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

Lower Manhattan, New York.

Inside the Atlas television network's headquarters building, a tense yet exciting atmosphere filled the air.

Veteran investigative journalist April sits in the editing room, reviewing footage for her upcoming feature film. On the screen, former researcher Harold is waving his arms wildly at the camera.

"...The brain is not a hard drive! You can't arbitrarily 'repair' or 'read' memories! Walter's drug is interfering with human free will! This is a desecration of ethics!" Harold's voice was sharp, and his eyes revealed an almost fanatical obsession.

April frowned. As a journalist seeking the truth, she was instinctively wary of large corporations, but Harold's claims seemed to lack supporting data and were more of a philosophical panic.

"Is that all?" April asked the producer beside her. "Did he provide any clinical reports about the drug's side effects?"

"No," the producer shook his head. "He just kept emphasizing 'God's realm' and 'unknown risks.' To be honest, it's a bit like those anti-vaccine conspiracy theorists."

Just then, April's phone rang. It was Barry Hines, the public relations director of the Water Group.

"Miss April, we heard you're reporting on 'memory drugs'." Barry's voice sounded relaxed and cheerful, completely lacking the tension usually seen in those being investigated. "We welcome media scrutiny. In fact, if you'd like, we'd like to invite you somewhere."

"Where to? Your lawyer's office?" April asked warily.

"No, let's go see the truth."

……

Two hours later, at the Water Memory and Cognitive Rehabilitation Center in New Jersey.

April had expected to see tight security and a cold, impersonal laboratory, but instead, she was greeted by an open community filled with sunshine and greenery.

"This way, please." Barry led her into an activity room.

Inside the room, an elderly woman with a full head of silver hair sat at the piano, playing a Chopin nocturne haltingly. Her fingers were dry and withered, but her eyes glistened with tears. Beside her, a middle-aged man held her hand tightly, already sobbing uncontrollably.

"That's Mrs. Margaret," Dr. Raymond Sterling approached and introduced her softly. "Three months ago, she didn't even recognize her own son, and she'd even forgotten how to eat. Alzheimer's took everything from her, locking her in a dark room."

"And now?" April looked at the scene, a slight thought stirring in her heart.

"After two courses of treatment with our 'Neural Repair Factor,' she remembered this piece of music—the one she played for her husband fifty years ago on their wedding day." Dr. Sterling handed April a thick folder. "These are before-and-after brain scans. You can see that the atrophy of the hippocampus has been significantly inhibited, and the neural synapses are reconnecting."

April flipped through the data; although she was an outsider, the clear comparison charts didn't lie.

"Miss Reporter," Mrs. Margaret's son approached, his eyes red and swollen, but his face filled with the ecstatic joy of something lost and found. "I don't understand any scientific ethics, nor do I care about the realm of God. I only know that my mother is back. She called my name yesterday. For me, this is a miracle."

April's photographers quietly documented all of this.

Over the next few hours, April interviewed more than a dozen patients and their families.

There are veterans who have rediscovered their spouses' birthdays, retired teachers who can finally call out their grandsons' names, and young students who have lost their memories due to brain damage and are now returning to university classrooms.

Every story is a return to humanity. Every smile is a powerful rebuttal to Harold's empty theories.

That evening, at 20:00 PM.

Atlas television network broadcast a special program titled "The Lighthouse of Memory".

The program did not shy away from Harold's questions, but used them as a starting point, and then showcased the changes brought about by the drug through a large number of real cases, detailed clinical data, and deeply moving personal accounts from patients' families.

On the screen, on the left is Harold's hysterical warning, and on the right is Mrs. Margaret's serene piano music.

The audience's reaction was overwhelming.

"If this is interfering with God's domain, then God must be a merciful doctor."

"Does that man named Harold want to watch the old people die painfully in oblivion?"

"Walter gave us dignity, while our opponents only gave us fear."

Water Pharmaceuticals Headquarters.

Victor looked at the television screen and gently swirled the wine in his glass.

"Well done, Barry," Victor praised. "You didn't attack Harold; you just handed the microphone to someone more persuasive."

"That's 'Data Art'," Barry said with a smug smile. "Cold, hard data can't move people, but when data becomes Mrs. Margaret's tears, it becomes an invincible weapon. Harold lost, not to us, but to people's yearning for 'memory' and 'family'."

"Where's that reporter?" Saul asked from the side.

"April?" Victor looked at the female reporter on the screen, whose eyes had softened. "She's an honest chronicler. She seeks the truth, and we've given her the truth—a positive, heartwarming truth. From today onward, she will no longer be our enemy, but our best witness."

"Boss, the stock price has started to rise." Saul glanced at his tablet. "The market sees this as a signal that memory drugs are becoming widely available. Wall Street analysts call it the 'emotional premium.'"

Victor stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the city lights.

"Remember, Saul. The highest form of public relations isn't about covering up the darkness, but about lighting the beacon." Victor pointed out the window. "In this increasingly aging society, memory is the most precious treasure. We're not just protecting neurons, but also human dignity."

"What should we do with Harold?"

"Send him an invitation," Victor said calmly. "Invite him to join our 'Ethics Review Committee.' Rather than having him stand outside throwing stones, let him in and become part of our 'rigorous scientific attitude.' This also demonstrates our inclusiveness."

Thor paused for a moment, then smiled with admiration.

"Turning enemies into friends is brilliant."

That night, Wotech Pharmaceuticals not only won the market, but also won hearts and minds. The beacon of memory stands firm amidst the sea of ​​public opinion.