I'm building Gundams in America

Chapter 129 Do you want to take a gamble? (Seeking monthly votes)

The organizational structure of the King County Correctional Center in Seattle is divided into four levels of command and management.

These are the Facility Commander, also known as the warden, who oversees all aspects of operations, including security and external coordination.

The Major, or Deputy Warden, is responsible for prison guard management, scheduling, discipline, and emergency response.

The four regional captains are responsible for four main areas: security, inmates, medical care, and projects. Each captain oversees a specific frontline area.

Then there is the Lieutenant/Sergeant, who is responsible for the on-site management of the prison area and functional groups, and directly leads the police.

Robert, the team leader, is the on-site supervisor of the high-risk ward, and ranks fourth in the management level.

To be promoted to deputy warden, there is still one district supervisor in between.

Even getting promoted to district supervisor is difficult, since the entire King County Correctional Center is located in Washington, a blue state that values ​​gender diversity. Even though the current president has been resisting these things, his policies don't apply to specific departments in blue states.

Therefore, as a white male, Robert did not have much of an advantage in terms of promotion, not to mention that he was also part of Deputy Warden Cent's faction.

Therefore, after hearing Wayne's words, Bob simply smiled and didn't take it too seriously.

Let's just take it as Wayne joking.

After all, no matter how powerful Wayne is or what mysterious background he has, he is still just a prisoner who has only been in jail for a few days.

His trial hasn't even started yet.

How do the people in the cage decide the fate of the cage's administrator?

That's just wishful thinking.

However, he naturally wouldn't argue with the investors; in fact, he'd love for them to make more noise so he could get a share of the profits.

Soon, Wayne arrived outside that familiar office.

As soon as I reached the door, I heard curses coming from inside: "Damn it, why the hell aren't they making a move yet?! Where the hell are the ground troops?!"

It was the voice of Robert, the prison warden.

Bob shrugged at Wayne and knocked on the office door.

"Come in! What the hell is going on?!"

Robert's voice was tinged with anger, but the moment he saw Bob bring Wayne in, a smile immediately appeared on his face. He said, "Mr. Wayne, how can I help you? Please rest assured, the correctional officers in the high-risk ward of King County Correctional Center are dedicated to serving their fellow inmates. Please feel free to ask for anything you need."

His eyes were bloodshot and he had large dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well for the past few days. He looked somewhat agitated and irritable.

Wayne casually sat down in the chair in front of Robert, as if he were not a prisoner who had come to the warden's office, but a visitor who had come to visit a junior.

He didn't answer Robert's question, but instead asked calmly, "Robert, my friend, what happened? You seem to be having some financial difficulties."

Robert gave a wry smile and said, "Mr. Wayne, nothing can be hidden from you—"

As he spoke, he flipped his computer screen over, revealing the trading interface of Polymarket, America's most popular and controversial betting website.

As a cryptocurrency prediction betting platform, Polymarket has always operated offshore, making it far more secure than typical betting websites, which is why it is so popular among American gamblers.

Its most distinctive feature is that you can gamble on anything.

This includes the timing of the American invasion of Persia, the Russo-Ukrainian War, nuclear war, and the outbreak of regional wars.

Robert pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag, and said, "You know, I bought a lot of cryptocurrency issued by President Trump, borrowing money to buy at the peak, and I'm completely stuck with it—"

"I dream of getting ashore—"

"These past two days, I've been so grateful for your trust and kindness in giving me some start-up capital. Combined with some of my own savings, I'm thinking of taking one last gamble. If I can just recoup the loan, I'll stop gambling."

Upon hearing this, Bob couldn't help but say, "Captain, you've been saying this for three years now—hey, these fucking gambling websites are all scams. I've told you before, you should be investing in stocks—"

Robert's eyes widened, and he jumped up, shouting, "What the hell do you know? This time is different! I have a friend in the MAGA organization; he has informants in the White House. They were among the group that followed the president in occupying Capitol Hill!"

"He told me that the week before Christmas, the president would definitely send troops to attack Venezuela, and the damn U.S. Marines would definitely set foot on Venezuelan soil, arrest the damn drug lord Maduro, and completely take over all the country's oil fields!"

"So I bet all my money on an American invasion of Venezuela—that was the highest-odds option, I could win at least twenty times the fuck!"

At this point, Robert slumped back into his chair, covering his face, and said, "But the president still hasn't sent Marines to land—this is America! Does America not even dare to land in its own backyard? The Monroe Doctrine is a complete hoax!"

