I bought a prison in the United States.

At 2 PM, Ringo took some time to go back to the prison and spoke with Harmon about some things:

"I'm going to attend the Tulsa Chamber of Commerce meeting in a few days, so I'll be quite busy during that time. The county government will probably send someone over soon as well."

"If I'm not there, you'll take over the duties and just give me a report afterwards."

Harmon nodded as he held his coffee.

Ringo put the documents Parker had compiled for him into the filing cabinet and casually asked:

"By the way, has anything been wrong at the prison lately?"

"no."

"The prisoners didn't cause any trouble?"

"There's been some trouble, but it's still under control. It's just a normal part of prison life. Trust me, you won't be interested in it."

Lin Ge was indeed not interested; he was only thinking about how to attract investment and how long it would take to settle things with Eleanor.

Harmon took a sip of coffee and then yawned.

"Your new points-based management system is really good. The prisoners' work motivation has increased a lot, and they are even willing to make their beds."

Lin Ge nodded in satisfaction:

"Then take some time to arrange for them to do a thorough cleaning. I don't want to trip over the weeds outside the door next time I come in. The prison's image needs a complete makeover starting today."

Hamon frowned, looking troubled.

"That might not work. If we accidentally discover something difficult to handle, it could really cause trouble..."

"Wouldn't it be even more difficult to handle once those things are discovered by the inspectors sent by the state corrections department?"

Ringo knew that this was a critical time for the prison.

With just over two weeks left before Reagan signs the new bill, the state corrections department is bound to make some moves.

Ringo left again at four o'clock in the afternoon. Harmon didn't want to ask about what the new boss was doing; he was only responsible for stabilizing the situation inside the prison.

……

At five o'clock in the afternoon, the office door was closed.

Hammon sat behind his desk, with Wade's morning roll call record and patrol report spread out in front of him.

The fluorescent lights buzzed above his head, making the wrinkles on his face appear deeper than usual.

"Third floor of Section D".

Hamon pointed to a line of text on the report:

"What exactly do you mean by increasing the frequency of spot checks in your suggestion?"

Wade stood in front of the desk with his hands behind his back.

He did not sit down, nor did Hamon invite him to sit down.

This was their custom: when reporting matters, they would stand up.

"Ghost Fang and Blue Snake's people had contact in the cafeteria. Although there was no direct conflict, the atmosphere was tense."

"When the Ghost Fang members left, their hands were in their pockets the whole time, so I suspect they had something on them."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure, but judging from the way they put it in their pockets, it's unlikely to be cigarettes, so it's more likely a weapon."

Harmon leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlaced on his stomach, which was noticeably larger than it had been a few years ago.

Since becoming the acting warden, he has spent less time moving around and more time sitting in his office.

Mrs. Martha's meals weren't great, but they were high in calories.

He started by drilling one more hole in the belt, and then a second one.

"If you search for it, will you be able to find it?"

"uncertain."

Wade was telling the truth.

"If they want to hide something, they won't hide it on their person; at most, they'll just temporarily carry it with them during the transfer."

"If I search them, I might not find anything, but if I search their cells..."

"You just searched their cells last week and found nothing, didn't you?"

Hamon looked thoughtful, listening to the wind outside the window making the barbed wire hum.

The sounds of machinery from the factory could be heard in the distance; the stamping presses struck rhythmically, one after another.

"Wade."

Harmon's voice suddenly lost its usual businesslike tone when giving instructions:

"How long do you think this new boss can last?"

"Are you asking for my opinion of him?"

Wade thought for a moment and said seriously:

"I don't have any particular opinion about him personally, but I have a very high opinion of the new points system he invented."

"In addition, he did some things that were of real help to the prison, such as getting the stamping machine repaired and getting some of the inmates who were not working to do some work."

"These are things we've all seen; at least in the short term, this new boss is indeed thinking about the prison."

After hearing Wade's words, Hammon let out a hearty laugh.

"Yes, he fixed the press, gave the cook a raise, gave Hobbes a chance, gave the kid who stole the TV a job, and gave old Foster a cardboard box to sort parts."

Hamon paused for a moment:

"But if Ghost Fang and Blue Snake really start fighting, none of these things will work. A stamping machine can't stop a sharpened toothbrush handle."

Wade kept quiet because he understood Hamon's concerns.

In prison, all reform plans, all efforts to make the place better, could be wiped out in a riot.

The spark that ignites a riot could be a pack of cigarettes, a misheard remark, or a glance that falls on the wrong person at the wrong time.

"Keep an eye on it."

Hamon concluded.

"If you find anything, don't rush to do anything. Tell me first."

Wade nodded, turned and walked out of the office.

In the corridor, Tommy was pushing a cart loaded with medicine bottles and bandages toward the medical room.

Upon seeing Wade, he stopped and greeted him.

"How is it?"

"What, how is it?"

"What you told the boss."

"The boss isn't here, and even if he were, he couldn't solve this kind of problem."

After Wade finished speaking, he continued walking towards the prison area, his boots making a dull thud on the concrete floor.

Tommy watched his retreating figure without asking any further questions.

At McLean County Correctional Center, many things are answered with silence.

Silence can mean "I don't know" or "I know but I can't say".

"It's no use saying anything."

In either case, pressing for answers will not yield any further results.

The factory closed at 5:30 p.m.

The prisoners put the tools back in their place, neatly stacked the finished products, and swept the waste into the trash can.

Craig checked the various parameters of the stamping press and recorded today's output and machine status in his logbook.

Randy removed the used molds, wiped them clean, applied rust-preventing oil, and put them back on the mold rack.

They stamped 280 samples today.

More than sixty of them were defective, more than one hundred and thirty were barely acceptable, and less than eighty met the ±0.3 mm tolerance requirement.

The scrap rate was alarmingly high, but Craig didn't seem frustrated.

"Seventy-eight qualified candidates were produced on the first day, which is better than I expected."

He wrapped the 78 qualified parts in oil paper and put them into a wooden box labeled as a sample.

"Come back tomorrow, work three hours more, and add two helpers. Try to do 150, and 200 the day after tomorrow."

"We must reduce the scrap rate to below 10% before the weekend!"