I bought a prison in the United States.

Ray wanted Ringo to owe him a favor.

Compared to tangible assets, intangible debts of gratitude are harder to repay and harder to measure in terms of value.

He wanted to invest more in this young man because he foresaw that Ringo was capable of doing great things, and his ambitions extended far beyond this small town of Tulsa.

Lin Ge hung up the phone, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

He's not stupid; even in these difficult times, he won't be biased towards others just because of a small favor.

The United States is essentially a society that prioritizes self-interest; there are no permanent friends, only the perpetual pursuit of interests.

Ray would help him because it wouldn't cost him anything in the short term.

Although Ringo is penniless, he still owns a factory with plenty of cheap labor, the full potential of which has not yet been realized.

After sitting in the chair for a while, Lingo left the office and walked towards the factory.

The lights in the factory were still on.

Craig was squatting next to the stamping machine, wiping the outer casing with a rag.

Randy squatted down next to him, holding an oil can and applying oil to various joints.

That machine looks completely different.

The outer shell was polished to a shine, revealing the original green paint.

The hydraulic hoses were replaced with new ones, and the seals were also replaced. The sound coming from the gearbox was no longer a harsh friction sound, but a steady low hum.

Ringo walked over with a look of delight. Craig looked up, his face covered in grease, and said:

"The machine is fixed. Let's take a look at the samples."

Craig picked up a steel plate from the ground, put it into the die of the stamping machine, and then pressed the start button.

The machine emitted a deep roar, followed by a crisp bang, and a perfectly stamped part slid out of the discharge port.

Craig picked up the stamped part, examined it several times, and then handed it to Ringo.

"The tolerance is within 0.3 millimeters, even more accurate than a new one. Are you satisfied now?"

Lin Ge took the stamped part and felt the coldness and weight of the metal.

The surface is smooth, the edges are neat, and there are no burrs.

He glanced at Craig, then at Randy.

Both of them stared at him, as if awaiting a verdict.

Lin Ge cleared his throat and announced:

"Well done. Starting tomorrow, we'll be producing a trial order of one thousand stamped parts, to be completed within five days."

Craig nodded:

How many people are needed?

"You make the decision, but you need to train the others as soon as possible; we can't rely on you alone."

Craig replied:

"Give me a week, and I can train ten skilled workers."

"Very good. As long as you behave well, I will try to get you a reduced sentence. Randy, you too, you have to help Mrs. Martha a lot, understand?"

"I...I understand."

Randy nodded nervously.

Lingo put the stamped part into his pocket, turned around and walked out of the factory into the corridor.

The sky had darkened, and the fluorescent lights in the corridor hummed overhead, their light pale and glaring.

He walked up to the old prisoner Foster's cell and glanced inside.

The old prisoner was still lying on the lower bunk, facing the wall.

But this time, he heard a voice.

"Young man, when you bought this prison, did you know what this place used to be?"

Foster's voice came through, low and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time.

"I don't know," Lin Ge said.

"This used to be an orphanage."

Foster's voice echoed back from the walls, leaving a hollow resonance:

"Back in the 1950s, this place took in more than a hundred orphans."

"Later, the orphanage moved away, and the county government turned this place into a prison."

Lin Ge stood at the cell door, looking at this veteran.

"I heard you've been here for nineteen years?"

"I don't remember exactly, maybe nineteen years, maybe twenty, this year was 1984, right?"

Foster scratched his messy hair, looking dazed.

"Do you want to go out?" Lin Ge asked.

Foster remained silent for a long time, as if the question had struck a chord with him.

The old man's voice was very soft:

"I don't remember what it's like outside anymore. This is my home now."

Lingo stood there, watching the figure huddled on the lower bunk.

He recalled that he had moved more than a dozen times in his two lifetimes, living in villas, basements, and motels, but he had never called any place "home".

He didn't know whether this was lucky or unlucky.

"Mr. Foster," Ringo called out.

"Um?"

Lin Ge asked:

"The factory needs workers starting tomorrow. Would you like to come?"

A soft laugh echoed from the cell, a laugh as gentle as the wind rustling through withered leaves.

"I have trouble even walking, what can I do?"

This is all Lingo could tell him:

"There are some less strenuous jobs in the factory. If the higher-ups come to inspect and see you lying here, I'll be in trouble."

Lin Ge heard the bed creak, and the old prisoner turned over, facing the cell door.

In the dim light, Lingo saw his face clearly for the first time.

His gray hair was a mess, and his face was covered with wrinkles and age spots.

"You're quite the strange boss."

The old man said with emotion:

"The big shots would give me direct orders, and if I didn't work, they'd whip me. Beating prisoners is commonplace for prison guards, isn't it?"

Lin Ge said calmly:

"I'm not a prison guard, I'm a businessman who's good at recognizing the value in everyone."

"Now that you're neither deaf nor blind, and you have hands and feet, you can do much more work than those people in drug-addicted areas."

Foster stared at him intently for a while, then nodded:

"Okay, I'll get to work tomorrow."

As Lin Ge left the cell block, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

He walked into the office, sat down in the chair, and put his feet on the table.

Outside the window, the lights of Tulsa flickered on the horizon, their orange glow painting the sky with an unusual color.

He picked up the stamped part and examined it over and over in his hands.

The metal surface reflected the white light of the fluorescent lamp, cold and hard.

He remembered what the old prisoner had said:

"This is my home."

In this dilapidated prison, amidst the gray concrete walls and rusty barbed wire, a unique atmosphere has taken root.

The walls are still the same walls, the iron gates are still the same iron gates, but the people inside do not belong to this society.

Lin Ge placed the stamped part on the table, turned off the light, and closed his eyes.

There's still a lot to do tomorrow.

But now, he just wanted to spend some quiet time in this dilapidated chair, in this gray concrete building standing in the Oklahoma wilderness.

The wind outside the window picked up again, making the barbed wire hum and hum like some ancient instrument playing a tune that only this prison could understand.

Lin Ge opened his eyes in the darkness and looked at the fluorescent light on the ceiling that had been turned off.

He remembered the quote on the Reagan poster:

"Let's Make America Great Again!"

Whether America can be made great again is another matter, but if Ringo wants to live, he has to make this prison great again!