American Medicine God: Starting by Inheriting a Pharmaceutical Company and Selling Medicine

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This is a story about American pharmaceutical companies, tonics, and opioids—just kidding! Everything in the book is written with a critical eye; I firmly reject any temptations. (¦3[▓▓])

You need to know how evil originates so you can resolutely resist temptation! I highly recommend the American TV series "The Addiction Measurement"!

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November 1980, New Jersey, USA.

The late autumn rain was cold, and the thunder rumbled low and deep.

Inside the study, Victor Corleone sat alone behind his mahogany desk. His father's funeral had just ended, and the air still held the scent of lilies and the damp, musty smell.

Three things lay before him: a bank's ultimatum for asset liquidation, a well-maintained Colt Python revolver, and his father's handwritten will.

"Victor, forgive me. I tried to be a good person... but good people can't survive in this cannibalistic world."

The handwriting was messy and conveyed despair.

"A good person? Why can't good people always live long and peaceful lives!" Victor closed his eyes, his hands gripping the letter tightly.

From the age of fifteen, memories of a certain person would suddenly appear in his mind. Memories of a conman named "Chen Ang." These memories were fragmented, like disjointed black-and-white film reels. Until a month ago, on the day he turned twentieth, the memories suddenly erupted. During a week of high fever and coma, he watched Chen Ang's life as if it were a movie. The legendary life of a "Master of Conmans" who rose to power in Kowloon Walled City through swindling, walked the line between the legal and illegal worlds, and ultimately controlled half of Asia's underground financial network.

According to his current understanding, he should be considered to have awakened his innate wisdom.

He is Chen Ang, but he is not Chen Ang.

He is Victor Corleone, the heir to a pharmaceutical company burdened with three million dollars in debt and on the verge of bankruptcy.

"In this country, Father, kindness is not a virtue. Kindness is a terminal illness."

He picked up the suicide note and stuffed it directly into the shredder next to him.

nourish - nourish -

Accompanied by the sound of stirring, the "good man" father's last shred of dignity turned into countless white scraps of paper.

As a reborn individual, he had no time for grief. In his mind, the history of the next forty years was a weapon more deadly than a gun.

But before he can use those weapons, he has to survive tonight.

"Young Master!" Butler Jack's voice shattered the deathly silence of the study. "Mr. Di Nozzo has arrived... He brought two men and forced his way in!"

"Let him in."

Victor opened the drawer, casually tossed the revolver on the table inside, then took a brown glass bottle without any label from the box at his feet and placed it in the center of the table.

"Jack, prepare two glasses. We're going to entertain our distinguished guest."

Two minutes later, the study door was violently pushed open.

Fat Tony, soaking wet and accompanied by two ruthless thugs, burst in. The head of the Gambino family's New Jersey branch immediately placed a pair of mud-caked leather shoes on Victor's desk.

"Please accept my condolences, Victor." Fat Tony tossed him a crumpled IOU. "Your father borrowed 300 million from me. The pharmaceutical factory is about to be auctioned off. What about my money?"

"I can't afford to pay 300 million in cash."

Victor remained calm and unscrewed the cap of the brown glass bottle on the table.

"But I have a suggestion that can turn your 300 million bad debt into 3000 million in annual cash flow."

Fat Tony scoffed, pulled out an M1911, slammed it on the table, and pointed it directly at Victor: "I want cash! Green! Cash!"

"This is cash."

Victor poured the viscous brown liquid into a glass. "This is five tons of cough syrup that's been piling up in the warehouse of Water Pharmaceuticals. It's junk in the eyes of banks, but in my hands, it's liquid gold."

"Cough syrup?" Fat Tony looked at him like he was an idiot. "You want me to go sell cough syrup on the street?"

"Try it."

Fat Tony took a suspicious sip, then spat it out: "Ptooey! That's fucking awful! It's bitter and astringent!"

"That's right. Right now it's just awful-tasting medicine."

Victor stood up and looked down at the gang leader.

