I bought a prison in the United States.

October 2nd, Monday, 7:00 AM.

A few thin clouds hung on the horizon, their edges tinged with a warm orange-yellow hue by the rising sun.

The cement roads in the industrial area still retained the dew from last night, reflecting a thin layer of luster in the morning light.

Peterson Equipment Rental's truck fleet set off early in the morning and gradually stopped outside the prison gates.

Three flatbed trucks and one van, all bearing the same gear-shaped logo.

The logo's design style is still stuck in the 1950s, with a serif font that uses strong contrasts in stroke thickness, and the number and angle of the gear teeth are symmetrical.

Before the advent of computer-aided design, these logos were drawn stroke by stroke by artisans using hand-drawing tools.

Ronald sat in the passenger seat of the first truck.

He was wearing a gray jacket with a red company logo embroidered on his left breast pocket, and a baseball cap with the same logo on his head.

The truck stopped in front of the prison gate.

Peterson jumped out of the passenger seat, walked to the driver's side, and knocked on the window.

"Watch out for the drainage ditch on the right when reversing."

The driver nodded and began to adjust the direction.

Peterson walked toward the prison gate.

The blue paint on the iron gate is still peeling, but the surrounding environment is different from what it was a few weeks ago.

Over the past two weeks, the inmates have cleaned up the entire parking lot, pulled out all the grass, filled in the worst cracks, and repainted the parking spaces with old paint they found in the prison storeroom.

The lines aren't perfectly straight, and their width varies in some places, but their very existence is a testament to the fact that someone is in charge here!

The intercom on the door beeped twice, and the iron gate opened.

As Peterson walked through the gate, the first thing he saw was the exercise yard.

On the concrete ground of the exercise yard, more than twenty prisoners in orange uniforms were lined up in two rows for morning roll call.

Their formations were very neat, modeled after military training, with even spacing and well-organized rows and columns.

No one whispered or swayed; everyone's eyes were fixed straight ahead, and their hands hung at their sides.

Standing at the front of the line was a black man in his early forties, bald, with a thick beard, and a strong physique.

He wasn't holding the roll call board; it was in Wade's hands, who was standing next to him.

But the way he stood there was enough to keep everyone in the queue quiet.

That was Mayor Marcus Wayne.

After the two pyramids in the prison collapsed, the "mayor" became the only one left.

Coupled with his already good reputation, and with Ling Ge's tacit approval, he quickly suppressed Ghost Fang and Blue Serpent's subordinates and followers.

The "mayor" now enjoys immense prestige and, in tacit agreement with the prison guards, manages the basic behavior of the prisoners.

Lingo promised the "mayor" that he would not have to participate in factory work, and that the other party would have his working hours calculated as a special internal manager.

In addition, he receives 100 points per month and has the right to propose increases or decreases in points for other prisoners.

The mayor wanted power, while Ringo wanted stability, so the two reached a consensus.

Peterson ran into Ringo at the factory gate, took off his baseball cap, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Mr. Chen, your prison... is not quite what I imagined."

"Oh, how is it different?" Lin Ge raised an eyebrow and smiled.

Peterson answered with a serious expression:

"It's too peaceful. I thought it would be noisy in here, and the prisoners would be disobedient and fight."

"But I didn't expect you to manage this place so well. It's truly impressive. It seems I have to raise my opinion of your prison factory by another level."

Peterson's words came from the bottom of his heart, because he had previously provided supplies and equipment to state prisons.

He had personally visited the Tulsa County Jail, which was utterly chaotic and a stark contrast to the scene here.

He knew that getting prisoners to behave like this was not an easy task.

Let alone prisons, even legitimate companies managing sixty or seventy people would find it difficult to be so uniform and orderly.

From this perspective, Ling Ge is indeed a man of some skill.

Ringo accepted the praise with a smile, then looked at the convoy behind Peterson:

"Has all the equipment arrived?"

"We've all arrived."

Two stamping machines, one deburring roller, one anti-rust oil spraying machine, and ten Singer sewing machines.

There is also a batch of spare belts and knives.

Peterson took a folded packing list out of his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Ringo.

"Here is the checklist. Please check it and sign here if everything is okay."

Lin Ge took the list, glanced at it briefly, and then looked at the equipment on the truck that was wrapped in ropes and tarpaulins.

The flywheel and crankshaft of the press are fixed separately on a base, and the bed and slide are tied together with steel cables.

All moving parts were wrapped in rust-proof paper, and then wrapped in a layer of plastic film.

This is how Peterson does things; every piece of equipment is carefully packed before being shipped.

This wasn't because he enjoyed doing it; it was because he learned something during his years in the leasing business.

90% of equipment damage during transportation is due to insufficient packaging.

The cost of repairing each instance of damage would eat up at least three months' worth of profits.

Peterson was still keeping an eye on the prisoners.

"Your prisoner doesn't look like a prisoner."

"Oh?" Lin Ge looked up.

Peterson explained:

"I've delivered goods to several prisons before."

"You can tell from the eyes of most prisoners that they are either empty or filled with hatred."

"The prisoners here seem very energetic and spirited. Can you tell me how you do that?"

After thinking for a moment, Lin Ge told the other party about some Chinese-style prison team management methods.

Peterson listened thoughtfully, but still shook his head, indicating that he couldn't learn it.

The method Ringo described is difficult to implement in the United States. In prisons, prisoners don't have many choices and can only obediently follow orders.

But outside, American-style freedom wouldn't allow them to use such special management methods for their company employees.

Lin Ge turned his attention back to the list and began to check each item one by one.

The stamping press was a Niagara SE-2, manufactured in 1978. It served for five years at a defunct auto parts factory in Claremore and was idle for one year.

The deburring roller is a Tumbler-300, an older model from 1975, but the wear on the inner wall of the roller is within acceptable limits.

The anti-rust sprayer is a small, manually operated device with a simple structure that makes it almost impossible for it to malfunction.

Of the ten Singer sewing machines, six are in 90% new condition, and four need their belts replaced and needle bars adjusted.