I bought a prison in the United States.

Morrison looked at the report that had just been delivered to him, his mind still lingering on the indescribable excitement he had felt during his recent phone call with the chief engineer:

"We spent three days conducting internal testing."

"The result is basically consistent with your prediction at the Chamber of Commerce: 1.2 mm cold-rolled steel sheet with a pre-hole diameter of 3.6 to 3.7 mm."

"Using M4 triangular self-tapping screws, the tightening torque can be controlled within 1.5 Nm, and the anti-loosening performance is indeed better than traditional tapping with spring washers."

"Our chief engineer also told me that the solution was so elegant it was annoying, but not in a derogatory way."

He said he was very angry that he hadn't thought of that.

Ringo knew Morrison hadn't finished speaking, so he didn't reply, but he already had his answer in his heart.

"I'd like to meet with you to discuss this further."

Morrison continued.

"Our washing machine production line is undergoing design modifications for the next generation of products, and several thin-plate connection points are facing the same tapping problem."

"If your solution can be officially authorized to us, it can save us a lot of money on mold modification costs and scrap rate costs."

"When is a convenient time for you?"

Only then did Lingo say:

"Then let's meet tomorrow morning. You can meet me in my prison."

"Take a look at my factory. If there's a need for stamped parts in the future, there might be more opportunities for cooperation."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

Lin Ge could hear the sound of a typewriter clicking in the background, and someone calling out the part number.

Like most large companies, GE’s purchasing department is a space filled with filing cabinets and ringing telephones.

"The prison, is it the McLean County Correctional Center that's on your business card?"

Morrison's voice carried a curiosity that he was trying very hard to suppress.

"I heard you run a stamping business while you're in prison."

"To be honest, I've been a purchasing agent for twelve years and have visited hundreds of suppliers' factories, but I've never been to a prison."

"Then tomorrow will be your first time."

Lin Ge calmly replied:

"I promise you won't regret it."

Morrison let out a laugh:

"Okay, I'll bring a technical engineer with me tomorrow morning at 10 a.m.

"Please prepare your samples and relevant data."

"Yes."

Lin Ge hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

The sounds of machinery from the factory outside the window seeped through the walls, turning into a dull hum.

General Electric... General Electric was a name he had read in a business magazine in his past life.

In another timeline, under Jack Welch's leadership, General Electric would become the most valuable company in America, only to be forced to sell its century-old business due to the impact of the financial crisis.

But in October 1984, Welch had only been CEO for three years.

He is drastically cutting unprofitable business lines, transforming General Electric from a bloated industrial group into a profit machine with finance and core manufacturing as its twin engines.

At such a critical juncture, a self-tapping screw solution from Tulsa Prison is indeed clever, but it doesn't quite reach the level of genius.

It piqued their interest because it aligned with the logic Welch was promoting.

Use smarter methods instead of more laborious or costly ones.

In Welch's dictionary, this is called productivity.

In the lexicon of capitalism, this is called getting more output with less input.

For this prison, these are just routine tasks for survival.

Ringo picked up his pen and wrote on the back of Harmon's note:

Tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM, the GE purchasing manager will visit the factory.

Prepare samples and notify Craig to prepare technical data.

He then placed the note on the corner of the table, so that Hamon would see it the next time he came in.

……

Two o'clock in the afternoon.

Paul Winston's van was also parked at the back gate loading and unloading area of ​​the prison factory.

The truck also has logos printed on its side:

Winston Hardware Wholesale, Copper Pipes, Valves, Fittings, Serving Tulsa for 22 Years.

The logo's font was handwritten, and the color was a faded dark green, making it inconspicuous against the truck's white paint.

Paul's father designed the logo himself when he opened the store in 1962.

He didn't have the money to hire a professional logo designer, so he drew more than twenty versions on paper with a marker and finally chose the least ugly one.

Twenty-two years later, this least ugly logo has become an old face in the Tulsa hardware industry.

Paul jumped out of the driver's seat, walked up to Ringo, and extended his hand.

"Mr. Chen."

Lin Ge grasped that hand.

Paul had a thin layer of calluses on his palms, the same type as the hardware store owner's hands, but in a different location than Craig's.

Craig's calluses are on his fingertips, the calluses of an engineer, from holding a pencil and tightening a screw.

Paul's calluses are on his palms, the calluses of a businessman, marks left from ten thousand trips between warehouses and wagons.

The two people's cocoons are in different positions, but they speak the same language, the language of labor.

"The goods have all been delivered."

Paul pointed to the back of the truck.

"All the usable valves and copper pipes are inside, and we've also brought a list of the damaged parts."

Lin Ge glanced at the truck.

There were about thirty cardboard boxes piled up in the back compartment. Some of the boxes had been soaked in water, and the cardboard was swollen and deformed, but they were resealed with tape.

Each cardboard box was labeled with its contents and quantity in black marker, the handwriting neat and legible, all written by Paul himself.

He didn't let his employees do this because he wanted to personally oversee every step after the fire.

This is the only way for a small business owner to regain a sense of control during a crisis: by doing everything personally.

"I already told you the price for cleaning and repackaging, valves, and copper pipes the other day. The material and processing fees for replacement parts are separate."

Ringo began to speak in a business-like tone:

"Do you agree to pay first?"

"agree."

Paul took an envelope from the inside pocket of his work jacket and handed it to Ringo.

"Here is two thousand dollars."

"The deposit for this batch of cleaning and packaging, as well as the material costs for replacement parts, will be settled after all the goods are delivered, regardless of whether it is more or less."

Lin Ge took the envelope but did not open it.

In Tulsa, it is common practice to pay by envelope; not every transaction involves a bank transfer.

For small businesses, bank transfers involve transfer fees, processing time, and sometimes the hassle of being bombarded with questions by tellers.

Cash and check envelopes do not have these problems.

This is part of the gray economy, but it's not illegal gray; it's legal, just not as formal.

In the 80s, this informal envelope economy accounted for approximately 15% to 20% of small business transactions.

No one will be surprised, because every small business owner understands the pressure of cash flow.

In addition to bank loans and formal accounts, doing business always requires some more flexible ways of cash flow.