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

As the first snowflake melted, the "psychological stress self-test card" that Victor Corleone had posted on the map had already blossomed in the real world.

Doctors are overwhelmed by JCAHO's new regulations. They are forced to ask every patient, "Are you feeling anxious?" and then feel helpless in the face of patients' confused or expectant eyes.

Their traditional education taught them that anti-anxiety and neurological medications should be used with caution, as side effects cannot be ignored. But the new executive order tells them that neglecting a patient's mental state is "inadequate treatment" and a potential medical malpractice.

It's like throwing a group of people who've never learned to swim into the ocean. They need lifebuoys. They need a guide.

Victor Corleone had already prepared this "bible" for them.

Midtown Manhattan, New York.

Inside the headquarters of McGraw-Hill Publishing, a debate about medical truth is taking place.

This is one of the largest textbook publishers in the United States. Every year, millions of textbooks printed here fly into the classrooms of every medical school, shaping the knowledge of young doctors.

At this moment, in the spacious and bright editing room, a thick manuscript is placed in the center of the table.

The cover of the manuscript is printed with large, gold-embossed letters: "A Guide to Brain Health and Anxiety Management in Primary Care." The author is listed as Dr. Raymond Sterling.

"This is simply... revolutionary."

The speaker was a young reviewer, Dr. David Evans. He was an associate professor at Columbia University's School of Medicine and a rising star in the field of neuroscience. He wore thick glasses, his hair was somewhat messy, and he looked every bit the academic nerd.

He turned to page 42 of the manuscript, pointed to a passage heavily circled in red, and his fingers trembled slightly with excitement.

"Look at this passage... 'When patients exhibit behaviors such as workaholics, excessive perfectionism, or large mood swings, this is not due to personality traits, but rather to latent cognitive dysfunction caused by an imbalance of neurotransmitters in the brain. The treatment plan should not be vacation or psychological counseling, but rather immediate intervention with neuroreparative drugs.'"

Dr. Evans looked up, staring incredulously at Dr. Sterling sitting opposite him.

"Dr. Sterling, are you serious? The clinical evidence for this concept of 'latent brain dysfunction' is currently very limited. If a doctor misdiagnoses and prescribes potent neurological medications to ordinary people under stress, the consequences could be disastrous. You're pathologizing normal emotions!"

Dr. Sterling was not angry in the face of this sharp questioning.

The head of neurology at Harvard Medical School, a leading figure in the global field of brain science, was dressed in an exquisite tweed suit, holding a cup of Earl Grey tea, with the characteristic composed smile of a scholar. That smile was one of superiority, of authority showing tolerance to a challenger.

"Dr. Evans, science always progresses amidst controversy," Dr. Sterling said, gently blowing on his steaming tea. "When Freud proposed the concept of the unconscious, he was also considered insane. We cannot deprive patients of their right to unleash their brain's potential simply because of excessive pharmacophobia. That would be a regression in humanitarianism."

"But science needs data to support it!" Evans insisted. "The paper from the Waters Labs was based on short-term data, and many of the participants were in high-pressure professions. How can you generalize that conclusion to the general public? That's not scientific!"

"That's what I wanted to say too."

The editor-in-chief, who had been silent all along, finally spoke. He was a shrewd Jew, his fingers tapping habitually on the table. "Dr. Sterling, Dr. Evans' concerns are not unfounded. McGraw-Hill's academic reputation is built on rigor. If this book sparks controversy, or is even proven wrong, our credibility will suffer a devastating blow."

Dr. Sterling did not refute the editor-in-chief, but instead took out an elegant folder from his briefcase and gently pushed it in front of him.

"This isn't some secret deal," Dr. Sterling said with a smile. "It's a letter of intent for collaboration with the WGBHI (Wother Global Brain Health Initiative)."

"Letter of intent?" The editor-in-chief opened the folder with a puzzled look.

"Yes. Waterpharm plans to invest $5000 million over the next five years to support basic education in brain science and mental health," Dr. Sterling explained. "This textbook is listed as a 'core outreach project.' The foundation will fully fund the printing, digitization, and distribution of this book, ensuring it is available to every medical student and community physician at an 'affordable price'—or even free."

The editor-in-chief's eyes lit up.

$5000 million. That's a figure that can transform a publishing house's financial statements. In today's shrinking publishing industry, this money is not only a lifeline but also rocket fuel.

"Moreover," Dr. Sterling continued, "this isn't just about money. It's about having a voice. Water Pharmaceuticals will be partnering with fifty of the nation's top medical schools to promote this 'new brain health paradigm.' Editor-in-Chief, do you want McGraw-Hill to be a leader or a bystander in this medical revolution? This is an opportunity to define the medical standards for the next twenty years."

The editor-in-chief's fingers tapped lightly on the table, the frequency noticeably increasing. He glanced at Evans, the hesitation in his eyes rapidly fading.

"And you, Dr. Evans." Dr. Sterling turned to look at the principled young man. "I heard your lab is applying for an NIH grant on neural synapses? I'm an advisor to the review committee. To be honest, your research direction is very interesting. But if your academic views are too... conservative, or even hinder the development of brain science, it will probably be difficult to gain mainstream recognition."

This is not a threat; it is "academic advice."

Holding a carrot (huge funding) in one hand and a stick (academic marginalization) in the other.

Dr. Sterling doesn't need to win the debate against Evans. He just needs to dominate him in terms of niche.

"This isn't science..." Evans said in a low voice, his face pale. "This is capital rewriting science."

"No, it's resources that are accelerating the popularization of science." Dr. Sterling stood up, straightened his tie, and said, "Without the impetus of resources, truth often remains dormant in laboratories. We are helping truth 'give wings.' Dr. Evans, you should learn to adapt to this new era."

The editor-in-chief finally made a decision.

"Dr. Evans," the editor-in-chief said, not looking into the young man's eyes but focusing on the letter of intent, "thank you for your peer review. But we believe that academia needs diverse voices. Dr. Sterling's perspective represents a cutting-edge exploration and deserves to be heard by more people."

Evans looked at the two men. One was an academic authority armed with capital, the other a publisher persuaded by market logic. He suddenly felt a deep sense of powerlessness.

Six months later. Spring of 1994.

Boston, Harvard Medical School lecture hall.

Hundreds of freshmen sat upright, dressed in brand-new white coats, their eyes filled with longing for the sacred halls of medicine. They were the chosen ones, the future elites of medicine.

Standing on the podium was Dr. Raymond Sterling.

The slide behind them displayed a brightly colored "Psychological Stress Self-Assessment Card" and a bold definition:

**Latent Cognitive Dysfunction:** An organic brain lesion caused by long-term stress and anxiety, characterized by mood swings and decreased attention. Treatment: Early intervention with neuroreparative medications.

"Students," Dr. Sterling's voice was loud and infectious, like that of a preacher, "remember, when patients complain to you about being tired or irritable, it's not just being dramatic; it's their brains crying for help. As doctors, your responsibility is not to tell them to rest, but to repair their damaged nerves through medication. That is true humanitarianism."

"Drug intervention."

"Repair nerves."

The students wrote these words heavily in their notebooks and marked them with emphasis.

In their young and blank minds, these words are being etched into the truth. Because it was said by a Harvard professor, because it's printed in McGraw-Hill textbooks, because it's FDA-approved. They won't consult the original papers, nor will they question the underlying capitalist logic.

Outside the window, the spring sunshine shone on the red brick walls of Harvard, and everything looked so beautiful, sacred, and full of hope.

Knowledge is power!