moment the young man's fingers touched the ID, Hammond rolled up his wrist, intentionally or unintentionally revealing the Rolex under his cuff.

"this……"

The young policeman looked down at the name on the driver's license, then looked up at Hammond.

His lips moved slightly, and he almost spoke but then swallowed back his words, his expression somewhat awkward.

"What's wrong, officer? I'm in a hurry to get home."

Hammond gently reminded him, his gaze as if he were looking at a student who had made a mistake.

"Please wait a moment."

Left with no other choice, the young policeman turned and walked back to his patrol car. Through the car window, Hammond could see him pick up the walkie-talkie.

Hammond sat behind the Buick's steering wheel, his fingers tapping lightly on the wheel.

He wasn't angry, nor was he nervous.

It's not surprising that a newly recruited county police officer wouldn't recognize his face.

Every year, new officers join the McLean County Sheriff's Department, and the young officers need time to learn who they can stop on the street and who they should avoid.

This is today's lesson.

About two minutes later, the young policeman returned without a ticket in his hand.

"Judge Hammond, I'm sorry to bother you."

"I just checked the records, and there's nothing wrong with your license plate in the system."

"It's dark and foggy, so it's easy to miss things. Please proceed with caution."

He handed back his driver's license and vehicle registration, his hands now more upright than when he had received the documents.

Hammond accepted the documents with satisfaction, reinstalled them, and then started the engine.

"What's your name, officer?"

"Crowley".

"Officer Crowley, you did what you were supposed to do."

Hammond put away his documents and started the engine.

In the rearview mirror, Officer Crowley stood next to the patrol car, his right hand hanging down from its holster.

His lips moved slightly, and judging from the shape of his mouth, he was clearly swearing.

……

When Hammond arrived home, he saw Nancy sitting on the sofa in the living room, flipping through a cookbook.

The TV was on, but the sound was muted. On the screen, a cooking show host was pouring cream into a pot of spaghetti.

She works part-time as a librarian at the community library, working Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and spending the rest of her time at home.

"There's a roasted chicken breast in the kitchen, microwaved for three minutes, with little salt. Your blood pressure has exceeded the limit twice this month."

Her voice was neither reproachful nor particularly warm.

After she finished speaking, she continued to stare at the television screen, her gaze unfocused.

"Did the court hearing go smoothly today?"

"The same as always."

Hammond sat down at the table with the plate of reheated chicken breast.

The meat was indeed a bit bland; it had almost no flavor when chewing.

He ate half of it and then put the plate in the sink. That's the only bad thing about his wife. She's studied cooking for over a decade, but she still doesn't know how to season it properly.

Hammond quietly went into the study, closed the door, and didn't say another word to his wife.

The study was the only place in the house where he truly had control.

The bookshelves were crammed with hardcover legal classics, and the blotting paper on the writing desk hadn't been changed for months.

Those books weren't meant to be read, they were just for collection, so that visitors could see their covers and labels.

The red indicator light on the answering machine in the study was flashing.

He pressed play, and soon he heard Bayless's voice recording:

"Judge, it's me."

"I heard something at the Chamber of Commerce tonight that I think you need to know right away."

"Ringo Chen, that Chinese man, met with Underwood, and Underwood agreed to let the Tulsa World do an exclusive interview with him."

"Gloria Winters is in charge. You know her. That woman dug up that land acquisition scandal in the South Side last year, which caused two county councilors to resign."

He paused, and then heard the sound of ice cubes hitting a glass through the receiver, followed by swallowing.

"If that report comes out and mentions you, or rather, mentions us, once it's published in Underwood's newspapers, not only will you have to renew your golf club membership, but you'll also have to get a new audit report."

"I don't think this is that simple. We need to be careful. Remember to call me back."

Hammond pressed the stop button, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Underwood?"

In Tulsa, this name represents a form of power entirely different from that of the county government.

The power of a county government has boundaries; the county boundary is the limit of its influence.

But the Tulsa World covers the entire state of Oklahoma, and its influence transcends district boundaries.

Underwood rarely uses this influence; he's like a sword that's not easily drawn.

He never expected that the other party would be persuaded by that Chinese man to be willing to help; this was far beyond his expectations.

This means that Underwood saw something more lasting than short-term gains in that Chinese man.

Whatever the reason, it was enough to keep Hammond up tonight; he seemed to have underestimated that young man.

He picked up the phone and dialed Baylors' number.

The other end answered after two rings; no matter how busy he was, Baylors never dared to be careless with his number.

"Vernon, start from the beginning."

Bayless's voice was a bit more sober than in the message, but the smell of alcohol could almost seep through the phone line.

"Hmph, that old bastard Underwood never takes sides; he's not one of us."

"When Chen found him, it was like bypassing the entire county government and directly building an antenna that connected to the whole prefecture."

"I heard from people in the Chamber of Commerce that Underwood also introduced his son Brad to Chen."

"You've met Brad, he's just as difficult as his father. His car dealership is currently negotiating some kind of technical cooperation with Chen's prison."

"That Chinese man only needed a few words to get him all fired up."

Hammond's expression gradually darkened:

When will their interview be released?

"I'm not sure, but Gloria went to the prison for a visit yesterday and will be doing a formal interview tomorrow."

"She usually submits her articles within a week, and they are published in the newspaper in about ten days."

"That means that in two weeks at most, Ringo Chen's name will appear in 160,000 newspapers, and maybe ours too."