"But what if I told you that with just one special process, I could turn this bitter medicine into a 'happy water' that drives young people all over America crazy?"

"A legal form of gold that the police can't touch, and that can get you high."

Fat Tony's fingers rubbed against the trigger.

"How do I do it?"

Victor straightened his collar and gestured for him to proceed.

"Come on, Tony, I'll take you to the 'kitchen.' Let's see the future I've prepared for you."

……

Water Pharmaceuticals, Laboratory No. 4.

"Is this your gold mine?"

Fat Tony stood in the doorway, looking around with disdain. "A pile of junk and hundreds of barrels of unwanted sugar water."

"This is Lab 4, but I prefer to call it 'Kitchen'."

Victor turned around, took off his suit jacket, folded it neatly and placed it on a clean chair, then rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his forearms.

He walked to the warehouse area and pointed to the rows of stockpiled "Wat Brand Strong Cough Syrup".

"Tony, do you know why drug addicts don't like this anymore?"

Victor picked up a bottle at random and glanced at the ingredient list.

"The codeine phosphate content is too low, only 10mg/5ml. To prevent abuse, the FDA mandates the addition of guaifenesin—an expectorant. If you're trying to get a high by drinking this, your stomach will give out before your brain even gets high, making you vomit like a dog."

"So it's garbage." Fat Tony flicked his cigar ash impatiently. "You want me to sell this?"

"No."

Victor picked up a beaker, his eyes becoming focused and sharp.

"Just remove guaiacol, purify codeine, and add a magical ingredient."

He put on his goggles and turned on the rotary evaporator that he had prepared beforehand.

The deep hum of the machines echoed in the empty laboratory.

"Bring those two buckets over here," Victor ordered the two thugs.

The thugs looked at Fat Tony. Fat Tony nodded, and only then did they reluctantly move the two barrels of raw materials to the workbench.

Victor began the operation.

His movements were fluid and graceful.

Dissolving, filtration, and crystallization.

The murky brown liquid flowed through the glass tubes, and after being filtered through the Buchner funnel, the original impurities were separated out, leaving behind a clear liquid at the bottom.

Although Fat Tony couldn't understand it, he could sense a strange sense of professionalism.

He had never seen this feeling in those street thugs. Those guys only knew how to burn heroin with a spoon or mix amphetamines in a filthy bathtub.

But Victor is different.

You know he's conducting an experiment, but you don't know exactly what he's doing. That's what it means to be impressed but not understood.

"What's this thing called?" Fat Tony couldn't help but ask.

Promethazine.

Victor picked up a bottle of white powder, which he had extracted from another batch of expired allergy medication.

"A first-generation antihistamine. Doctors prescribe it to treat pollen allergies or motion sickness."

He weighed the white powder precisely and then slowly poured it into a beaker that was being stirred.

"But it has one side effect—a powerful sedative."

Victor stared at the liquid at the center of the vortex, his voice low.

"When it meets codeine in your liver, a miracle happens. That's the synergistic effect. 1 plus 1 no longer equals 2, but equals 10."

"It amplifies the euphoric effects of opioids while providing a deep, heavy calming effect. You'll feel your body become heavy, but your soul floats away."

The mixer stopped spinning.

The liquid in the beaker is now transparent, as pure as water.

"Now, this is the final step."

Victor opened the drawer and took out two items.

A bottle of purple food coloring.

A bottle of concentrated grape flavoring.

"Why add this?" Fat Tony frowned. "It makes it look like a children's drink."

"Because we want to sell to young people."

Victor added the pigment to the beaker.

One drop, two drops.

A vibrant purple bursts forth in the transparent liquid, like a cloud of purple smoke spreading and swirling in the water, eventually dyeing the entire glass of liquid a mesmerizing bright purple.

"In this appearance-obsessed era, everything needs to be packaged."

Nobody likes bitter medicine. But what if it were sweet, purple, grape-scented "happy water"?

