I bought a prison in the United States.

"Thank you, I'll go tomorrow."

Lin Ge gave a polite smile.

Frank nodded and said nothing more. These tips were merely a small token of his appreciation to a younger student.

He held his champagne glass, his attention now focused on the crowd moving through the banquet hall.

His posture remained calm, but at a certain moment, his gaze became less casual, as if he were purposefully searching for someone or a business opportunity.

Most people who come to the Chamber of Commerce are looking for business opportunities or expanding their network.

Beneath those seemingly carefree and cheerful exteriors lie faces that are calculating and scheming.

Lingo also began to observe from his own perspective.

The cocktail party has been going on for about forty minutes.

Alcohol slowly begins to take effect in the bloodstream of the group.

The volume of voices in the room was several decibels louder than before, the frequency of laughter increased, and body language became more relaxed and open.

The oil traders began patting each other on the shoulder, and the bankers loosened their ties.

Alcohol is dismantling the social barriers that are carefully maintained when one is sober.

That's the real purpose of a cocktail party.

The purpose of drinking is to allow those things that one wouldn't say when sober to flow out naturally under the cover of alcohol.

Tomorrow morning, if anyone asks, both parties can use "I drank too much last night" as an excuse.

But deals are often struck at moments like these.

Ringo saw Mr. Danforth standing at the other end of the banquet hall, talking to a tall man with thinning hair.

The old manufacturer held a glass of whiskey with lots of ice in his hand.

He drank slowly, taking small sips, as if diluting the alcohol with ice water. His posture was more relaxed than when he was talking to Baylors in the afternoon, but his shoulders were still very tense.

The man he was talking to was speaking, and Mr. Danforth was listening; clearly, the former was in control.

Occasionally, Danforth would nod or offer a brief word of agreement.

Doing business is really not easy, especially for someone of Danforth's age.

He wanted to use alcohol and ice to restore his brain to a youthful state, hoping not to make any mistakes.

Ringo shifted his gaze from Mr. Danforth and scanned the entire banquet hall.

Just then, he noticed something unusual.

Near the entrance of the banquet hall, a middle-aged man in a dark blue suit was talking to a waiter.

The man's suit was well-tailored, but his posture was off; he was leaning slightly forward, and his fingers were repeatedly clenching and unclenching at the hem of his suit.

He had a smile on his face, but it was completely different from the relaxed smiles of the others around him, which were fueled by alcohol.

It was more stiff, and it was clear that maintaining that respectable smile was no easy task.

Lin Ge now habitually looks at the top of people's heads, and the emotional label on that man's head was "anxiety," a very dark color.

After listening to his words, the waiter nodded and walked towards the back of the banquet hall.

The man stayed where he was, picked up his glass, and took a big gulp.

He drank in the exact opposite way to Mr. Danforth, gulping it down as if he were extinguishing something with alcohol.

Lin Ge looked away and stopped staring.

It is impolite to stare at someone at a business meeting, especially if that person is visibly anxious.

But a few minutes later, the waiter returned.

He walked over to the man and whispered a few words to him.

The man's face suddenly turned panicked.

He placed his wine glass on a passing tray and quickly followed the waiter out of the banquet hall.

About ten minutes later, another minor incident occurred on the other side of the banquet hall.

Two well-dressed middle-aged women were talking near the window when one of them suddenly covered her nose with a handkerchief and tilted her head back.

Another person held her arm, a worried expression on their face.

People gathered briefly to ask what was going on.

The woman waved her hand and said something, something like, "It's nothing, maybe she's just not used to champagne."

Then, accompanied by his companion, he walked out of the banquet hall.

Two small things.

At a cocktail party with over a hundred people, it's perfectly normal for some to leave early.

No one will pay special attention.

People continued drinking, continued talking, and continued filling the crystal chandelier room with alcohol and laughter.

But Ringo noticed that his abilities told him there was a subtle shift in the mood around him.

During his two previous bankruptcies, Lingo learned one thing in countless similar social situations.

Observe those who leave.

Why someone leaves early can tell you the true state of a social event.

He picked up his almost untouched gin and tonic and took a small sip.

The bitterness of juniper berries spreads across the tongue, mixed with the slightly sweet aftertaste of quinine water.

He didn't like the taste, but he needed to have something in his hand.

Five minutes later, the third person to leave appeared.

This time it was a young man in a gray suit, about thirty years old.

He walked through the crowd, his pace faster than usual, his expression a forced calm.

Without greeting anyone, he walked straight to the side door of the banquet hall, pushed it open, and disappeared outside.

Ringo placed the gin and tonic on the passing tray.

"Mr. Cao, please excuse me for a moment."

He walked towards the side door of the banquet hall, unhurriedly, like someone going to the restroom.

Outside the side door is a narrow service passage.

The walls were painted with a light green semi-gloss paint, and the floor was covered with non-slip rubber mats.

The passageway has doors on both sides leading to the kitchen, storage room, and staff area.

The air was filled with the scent of cleaning agents, which separated the perfume and alcohol smells in the banquet hall.

The young man in the gray suit was standing at the entrance to the stairwell at the end of the corridor, one hand supporting himself against the wall, his body slightly hunched over.

His breathing was rapid and heavy, as if he was trying to suppress the urge to vomit.

Lin Ge did not approach.

He stood in the middle of the passage, maintaining a distance that would not make the other party feel violated, but would allow him to intervene promptly if necessary.

"Sir, do you need any help?"

The young man turned his head sharply, his face pale, with beads of sweat glistening on his forehead under the fluorescent light.

There was genuine fear in his eyes, not just from the effects of alcohol, but from a more urgent situation.

"I'm fine."

He tried to sound calm, "It's just... I ate something bad."

Lingo didn't ask any more questions, but he didn't leave either. He stood there calmly, maintaining that distance.

The young man stared at him for a few seconds.

Then his body suddenly went limp, and his hand, which was supporting him against the wall, slipped down.

He squatted down, covered his head with his hands, and his shoulders began to tremble violently.