I bought a prison in the United States.

Lin Ge quickly calculated in his mind: 12,000 pieces, at a unit price of 3.2 yuan, the total price would be 38,400 US dollars per month.

Even after deducting material costs, transportation expenses, and a reasonable profit share, the prison can still receive at least $15,000 in processing fees each month!

With the addition of state government subsidies for prisoners, the prison's monthly income could increase from its current level of less than $20,000 to over $30,000.

But he wasn't in a hurry to discuss the price, because this price was definitely not the bottom line offered by the car company, so he asked:

"Mr. Danforth, why does your factory need to outsource?"

He tried to make his tone sound like a casual question rather than an attempt to gather intelligence.

Danforth's eyes flickered.

The flash was very brief, lasting less than a second, but Lingo caught it.

"I don't have enough stamping presses."

Danforth said in a slightly somber voice.

"Indeed, I saw only three stamping machines operating in the workshop."

Lin Ge made no attempt to downplay his comments:

"I've heard that 'TMW' is one of the most famous factories in Tulsa, it's hard to imagine that such a large factory would be so shabby."

It seems that Ray did indeed take a lot of Danforth's machines as payment for the debt.

Lingo's tone was somewhat impolite, but it was the truth.

He doesn't need to be polite; letting the other party realize how bad their situation is can give them an advantage in negotiations.

Although Mr. Danforth tried his best to appear nonchalant, the huge "sorrow" on his head revealed his true situation.

Since that's the case, Lingo will never back down!

Danforth tapped his fingers twice on the table, a sign that he was suppressing his anger.

"Are you here to discuss business, or to investigate my finances?"

Lin Ge quickly put on an appropriate, apologetic expression:

"I don't mean any offense, but I need to know if my client has a cash flow problem. If your factory closes down next month, wouldn't my time in prison be wasted?"

Danforth took a deep breath, exhaled, and then gave a bitter, self-deprecating smile.

"You're such a straightforward guy."

Danforth stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Alright, I'll tell you, it's no secret, everyone in Tulsa knows."

He stood up again, walked to the window, and turned his back to Lingo.

Outside the window was the factory's backyard, piled with rusting equipment and a heap of discarded pallets.

A stray cat weaves between the trays, as thin as a twig.

"I've been in this line of work for thirty years. In 1955, my father and I opened this factory together."

"Back then, Tulsa's manufacturing industry was booming; it had everything from oil fields and aviation to automobiles."

"We've made parts for Boeing, brackets for General Motors, and pipe fittings for local oil companies."

"After my father retired, the factory once enjoyed a period of prosperity under my management. At that time, I had 180 workers and dozens of machines running 24 hours a day."

He turned around and looked at Lin Ge. The emotions that had been suppressed for a long time in his light blue eyes finally found a crack.

"And then what?" Lin Ge asked at the opportune moment.

Danforth waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away an invisible fly:

"Then the Japanese came, then the Koreans came, and then you Chinese laborers came. Their labor costs were half of ours, and their quality was better than ours."

"General Motors told me that my price was too high and that if I didn't lower it, they would look for someone else, showing no regard for our years of cooperation."

"I had no choice but to compromise and lower the price three times. The fourth time, I said I couldn't lower it any further, or I would lose money."

"So they subcontracted the orders to others."

Danforth's voice suddenly turned shrill:

"They canceled the order. Last December, General Motors informed me that starting this April, all orders for this bracket would be transferred to South Korea."

"I fought for a year and a half, made six trips to Detroit, and met with several purchasing managers, but in the end I only got one result."

"They agreed to let me keep 30% of the orders, on the condition that I lower the unit price by another 15%."

Lin Ge quickly calculated in his mind:

"What will your profit be after a 15% reduction?"

"Negative!"

Danforth's voice sounded like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth:

"I lose twenty-five cents for every one I make."

"But I have no choice. If I don't do it, my stamping machine will stop completely."

"When the presses stopped, the workers left; when the workers left, the factory died."

However, this only changes the death from immediate and sudden to a slow and gradual one.

Lin Ge's initial assessment was correct; the factory was barely clinging to life, and based on his experience of going bankrupt three times, it could only last for a maximum of three more months.

Danforth must grasp at a straw; even if it doesn't turn a profit, it must at least maintain the status quo for a while and look for an opportunity to break out of the predicament.

Danforth sat down again, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward, as if praying or pleading:

"I've cut the managers' salaries in half, canceled all benefits, and even turned off the air conditioning."

"Haven't you noticed? In September, this office doesn't even have a fan."

Lin Ge did notice it.

The temperature in the office was at least thirty degrees Celsius, and the back of his shirt was already soaked with sweat.

"The fact that you took the initiative to contact me proves that you also need orders."

Danforth continued, a sudden sharpness appearing in his voice:

"You're here to sell something; what you're selling is cheap labor."

"Your prisoners only cost you a few dollars an hour, so you can quote a lower price than any legitimate outsourcing company I hire, am I right?"

Ringo did not deny it. "Yes."

Danforth leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest:

"So, can your prisoners manufacture parts that meet General Motors standards?"

"Can your stamping machine guarantee a tolerance of ±0.3 millimeters? Can it meet the monthly output of 12,000 pieces on time and in accordance with the quantity requirements?"

Ringo has already prepared the answer:

"My stamping press is a 1974 Niagara. Although it's a bit old, it still has good precision."

"After repair, with the right mold, it is possible to achieve a tolerance of ±0.3 millimeters."

"My technical lead is a former Lockheed mechanical engineer who drew up fighter jet blueprints there, so the precision of stamped parts is not a problem for him."

Danforth's eyebrows rose again:

"How did you manage to get your hands on a Lockheed engineer?"

Lin Ge smiled and said:

"There are all sorts of criminals among them. The fact that they ended up in my hands can only be attributed to society's rejection of them."

Danforth paused for a few seconds after hearing what Ringo said, then burst into laughter that shook the windows slightly.

"good!"

He slammed his hand on the table, took a document from a drawer, and threw it in front of Lingo:

"This is a trial order contract, with delivery within a week, 1,000 units, at a unit price of $3.30, which is 40 cents lower than the price General Motors gave me."

"If you can complete these 1,000 pieces on time and with high quality, I will give you a larger order!"