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

Fat Tony's private club, "Bada Bing".

On the mahogany coffee table in the center of the private room, there was an open silver briefcase.

Inside, half a million dollars in old banknotes were neatly stacked.

Next to the suitcase was a small, elegant bag containing less than 50 grams of white powder.

"This is the deposit."

The speaker was a Colombian named Carlos. He was wearing a flashy silk shirt with the collar open, revealing a gold necklace and chest hair.

"The Medellín Group has heard that Mr. Corleone has built a 'highway' to Philadelphia," Carlos said arrogantly. "We'd like to use it. One hundred kilograms per week. The monthly shipping cost is the number in this box multiplied by ten."

Fat Tony sat down next to him, his breathing becoming heavy.

He stared at the box of money, his eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

Five million dollars a month!

"Victor..." Fat Tony swallowed hard, his voice trembling slightly, "This is just a pickup truck along the way. Nobody will know. Our car has a hidden compartment; the police won't be able to find anything."

Victor didn't look at the money.

He leaned back on the sofa, fiddling with the small bag containing white powder in his hand. His expression was as calm as a still lake, revealing no emotion whatsoever.

"Mr. Carlos," Victor finally spoke, his voice gentle and polite, "this stuff is very pure."

"Of course," Carlos smiled smugly. "This is the finest 'Persian White'."

"But," Victor changed the subject, "do you know what this thing is called legally?"

Victor lifted the bag and looked at the psychedelic powder through the light.

"Under the Controlled Substances Act, this is a Schedule I controlled substance. It has no medical use and is extremely addictive. Possession of more than 100 grams carries a starting sentence of 10 years in federal sentencing guidelines. If it involves interstate transportation..."

Victor turned to look at Fat Tony, his eyes instantly turning sharp and menacing.

"That's a capital offense, Tony. Or life imprisonment without parole."

Fat Tony hesitated for a moment, then retorted, "But Victor, we're already transporting the purple liquid! That's illegal too!"

"No, that's different."

Victor stood up, his voice rising a few decibels.

"The codeine in the purple liquid is a Schedule V controlled substance. In some states, you can buy it without a prescription. Even if you get caught by the DEA, it's called 'illegally selling prescription drugs.' What's the worst that can happen? Fines, community service, or finding a scapegoat to serve a few months in jail."

Victor walked to the fireplace.

The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly.

"That's business. It's a gray area. We can hire the best lawyers to turn black into white."

Victor turned around and held up the small bag.

"But this?"

He pointed to the heroin in his hand.

"This is a nuclear bomb. Once we get involved with this, the DEA won't just want to fine us anymore, they'll want to uproot us. The FBI, the Counterterrorism Bureau, and even the CIA will swarm us like sharks smelling blood."

"So what?" Carlos interrupted him coldly. "Are you scared? Italian?"

Victor looked at Carlos and went to the sink.

Suddenly, he threw the small plastic bag in and turned on the switch, flushing it directly down the drain.

The small bag, worth several thousand dollars, vanished in the blink of an eye.

"Are you crazy?!" Carlos stood up abruptly, reaching for his waist.

Several Colombian bodyguards also drew their guns at the same time.

Fat Tony's men immediately raised their guns in a standoff.

The atmosphere in the private room instantly froze to freezing point.

Victor, however, acted as if nothing had happened, clapping his hands and even straightening his cuffs.

“I am not afraid to die, Mr. Carlos.” ​​Victor looked directly into Carlos’s eyes, those deep pupils burning with a flame hotter than a fireplace. “But I hate stupid ways to die.”

He pointed at Fat Tony, his tone stern.

"We're businessmen, Tony. We sell 'happiness,' we sell 'relaxation.' But we don't sell 'death.' That's the red line."

Victor walked up to the coffee table, and that was the first time he had ever looked directly at the box full of money.

"Cover it up."

"Victor commanded."

Fat Tony hesitated for a moment, glanced at Victor's unquestionable gaze, and finally gritted his teeth and closed the box with trembling hands.

"Take your money and get out of New Jersey," Victor said to Carlos, pointing to the door. "Tell your boss that Water Logistics only transports 'water,' not 'powder.' That's the rule."

Carlos's face was so dark it looked like it could drip water.

In all his years in the underworld, no one had ever dared to refuse the Medellín Group's offer like this. And no one had ever dared to burn his goods in front of him.

"You'll regret this, Corleone."

Carlos gritted his teeth, each word seeming to be squeezed out from between his teeth.

"No one can refuse us. We'll settle this score."

Carlos picked up the suitcase and turned to leave. As he reached the door, he glanced back at Victor.

His eyes were cold and venomous, like a rattlesnake that had memorized the scent of its prey.

The door closed.

Fat Tony slumped onto the sofa, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.

"Victor, you almost got us killed just now," Fat Tony complained, looking at the doorway with heartache. "That was five million!"

Victor sat back down on the sofa and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

His hands were steady, without the slightest tremor.

"I didn't hurt you, Tony. I saved your life."

Victor took a sip of the liquor; the spicy liquid slid down his throat, easing his tense nerves slightly.

"Believe me, that kind of money is hot potato. If you take it, you'll risk your life."

He knew that he had offended a terrible enemy today.

But he knew all too well that if he crossed that line today, he would face an abyss of no return. In this cruel world, to survive long, one must not only be ruthless, but also know how to exercise self-control.

"Get ready, Tony." Victor put down his glass, a cold glint in his eyes. "Increase security. That snake will be back."