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

On the other side of the mansion, in the cigar room, another "war" was also underway.

This is men's territory.

Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, the surging waves of the Atlantic Ocean stretched out, but the atmosphere inside the room was unusually calm, with only the faint sound of Cuban cigars burning.

Victor sat on a dark brown Chesterfield leather sofa, a Cohiba Behike cigarette between his fingers.

Sitting across from him were two senior senators from the Senate Appropriations Committee, and a partner from Goldman Sachs, a top Wall Street investment bank.

"The tobacco leaves for this cigar are grown on the most fertile red soil in Cuba."

George Morgan, an investment banking partner, exhaled a puff of smoke, his tone languid and arrogant, "But in the United States, it's contraband under the Counter-Treaty Act. What we're smoking now, if caught by customs, could send each of us to federal prison for several years."

“Laws are made for the poor, George,” one of the senators chuckled, shaking his head and flicking his cigarette ash. “For the people in this room, it’s just ‘advice.’ Or rather, a ‘service’ that can be purchased.”

A knowing laugh echoed through the room.

Victor watched quietly as this group of people held the reins of America's destiny in their hands.

In this room, no one talks about the addictive nature of painkillers, no one talks about the homeless people dying on the streets, and no one talks about the FDA's shady dealings.

Here, the world is folded down into a few very simple dimensions: golf handicap, real estate prices in the Hamptons, Long Island, and the return on investment (ROI) for the next quarter.

Here, evil is abstracted into numbers.

As long as the numbers look good enough, evil doesn't exist. As long as the ROI is high enough, any moral flaw can be considered a "necessary sunk cost."

"I heard your new drug is receiving good feedback at Harvard?"

George Morgan suddenly turned his head and stared at Victor. "That old stubborn Wilson has actually given in. That's no easy feat. I know Pfizer sent him an entire lab full of equipment to try and win him over, and they couldn't even get inside."

"Academia always needs a little... lubricant," Victor said casually, without revealing any specific details. "And, we are indeed doing something that benefits humanity. Pain management is a huge blue ocean market, an untapped gold mine."

"Blue Ocean?"

A glint of shrewdness flashed in George's eyes. "I like that word. Goldman Sachs is currently looking for targets in the healthcare sector. If you're interested in an IPO, we can talk. I can guarantee your valuation will triple."

"Maybe later," Victor politely declined. "We have plenty of cash flow right now, and we don't want to be tied to Wall Street's quarterly reports too early."

"Adequate cash flow is a good thing."

George nodded, then suddenly lowered his voice, his tone becoming somewhat anxious, "Unlike my other client... Wyeth."

"Wyeth?" Victor's heart skipped a beat. It was a familiar name.

“Yeah.” George sighed, stubbing out his cigar in the crystal ashtray with some frustration. “They bet on a combination of weight-loss drugs called Fen-Phen. The market went crazy for it; every fat person wanted to take it. Their stock doubled last year, and everyone was buying like mad. Even my secretary was asking me if I could buy some.”

"Sounds like a money-printing machine," Victor said calmly.

"That was true at first. But lately... something's not quite right."

George frowned, lowering his voice even further. "It's too perfect. The results are too good to be true. And there have been some rumors lately that the Mayo Clinic has discovered some cases of damaged heart valves... Although it hasn't been made public yet, I'm still feeling uneasy."

Victor's heart skipped a beat.

Fen-Phen. 芬芬.

This was one of the biggest medical scandals of the 90s.

The combination of fenfluramine and phentermine. It suppresses appetite by stimulating serotonin secretion, but at the same time it activates 5-HT2B receptors on heart valves, causing valve thickening and deformation, ultimately leading to fatal pulmonary hypertension and heart disease.

This bomb is about to explode!

But before the explosion, it was a gold mine. Or rather, its remains were a gold mine.

When Wyeth collapses due to a massive lawsuit, a huge vacuum will be left in the market—countless Americans eager to lose weight will have no medicine available. Wyeth itself will also face enormous compensation payments, its stock price will plummet, and it will become a target for attacks.

"Maybe you could short their stock," Victor said half-jokingly, testing George's limits.

“I’ve thought about it too,” George said with a wry smile. “But on Wall Street, shorting a soaring stock is suicidal. Unless… unless you know the exact time of the explosion.”

“Or,” Victor continued, “unless you have solid evidence, like unpublished reports from the Mayo Clinic.”

"You have it?" George suddenly looked up.

Victor did not answer immediately.

He was weighing his options. This was an opportunity. A huge, bloody opportunity.

If Vought Pharmaceuticals can launch an alternative—a "safe" weight-loss drug—at this time, or use this opportunity to acquire certain assets...

"I have no evidence." Victor exhaled smoke, a mysterious smile appearing in the swirling haze. "But I know where to look. And if Wyeth really does collapse, those fat people with no medicine left... they'll need a new place to go, right? We can offer them a new option, a safer one."

George paused for a moment, then laughed.

That kind of laughter was the unspoken understanding between predators. He raised his glass: "To the Blue Sea. To those fat men who never stop eating."

"To the Blue Sea," Victor said, clinking glasses with him.

The crisp sound of the impact echoed in the room, like a bugle call on a battlefield.

He got his ticket.

It's not just a ticket to this party, but a ticket to a top-tier predator club. In this club, they use the world as their hunting ground and all living beings as their bargaining chips.

On the lawn not far away, Sofia was holding a glass of champagne, accepting compliments from the ladies.

The sun is shining brightly, and the flowers are in full bloom!