I bought a prison in the United States.

At 2:10 p.m., a dark blue Ford drove through the iron gate of McLean County Correctional Center.

Harmon was checking the afternoon shift schedule in the duty room when Jackson's voice suddenly came through the walkie-talkie.

"Deputy Warden, a car has pulled up at the gate. Judging by the license plate, it belongs to the state government."

"Two people got out of the car, one of whom showed identification from the State Correctional Services Department. He was Deputy Commissioner Boone of the State Correctional Services Department."

"What did you say?"

Hamon almost dropped the work schedule in his hand.

He strode out of the duty room, crossed the corridor, and met Boone and his assistant at the prison gate.

Boone was wearing a very ordinary shirt, and he didn't look like a deputy director going to the countryside for an inspection; he looked more like an old neighbor coming to visit.

But from the moment he stepped through the prison gates, his eyes were glued to the leisurely prisoners in the exercise yard.

It's currently the prisoners' exercise time, but there are only about ten prisoners in the exercise yard.

However, the noise level inside the factory was astonishing, indicating that, as the newspapers reported, most of the prisoners were working.

"Hmm, it's been cleaned very well..."

Boone had last been here two years ago, and he remembered that back then, the area outside the prison's iron gates was overgrown with weeds.

But now, the ground beneath his feet was solid, and looking around, apart from the ornamental shrubs, there was no wild grass growing wildly.

There were also some tire tracks around, which looked like large trucks frequently passed by.

Harmon had seen Boone a few times at the state corrections department's annual meetings and recognized him immediately, quickly walking over to him:

"Chief Boone, what brings you here?"

Harmon gave a standard welcoming smile. "You didn't even give us a heads-up so we could prepare..."

Boone waved his hand and said calmly:

"No need to prepare anything. I happened to be running errands nearby today and just stopped by. Is Mr. Chen here?"

"The warden is out today. He went to Tulsa this morning to discuss equipment leasing and probably won't be back until very late this afternoon."

After Hamon answered, he noticed that his assistant quickly jotted down the information in his notebook.

"Should I contact him and have him come back?"

"Oh, no need."

Boone's tone remained casual:

"I just happened to be working nearby and happened to be passing by."

His expression remained unchanged, but his assistant quickly pulled out a notebook, the pen gliding across the paper as if jotting something down.

This detail, of course, did not escape Hamon's notice.

It seems this bureau chief came for a surprise inspection, most likely because he read the newspaper.

However, he was not flustered. He had dealt with many unexpected auditors before, and besides, the prisons nowadays could indeed withstand scrutiny.

"This is your first time here, Director. Shall I show you around?"

"Then could you please show me around?"

Boone responded accordingly:

"I want to see the factory, the prison area, the kitchen, and the medical room."

"No need for any special arrangements, just do what you usually do."

"Okay, this way please."

Hamon walked ahead, his steps steady, his back ramrod straight.

He quickly went through the current state of the prison in his mind.

The factory is operating normally, with more than sixty day shift prisoners at their posts. The machines had just undergone a full maintenance last week.

The cell block was cleaned this morning; the floor was shiny and the blankets were folded neatly.

The kitchen storage room was inventoried yesterday, and the reserves of rice, flour, oil, and canned goods are enough to supply the prison for a month.

A new batch of commonly used medicines and disinfection supplies arrived at the medical room. Tommy just sorted and filed them over the weekend, and the list is clear at a glance.

The only thing that made him a little uneasy was the storage room of the technology research and development team.

There were piles of various dismantled electronic waste and some unfinished surveillance camera modules, making it look rather messy.

But Harmon knew that Boone hadn't given him time to clean up beforehand. Fortunately, it was just a messy scene and not a real problem.

"This is the factory."

Harmon pushed open the heavy iron door, and a smell mixed with engine oil and metal wafted out.

Boone stood at the doorway, not rushing in, but standing there for about ten seconds.

His gaze swept across the stamping machine on the left to the sewing area on the right, and back again, leaving no corner unchecked.

There were about sixty prisoners in the workshop, scattered in front of a dozen or so stamping machines and sewing machines.

The deafening crash of the press and the hammer pounding against the steel plate were accompanied by the prisoners' orderly movements.

No one was chatting idly, no one was looking around; everyone was focused on their own work.

Several prisoners noticed the strangers at the door, but only glanced up at them.

After confirming that it wasn't a prison guard checking on him, he lowered his head and continued working, showing no extra curiosity or nervousness on his face.

Seeing this, Boone was somewhat surprised; it was more disciplined than he had expected.

After circling around, his gaze fell on a young prisoner operating a stamping machine; the man was not wearing gloves.

He walked up and stopped about two steps away from the machine.

Boone watched as the young prisoner fed a cold-rolled steel plate into the mold, lightly stepped on the pedal, the stamping head fell and then quickly rose again, and the formed part slid from the discharge port into the storage box next to it.

The entire movement is completed in one smooth motion, taking about five seconds to finish one.

Why aren't you wearing gloves?

Boone asked.

"Huh? You're asking me?"

Randy looked up, his face still showing the bewilderment of someone just pulled out of their focus, then quickly realized what was happening and answered seriously:

"If you wear gloves, the edges of the gloves can easily get caught in the mold."

"During the training last month, Craig, an engineer, told me that gloves are not allowed to be worn when operating the stamping machine."

"Because once your hand gets caught, the gloves' fibers will twist your entire hand in, leaving you no time to react."

"If you don't wear gloves, your hand might get crushed if you make a mistake, but at least it won't be completely pulled in, and the injury will be much less serious."

Boone nodded slightly.

This answer is very professional. For prisoners who generally have low levels of education, it is quite remarkable that they can understand and repeat industrial safety regulations so clearly.

"You can get back to work now."

His gaze shifted from Randy to the worktable next to the stamping machine.

A stack of inspection record sheets were neatly arranged on the table, with clear handwriting and no alterations.

The top of the form reads:

[McLean County Correctional Center Workshop Quality Inspection Record]

Below is a series of numbers, from 001 to 049.

This means that the factory has established a routine quality inspection process, and it is by no means a temporary measure done to cope with inspections.

Boone turned and walked out of the factory, paused briefly in the corridor, and suddenly asked:

Where is the technology research and development team?

Hamon's heart skipped a beat.

He had originally intended to take Boone to see the tidiest cell block and kitchen first, avoiding this somewhat messy storage room, but now he clearly had no other choice.

Harmon opened his mouth, about to say that the place was rather messy and hadn't been tidied up yet.

But he immediately realized that such words would only backfire in front of Boone.

A deputy director wouldn't dismiss the overall work just because one room is messy; instead, he might suspect you're deliberately covering something up.

"In the storage room at the end of the corridor."

Hamon composed himself and said truthfully:

"The place isn't big, and there are quite a lot of parts and tools piled up inside, so it might not look very organized. Please follow me."