I bought a prison in the United States.

Harmon leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest:

"You've seen it all. This is what you bought for $53,000. Do you regret it now?"

"What I see is potential."

Lingo went around behind the desk, patted the chair cushion, sat down without any hesitation, and smiled at Hamon.

From the moment he entered the prison, he carefully examined every detail, thinking as he looked.

Although it seems terrible in some ways, from the perspective of a person from the future, the problem is not so hopeless.

Hamon let out a short laugh:

"Your optimism reminds me of someone."

"Who?"

"I."

Hamon casually pulled up a chair and sat down:

"Ten years ago, when I first left the Veterans Affairs Bureau, I thought I could succeed at anything I wanted to do."

"I went to work as a prison guard at a private prison in Georgia, and a year later I became the deputy warden."

"I quickly got bored. Staying in prison was no different from being one of the other prisoners; I was living a life of utter darkness."

"Later I came back here and it took me three years to learn one thing: you can't change the world, the world will only wear you down."

"Then why are you still here?" Lin Ge asked.

Hamon shrugged:

"Because I can't go anywhere."

"I'm divorced, drowning in debt, and my only skill is managing prisoners."

"Look at this prison. I either walk in on my own, or I wait for life to push me in."

"It's like being a soldier. You're trained to be a killing machine, and then the war ends, and you find you can't do anything."

"Being a prison guard is the only job where I feel my previous training was still somewhat useful."

Ringo scrutinized Hamon.

There was a deep-seated weariness in those light gray eyes, a weariness formed from the repeated friction of life.

Lingo said:

"Mr. Harmon, I need your help to manage my daily operations."

"I have no law enforcement experience, no experience dealing with prisoners. You are an expert, so I hope you can stay and we can sign a new contract."

A gust of wind came from outside the window, making the barbed wire mesh hum.

Harmon stroked his chin. "How much money are you planning to give me?"

Ringo replied:

"It's 15% higher than what the county government offers, an annual salary of $32,000, plus performance bonuses."

What is a performance bonus?

"If the prison occupancy rate reaches 80% or more, you will receive an additional 10% bonus."

Harmon stared at him for a moment, then pulled a pack of Marlboros from his pocket, took one out, and lit it.

Smoke slowly rose in the dimly lit office, dispersed by the ceiling fan.

Harmon nodded, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"You're a madman, but I'm a madman too."

"make a deal."

……

Harmon took Ringo to see the prison guards who were still on duty.

There were seven people in total.

Wade Malloy: 47 years old, former Marine Corps sergeant major, walks with a slight limp.

He was the most senior of the group of prison guards, having worked in McLean County for eight years.

Although this man was taciturn, his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's.

The way he looked at Ringo reminded Ringo of the feeling he had in his past life when he was being stared at by a wolf while visiting a wildlife park.

Daryl Coffey: Thirty-two years old, as strong as an ox, with a tattoo on his neck that extends all the way to behind his ear.

He used to work as a security guard in Tulsa, but was fired after getting into a fight with a colleague.

When Harmon introduced him, Coffey was chatting with an inmate through the fence in the cell block.

His voice was so loud that it could be heard throughout the entire corridor.

Tommy Thompson: Twenty-six years old, tall and thin, wearing round-framed glasses, he looks more like a high school chemistry teacher than a prison guard.

He was probably the only person in the prison who genuinely cared about the prisoners' medical needs, even though his medical skills were limited to dispensing aspirin.

Reggie Jackson: 24 years old, shares the same name as that baseball star but has no relation to him, is Black, and is the youngest prison guard.

There are three other people: one is on vacation, and two have already submitted their resignations and are preparing to leave next month.

"Why are there only a few people here?"

Lin Ge asked.

Hamon yawned and said:

"At this time last year, we had 22 people, but now only a few are willing to come to work."

"Oh, right, and the cook too."

The cook's name was Estelle Martha, 43 years old, a Mexican-American.

Her kitchen was behind the canteen, a small room with a six-burner stove, an industrial refrigerator, and a pile of pots and pans.

Lin Ge went inside and saw her chopping onions.

"Oh, I heard. You're the new boss, right?"

She raised her head slightly, then lowered it again to continue her work.

"Yes."

"Then you'd better tell me what we're having for breakfast tomorrow."

She pushed the chopped onions into the bowl and then looked at Ringo.

She had a round face, dark brown skin, deep crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, and wore a floral apron.

Ringo replied:

"Do whatever you want."

"Oh, I hate people like you who say 'whatever' the most. You have no requirements, but then you complain that the food doesn't suit your taste."

Mrs. Martha put down the knife, wiped her hands with her apron, and then looked him up and down:

"Do you know how many people I have to cook for every day? Including the prison guards, there are almost seventy people. I cook two dishes for each meal, and I also have to add eggs and bread for breakfast."

"I'm all alone, without any help. I get up at five in the morning and can't leave until eight at night."

Mrs. Martha expressed her dissatisfaction vehemently, but she knew that her complaints would probably not change the minds of these important people.

Lin Ge frowned slightly, looking at the mountain of dirty dishes and empty oil drums in the kitchen, and realized a problem.

The inability of prisons to operate is not solely due to high administrative costs.

It's because all the costs are high!

From prison guards' salaries to prisoners' meals, every penny is flowing out of the country.

Lin Ge thought for a moment and said:

"I'll find you a helper in a while, but you have to do one thing for me."

"What is it?"

"Starting tomorrow, you will be in charge of purchasing all ingredients."

"I will give you a weekly budget. You are responsible for buying the best things with the least amount of money, and the difference in price will be your subsidy."

Upon hearing about the subsidy, Mrs. Martha narrowed her eyes:

"Are you asking me to be a purchasing agent?"

Lingo said:

"You decide what the prisoners eat. If you can't buy good ingredients, they'll eat bad food, and you'll be the one who gets blamed, not me."

"ha!"

Mrs. Martha laughed out loud; it was a snort-like laugh.

"Okay, but I have one more condition."

"explain."

"I want a new oven. This one has been leaking gas since last year. If it explodes one day, you'll have to go to heaven to find your cook."

Lin Ge glanced back at the oven, an old relic from the 1960s, with the door seals worn and cracked, exposing the fiberglass inside.

It seems there are still many places where I'll need to spend money; I'll have to figure out another way to raise some renovation funds...