The so-called Monroe Doctrine is a cornerstone strategy of American foreign policy. It was proposed by President James Monroe in his 1823 message to Congress. Its core can be summarized as "America is America for Americans," but its true meaning is "America is America for Americans." It can be regarded as a declaration of the United States' pursuit of hegemony in the Americas.

Wayne said calmly, "Robert, my friend, I think you don't know this yet, but behind the Polymarket betting platform is the President's family and his friends."

Robert shuddered, seemingly unable to accept the reality, and muttered, "It's true—it's all over, all over—my last hope is shattered—I can't even pay next month's loan interest—why did they lie to me? Make America Great Again? They're all fucking liars—"

"I trusted the president and MAGA so much, yet they've been sucking my blood all along —"

Robert gave a bitter smile, looked up at Wayne, and said, "Mr. Wayne, you're right, I love America, but fucking America doesn't love me. It just wants to suck my blood like a whore—"

"So, screw you—what do you want from me? I'll do anything."

Wayne sighed and said, "Robert, my friend, I know you've always respected me, and I want to repay that respect."

Robert sat up straight and waved to prison guard Bob, who immediately and tactfully left his office, closed the door, and stood guard at the entrance.

He only wanted the money and had no interest in anything else.

Seeing that Bob had left, Robert immediately got up, opened a cabinet next to him, and took out a glass and a bottle of Moët & Chandon whisky.

He poured a glass of whiskey and respectfully placed it in front of Wayne, saying, "Mr. Wayne, this was a gift from my colleagues when I was promoted to warden. It's very meaningful, and I've never been able to bring myself to drink it all these years. Please enjoy it—"

He paused for a moment, then continued, "If you have any new deals to make, feel free to bring them up, and I will treat you with even more—respect."

Wayne picked up his glass, examining the amber-colored liquid against the sunlight streaming through the window, and asked, "Robert, how much do you earn in a year?"

Robert hadn't expected Wayne to ask this so suddenly. He shrugged and said somewhat dejectedly, "A pre-tax annual salary of $60000, that's less than a damn $5000 a month —"

As he spoke, he leaned against the desk in front of Wayne, smoking and cursing, "Salaries haven't gone up in ages, but you know what? Everything's fucking going up in price. A decent cup of handmade coffee costs tens of dollars. Money's practically worthless now, less than toilet paper—"

As he spoke, he poured himself half a glass of wine and drank it all in one gulp.

This bottle of wine was something he had treasured for a long time and couldn't bear to drink.

Wayne sighed, a look of pity on his face: "Robert, my friend, you've done so much for this country, yet you only receive such a low salary—"

This country has let you down—you need a promotion. How much do district supervisors and deputy wardens earn?

Robert gave a wry smile and said, "Promotion? You know that's impossible—this position as the warden is my career ceiling. To advance further, I'd need connections at the higher-ups, or to achieve something truly remarkable—"

"Both the district supervisor and the deputy warden are high-paying management positions. The district supervisor's annual income should be around $18, while the deputy warden's can reach about $20. If I could really reach this position, many of my difficulties would be easily resolved."

"But what you don't know is that, as a blue state, these high-paying positions are used by Washington state's high-ranking officials for insider deals. There's a lot of damn political maneuvering behind it, and I have absolutely no access to them —"

As he spoke, Robert said to Wayne somewhat embarrassedly, "Mr. Wayne, as you can see, I'm really in big trouble right now. I need to pay loan interest next month, but I haven't even managed to get the student loan money yet—if it's convenient for you—"

"I can pay you interest! I swear! I'll sign a loan agreement with you—it doesn't need to be much, $5000—no, $3000 will be enough!"

As he spoke, Robert looked around to make sure the doors and windows were closed, and then suddenly knelt down in front of Wayne.

He raised his hands to his chest in a prayerful gesture, his bloodshot eyes filled with pleading: "Please—"

Wayne said with pity, "Robert, even if I help you with this month's $3000, what about next month? And the month after that? This isn't a solution."

Robert's eyes widened and turned red as he pleaded, "Sir, I can't care about anything else—I don't know—maybe I can still try—please—"

If this month's payment isn't resolved, he won't even have a chance to make it to next month.

As for next month? Screw it, we'll see then.

If all else fails, he can come up with other ways to generate income within the prison area.

Since America owed him anyway, he felt no guilt about it.

Wayne shook his head and said slowly, "Robert, Robert, you still don't understand. What I've given you has never been just $3000, but an annual salary of $18 to $20, a solution that solves everything once and for all."

"Do you want to take a gamble?"