He picked up a bottle of Sprite that he had prepared beforehand, unscrewed the cap, poured out about half of it, and then slowly poured the purple water from the beaker into it.

sizzle-

Bubbles surged upwards wildly.

The purple liquid did not dissolve immediately, but instead sank slowly in the clear soda like some kind of living mollusk, leaving behind trails of alluring purple ribbons.

A visual spectacle.

Even a rough guy like Fat Tony had to admit that there was a certain beauty in the scene.

"Try it."

Victor handed the bottle of "dirty Sprite" to one of the henchmen behind Fat Tony. The henchman, named Paul, was a heavy smoker with puffy eyes, clearly a devoted fan of American tobacco.

Paul glanced at Fat Tony.

"Drink," Fat Tony uttered a single word.

Paul took the bottle and tilted his head back to take a big gulp.

"Cough cough..."

The bubbles were a bit strong, but he quickly smacked his lips.

"Sweet. Grape flavor." Paul looked at the bottle in his hand with a puzzled expression. "Like... sugar water?"

"Don't rush." ​​Victor leaned against the lab table, took off his goggles to reveal a pair of calm eyes, and said, "Let the bullets fly for a while."

three minutes.

Paul, who had been standing ramrod straight, began to sway slightly.

His gaze began to unfocus, and his pupils dilated.

His previously taut facial muscles relaxed, and an uncontrollable, dazed smile appeared on his lips.

He felt the floor soften, like walking on cotton. The ceiling was spinning, and the electrical hum around him turned into a deep, rhythmic sound.

"How are you feeling, Paul?" Fat Tony kicked him.

"Heh...hehe..."

Paul grinned foolishly, leaning back so much he almost fell to the ground, but he didn't seem to care, just trying to maintain his balance like a roly-poly toy.

"Boss... I feel... I feel like I'm flying... no, I'm floating..."

His voice was muffled, as if he had a hot potato in his mouth.

"So comfortable...no pain...I don't want to do anything..."

Fat Tony's eyes lit up when he saw his men's reaction.

This is a "good product".

And it's a really strong, high-quality product.

"What's this thing called?" Fat Tony turned to look at Victor, the contempt in his eyes gone, replaced by greed.

Victor straightened his cuffs and put his suit jacket back on.

"Street thugs call it 'Mud' or 'Oil.' But I gave it a new name."

Victor pointed to the bottle of bubbling purple liquid in Paul's hand.

"Texas Tea. Or...Lean."

"vigorously?"

"Because if you drink it, you'll lean backward and lose your balance," Victor explained casually. "It's a cool name; young people will like it."

Fat Tony licked his lips.

"But this is still drugs. If the police find it..."

"No, Tony. I'll say it again. According to the United States Pharmacopeia..."

"This is a prescription drug. Promethazine codeine syrup. FDA approved, doctor-recommended, legal and compliant."

He walked up to Fat Tony and stared directly into those greedy little eyes.

"As long as I have a pharmaceutical license, this is a legal drug."

You can sell it to rich kids who don't want to get into trouble, or to cowards who want to have fun but are afraid of needles.

The police can't catch you.

DEA has no say in your matter.

Because before you pour it into Sprite, it's a bottle of cough syrup.

"And you, Tony, you're not a drug dealer."

Victor paused, then spoke with a hint of sarcasm.

"You are a 'community pharmacist'."

Fat Tony was stunned.

A few seconds later, he burst into maniacal laughter, causing dust to fall from his head.

"Community pharmacist... Hahahaha! Damn, I love that title!"

Fat Tony put his arm around Victor's shoulder. "Victor, you're a genius! A complete and utter devilish genius!"

Victor let him hold him, his expression remaining calm.

He looked out the window at the pitch-black night.

The rain stopped.

But this is just the calm before the storm.

Starting tonight, this purple torrent will flow out from here and flood every street in New Jersey.

And he was the one who opened Pandora's box.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Pharmacist," Victor said softly.

"It's a pleasure working with you, Dr. Corleone."