I bought a prison in the United States.

The condition of each piece of equipment is clearly marked on the list.

Peterson even hand-wrote recommended maintenance cycles and troubleshooting methods for each item.

The contract only required him to deliver equipment that could function properly; the handwritten maintenance suggestions were added by him.

These days, American manufacturing is being eaten away bit by bit by the Japanese and Koreans.

From 1975 to 1984, nearly 120 million manufacturing jobs were lost across the United States, most of which were concentrated in the Rust Belt's automotive, steel, and textile industries.

Small family businesses like Peterson Equipment Rental survive not because of scale or technology, but even not because of price.

It relies on a service that Japanese and Koreans cannot yet replicate.

The essence of this service is to maintain each customer as a long-term relationship, rather than a one-time transaction.

Ringo nodded:

"The manifest is fine. Have your men start unloading. My engineers will assist with the installation."

Peterson nodded and turned to walk toward the truck.

……

By 9 a.m., all the equipment had been unloaded.

Two stamping machines were placed on the east side of the factory, side by side with the old stamping machine, forming a small stamping production line.

The deburring roller is placed in the west corner of the factory, next to the anti-rust spraying machine.

Ten sewing machines were moved to the textile area on the south side of the factory, replacing the ten old machines.

Craig was squatting next to the new stamping press, holding an installation manual provided by Peterson, discussing the installation angle of the mold with Randy.

His orange prison uniform had oil stains on the cuffs, and his expression was focused and calm.

This expression is essentially no different from the one he had when he was drawing fighter plane blueprints in Lockheed's drafting room.

Old Foster sat on a plastic chair in the corner of the workshop, a cardboard box on his lap, sorting through the mixed screws and washers.

His movements were a bit faster than a few weeks ago, and his fingers were no longer trembling as badly.

The "dejected" label that Lingo had struggled to suppress above his head had shrunk to almost invisible.

The new label is "Quiet".

Like an old tree, although it no longer grows new branches and leaves, it stands there, its roots still gripping the earth.

Peterson stood at the factory gate, watching all of this.

His expression was a mixture of shock and admiration, a silent assessment of one businessman by another.

Lingo stood beside him.

"Mr. Peterson, the rent for three months is $5,100, which I can pay in full now."

"Disposable?"

"right."

"Most people who rent equipment prefer to pay monthly to reduce cash flow pressure."

"I don't like being in debt."

Lingo said:

"Especially short-term debt."

Lin Ge disliked not only owing a loan shark with an annual interest rate of 25%, but also being in debt to others in the form of short-term debt.

Ray's $54,000 loan was accruing interest every month, like a straw stuck in his cash flow artery.

With each reduction in other debts, the straw's diameter increases by one notch.

This is the most basic business logic: prioritize repaying the most expensive debts.

Even if it is impossible to repay, priority should be given to controlling the growth rate of other debts.

Peterson took a checkbook from the pocket of his work jacket, placed it on his knees, and filled out a receipt.

He handed the receipt to Ringo:

"If any problems are found with the equipment, call me."

"As long as it's not the middle of the night, I will send someone over within two hours."

Lin Ge took the receipt, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

Peterson's truck started, emitting a puff of pale blue smoke from its exhaust pipe, and then the convoy slowly drove out of the prison gates.

Lingo stood at the factory gate, watching the convoy disappear behind the bend in the road.

He turned and walked back to the factory.

Inside the workshop, the prisoners were already in their respective positions.

Next to the new press, Craig was explaining to Randy the differences between the Niagara SE-2's control panel and the old press.

Randy listened while taking notes in his notebook, occasionally looking up and asking a question with a frown.

In the textile zone, six Singer sewing machines are running simultaneously, emitting a rhythmic clicking sound that intertwines with the clattering of the stamping press, creating an orderly industrial symphony.

Mayor Marcus stood on one side of the factory, with his back against the wall and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

His current title is "factory inspector," an informal position given to him by Ringo.

No one needs to operate any machines; they just need to walk around the workshop, observe the prisoners' movements, and report any abnormalities to the guards.

The salary for this position is an extra five points per day.

In the points-based system, five points mean an extra hour of outdoor time or an extra visitation opportunity per week.

But Marcus did this not just because of the points.

He did this because, in prison, a power vacuum can be filled once it appears.

If he's not in this position, someone else will.

Marcus nodded slightly when he saw Ringo walk in.

Lin Ge nodded back.

The two did not speak, but the message had been conveyed.

The factory was operating normally, the prisoners were in stable condition, and the warden did not need to personally intervene in any trouble.

Lingo walked toward the stairs at the back of the factory.

He needs to go back to his office to work on a document.

But just as his hand touched the stair railing, Wade strode over from the other end of the corridor.

"Boss, there's a phone call for you in the office. The caller says he's a purchasing manager from General Electric and has been online for about three minutes."

Lin Ge's fingers paused on the armrest for a moment.

General Electric.

That day at the business conference, he helped a speaker solve a technical problem with tapping thin plates and left his business card.

But that was four days ago.

In the business world, four days of silence usually means:

"We've looked at your proposal, but we're not that interested."

But now the phone is ringing.

He strode up the stairs and pushed open the office door.

The telephone receiver lay face down on the table, next to a note Hamon had written for him:

[General Electric, Purchasing Manager, Name: Carl Morrison, Call Time: 9:17]

Harmon's handwriting looked like he was left-handed; he had answered the phone while Ringo was away.

Lin Ge picked up the receiver.

"I am Ringo Chen."

A middle-aged man's voice came from the other end of the phone:

"Mr. Chen, I am Carl Morrison, Purchasing Manager at General Electric."

"Do you remember that you proposed a solution for tapping thin plates at the Tulsa Chamber of Commerce four days ago, using self-tapping screws to replace traditional tapping?"

"Remember."

"I have forwarded your proposal to our technical team."