I bought a prison in the United States.

11 month 25 day.

Parker parked the car at the corner of the alley in front of the Bayless Building Materials Company branch, turned off the engine, and rolled down the window.

A cold wind carrying the smell of rust blew in, making his cheeks feel numb.

He turned up his collar to cover half his face, and pulled the brim of his baseball cap down so low it almost covered his eyes.

Looking in the rearview mirror, he was no different from any other warehouse worker you could find anywhere in the McLean industrial area.

Oil-stained cuffs, faded jeans knees, and mud-splattered work boots.

Parker sat in the car for about fifteen minutes, his gaze never leaving the dilapidated metal door across the street.

He kept a close eye on the time, the agreed-upon time.

If the time limit is exceeded, he will drive away without hesitation.

However, that would mean his plans for the next few days would be ruined and he would have to come up with new ones.

Fortunately, no accident occurred.

At around 2:30, a middle-aged man in gray overalls walked out of that door.

He walked furtively, glancing warily to make sure no one was watching, before quickly heading deeper into the alley. His stomach felt like he was carrying a basketball, and his gait was heavy.

Parker opened the car door and followed silently.

The two walked about two hundred meters, one in front of the other, and stopped behind an abandoned gas station.

The gas station was closed in the 1970s. The gas pumps had long been dismantled, leaving only empty shells, and a few rusty iron pillars stood forlornly on the cement ground.

Withered yellow grass grew from the cracks in the ground. When the wind blew, the dried grass stems rubbed against each other, making a soft "rustling" sound.

The man in gray overalls turned around, put his hands into his greasy pockets, and looked somewhat impatient.

"You brought the items, but where's the money?"

Parker took a brown paper envelope from his jacket pocket, shook it in his hand, and didn't hand it over immediately.

"Where is what I asked for?"

The man in gray overalls pulled an envelope that had been folded several times from the side pocket of his overalls.

Those standard office envelopes, printed with the Bellers Building Materials company logo.

The envelope was bulging, and the edges were worn and frayed, clearly indicating that it had been handled repeatedly.

"Here you go, the internal bank statements from the finance department, from January of last year to October of this year are all here."

The man's voice betrayed a hint of nervousness, and as he spoke, his eyes kept glancing around, as if afraid of being seen.

"Is that all?"

"It was already quite an achievement to get all of this out."

The man twirled the envelope between his fingers, his tone carrying a hint of self-satisfaction:

"I risked getting fired by copying it from the backup hard drive when the CFO wasn't around."

"There is indeed a record of that person in it. Bayless created a supplier number for him in the financial system."

"It's registered under his wife Margaret's name, and the finance department transfers a management consulting fee to that account every quarter."

Parker took the envelope and pulled out the paper inside.

He flipped through the pages one by one, his eyes scanning over the densely packed entries.

Date...Amount...Invoice Number...Payment Account.

Every stroke is clear and distinct.

Every quarter, approximately 12,000 dollars is deposited into an account named Margaret.

He had already found out that she was the wife of Hart, the chairman of the purchasing committee, a housewife who had never done any consulting work.

"How much longer are you going to watch? I need to get back quickly."

The man in gray overalls watched Parker flip through the papers and reached up to touch his stubble-covered chin.

"Don't rush."

Parker's gaze remained precisely fixed on those key points; judging the authenticity and value of evidence is a basic skill of a detective.

Without a direct record of kickbacks, Bayless wasn't that stupid; he couldn't possibly have written down a kickback to the chairman of the county purchasing committee in his accounts.

But these consulting fees are enough to illustrate the point.

The wife of the chairman of a county purchasing committee was nominally employed by a building materials company and received money in proportion to the number of orders Bellers received.

He knew very well what this was about.

Parker folded the paper, stuffed it back into the envelope, put it in his jacket pocket, and then pulled another envelope from his trouser pocket and handed it over.

The man in the gray overalls took it, felt its thickness, and a satisfied look appeared on his face.

He didn't count, just stuffed it into the side pocket of his work pants, turned around and left, as if staying even a second longer was a risk.

The two did not say goodbye, like two lines that intersected and then quickly separated.

A few minutes later, Parker drove the car out of the alley, onto the main road, and headed toward McLean County.

He happened to pass by the county court building on the way and took a special look at the window on the third floor.

Hammond's office curtains were drawn tightly shut, but light leaked out through the gaps, forming prison-like bars that confined the person inside to the light.

The car continued along the main road, past the courthouse, past the old coffee shop with ivy-covered walls, and past the McLean County government building.

