I bought a prison in the United States.

Bayless's voice on the other end of the phone gradually became serious:

"I heard that Chen has hired a lawyer and is investigating you, as well as my building materials company."

"Now that he's involved the media, there's no guarantee he won't do something detrimental to our business!"

Hammond's brow furrowed deeper as he pondered how to handle the situation.

He didn't want to admit that he was being driven to such a state by a Chinese person, but this matter did indeed need to be taken seriously.

Fifteen years ago, when he was first elected judge, there were five senior members of the county council whom he had to bow to and greet.

Now, those five people have either retired or moved, and three of the five new ones owe him favors, big or small.

But these are not true loyalty; they are merely temporary credits on the balance sheet.

Once exposed, the unit of measurement for favors will change from helping others to self-preservation.

"Can people at the newspaper even speak?"

"I've looked into it; there's someone in the editorial department who owes me some old debts."

"But he said that Underwood personally instructed him to do this, and Gloria reported directly to Underwood without going through any editors or editors in between, so there was no way to bypass him."

Hammond stared at the top row of hardcover law books on the bookshelf, then his gaze returned to the back of the overturned picture frame.

The wooden back panel has turned yellow, and there are tiny holes from insect infestation at the edges.

"Vernon, don't do anything for now. If anyone comes to ask you about the prison or courthouse renovations..."

"Hehe, you don't need to remind me of this. Of course I know what to do."

"That's good. As for the rest, I'll handle it."

Hammond hung up the phone, picked up the business card holder next to the answering machine, and found a handwritten phone number.

His handwriting was so illegible that he himself almost forgot who wrote it.

He dialed the number very quickly.

"Underwood office, who is this?"

A steady contralto voice came from the other end of the phone.

"This is Judge Hammond of McLean County Court. When would be a convenient time for Mr. Underwood to speak?"

"Mr. Underwood's schedule is full this week, but there's an opening next Monday at 3 PM. Would you like me to make an appointment for you?"

"it is good."

Hammond hung up the phone, his face turning even uglier than before.

A packed schedule speaks volumes.

Normally, if a judge makes a phone call, no matter how busy the other party is, they will be given the privilege of cutting in line.

However, Underwood seemed unwilling to give him that favor, indicating that the situation was spiraling out of his control.

"Damn it!"

Hammond disliked the feeling of things slipping out of his control.

In this county, he had long been accustomed to those awe-inspiring gazes.

In court, he only needs to strike the gavel to determine a person's guilt and decide their fate.

But now, a Chinese man who bought the county's prison dares to do things differently than he always has.

Moreover, it seems that this Ringo has found a way to deal with him, how could Hammond not be furious?

……

At 2 p.m. the next day, Hammond sat down in a booth at the old coffee shop downstairs from the county courthouse.

This shop has been open for almost thirty years, and the wooden tables are covered with the names of countless people, some of which have been worn so worn that they are almost illegible.

The chairman of the county purchasing committee, his golf partner Leonard Hart, was sitting across from him with a cup of coffee that had gone cold in front of him.

Hart was a short, stout man with two-thirds of his head bald on top, and the rest of his hair was shaved very short, like a layer of gray moss stuck to his scalp.

His fingers were short and stubby, and there were several old scars on his fingernails from when he worked as a construction worker in his early years.

Twenty years ago, he was a foreman; now he sits in the county government office, managing an annual procurement budget of tens of millions of dollars, always dressed in a suit and tie.

But the way he held the coffee cup betrayed him; his fingers were gripping it too tightly, as if he were holding a wrench that might slip at any moment.

"You don't look well. Didn't you sleep last night?"

Hart spoke with the casualness only found between old acquaintances, but beneath that casualness lay a sense of vigilance.

The last time Hammond asked him out outside of golf time was to discuss the renovation materials for the county government building.

He originally thought he could make another fortune this time, but judging from the other party's expression, it didn't seem like a good thing.

"Slept for a few hours."

Hammond held his black coffee, without sugar:

"Leonard, how's the county's relationship with the Tulsa World lately?"

"Neither good nor bad."

Hart took a sip of his cold coffee and said:

"I remember they published a report last week about the aging heating system in the county's public schools. The education bureau was a little unhappy, but not to the point of sending a formal letter. Why are you asking about this?"

"Have you heard of Ringo Chen? The Chinese man who bought the McLean County Correctional Center?"

Hattie nodded:

"Of course, Hatfield mentioned him at the purchasing committee meeting last week."

"That prison is currently replacing all the cell doors, and the quote is almost two hundred thousand. Where did he get so much money?"

"He secured orders from General Motors and General Electric, and recently, somehow, he's gotten on board with that old man Underwood, and has been delaying the scheduling of a reporter interview."

"If my name appears in the reports, you know what that means."

Hart removed his hand from the cup and placed it on the table, his fingers interlaced.

Now he understood why Hammond looked so uncomfortable when he saw him, as if he had swallowed a fly.

This is not a good sign for him either.

Although he didn't openly obstruct the correctional bureau's funding for Ringo, he might face investigation if word got out.

The more Hart thought about it, the more uncertain he felt.

"That old fox Underwood, he never tries to fish in our waters, why would he help a Chinese outsider this time?"

"He wasn't helping Chen, he was helping himself."

"Private prisons are a relatively new business, and this story could sell in the newspapers."

"Chinese immigrants, bankruptcy rebirth, prison reform, points system, plus the few pages of negative comments I wrote in the audit report as a judge, this is practically a serialized novel tailor-made for Underwood."

Hart fell into a long silence.

They were the only customers in the coffee shop. The staff behind the counter were adding water to the coffee machine, and the sound of the water hitting the machine echoed in the empty shop.

Hammond watched as the wrinkles on Hart's face deepened with each thought.

He knew what his old partner was thinking; it wasn't just a matter of profit distribution, but also a matter of class instinct.

An immigrant with an accent managed to break through the toughest barrier in the local power structure within two months.

This kind of thing shouldn't happen in their world!