He pulled the envelope out of the inner pocket and placed it on the passenger seat, glancing at the Bellers Building Materials logo on the white envelope.

The eagle's wing was crooked; the right wingtip was about two millimeters higher than the left, making it look comical and ironic.

If you want to take action against Hammond, you have to start with the people around him.

Or rather, once Ringo is determined to destroy Hammond, he will have to deal with all those who might protect him, one by one.

……

Hart received the news the following morning.

He received a phone call in the purchasing committee office from a mid-level manager at Bellers Building Materials Company. The caller was very cryptic:

"Mr. Hart, the company's financial system recently underwent a security audit and some... unusual access records were discovered. Several documents appear to have been tampered with."

Although the other party did not explicitly state what kind of document it was, Hart, who had been very perceptive lately, immediately understood what he meant.

If it's just some internal matter for Bellers Building Materials Company, there's no need to call him to inform him.

A manager will call specifically to inform you that this matter is related to Hart himself.

His only connection to Bellers Building Materials was his role as a "part-time consultant."

Those records of management consulting fees may have been taken by someone!

"Oh no!"

After hanging up the phone, Hart sat behind his desk, his hands flat on the table, his eyes shifting from panic to fear.

He yanked a stack of documents off the table and flipped to the bottom, where a brown folder was located.

It contained his personal financial records and several credit card statements.

He turned to one of the pages, which contained a record of a regular bank transfer.

The recipient was an unfamiliar consulting firm, but he knew in his heart that the money would ultimately end up in his own pocket.

When Bayless initially set this "consulting fee" for him, he assured him that only the CFO could access the records in the financial system.

He added that if anyone were to investigate, the accounting entries would show "management consulting," with proper invoices and contracts, so no problems would be apparent.

But Hart doesn't care what the accounts are called now; he only cares about the unusual access record.

Someone tampered with those documents!

He knew without guessing who that person was, who they worked for, and who they gave the things to.

In the entire McLean County, there is only one person who has the motive and the ability to do this.

"Ringo Chen... why is he targeting me? Damn it!"

Hart panicked and immediately started calling Hammond.

The phone rang for over a minute, but no one answered; it remained busy.

He waited two minutes and called again, but the line was still busy.

The third time it rang for only a dozen seconds before being abruptly disconnected.

When he called back, the call went directly to the answering machine, where a cold, electronic voice repeated:

"The user you dialed is temporarily unavailable."

Hart put the receiver back on the landline, staring at the black phone with disbelief in his eyes.

He had known Hammond for almost twenty years, ever since Hammond was an assistant prosecutor, and had never encountered a situation where he couldn't get through on the phone.

Never!

Even in the middle of the night, on weekends, or even on Christmas Day, someone always answers that number.

It was a weekday, 10 a.m., and he knew perfectly well that Hammond was at the courthouse.

His car was parked in the parking lot in front of the courthouse, and the office lights were on. How could the phone be constantly busy?

Hart, undeterred, dialed Hammond's home number again.

The phone rang for a long time, so long that he thought no one would answer it, before a woman's voice finally picked it up.

It's Nancy, Hammond's wife.

"Ms. Nancy, it's me, Leonard Hart. Is Robert home?"

He tried his best to make his voice sound calm.

"He left home very early today to go to court, saying there was a hearing in the morning."

Nancy's voice was the same as usual, slow and with a slightly lazy tone.

But Hart felt that something was off.

Her tone lacked the warmth that should be present between acquaintances, as if she were dealing with a stranger's salesperson, leaving only the bare minimum of politeness to keep the call going.

He knew Hammond's temperament and never let his wife interfere in his affairs.

Nancy has always been indifferent to her business partners, so her attitude today is not unusual.

"His office phone was constantly busy; I called several times."

"Oh, they're probably in a meeting."

"He's been very busy lately, often spending the entire morning in the conference room and not answering the phone."

When Nancy talks about her husband with outsiders, her tone lacks emotion.

Over the years, the couple's relationship may have become distant, like two strangers living under the same roof.

Hart slapped his forehead, knowing there was no point in asking any further questions. After saying something irrelevant, he hung up the phone.

When he put down the microphone, he realized that his hands were trembling slightly.

He immediately pressed his hands on the table and used some force to gradually suppress the trembling.

What kind of meeting is this!

The McLean County Court judges hold their regular meeting every Tuesday afternoon; today is Thursday.

He has dealt with the courts for over a decade, and he knows the judges' schedules better than he knows his own wife's birthday.

Hammond didn't go to court or attend any meetings today; he just didn't want to answer the phone!

This realization was like a block of ice, sliding down Hart's spine and freezing the back of his neck.