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

The Water Pharmaceutical Research and Development Center, three floors underground. The autumn leaves from a month ago have completely fallen, replaced by a sky full of swirling snowflakes. But inside the underground laboratory, the season remains a constant expanse of white.

The incandescent lights here burn day and night, illuminating the little white mice that are frantically circling in their cages.

The cage on the left is labeled "Group A: Fen-Phen"; the cage on the right is labeled "Group B: Apollo".

Alan Scott rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He was a recent PhD in biology from MIT, and had joined Vought Pharmaceuticals three months earlier. He was currently sitting in front of a high-powered electron microscope, holding a freshly printed pathology report.

"This is amazing..." he murmured to himself.

Dr. Arthur Klein strode over, his white coat stained with a few drops of coffee, clearly indicating he had been working through the night for several nights in a row.

"How's it going, Allen? Have the results come out yet?"

"It's out, Doctor." Allen pointed to the two sets of comparison images on the screen, his fingers trembling slightly. "It's a world of difference."

On the left side of the screen is a slice of a heart valve from a mouse that had taken Fen-Phen. The tissue, which should have been smooth and as thin as a cicada's wing, is now swollen, twisted, and covered with fibrous tissue that proliferates like a spider web.

"Look here, Group A sample," Allen explained. "After only four weeks of medication, the 5-HT2B receptors were overactivated. Severe mitral regurgitation and mild tricuspid stenosis. If this were a human, he would be unable to breathe by now and would be lying on the operating table waiting for a heart transplant."

Arthur nodded, his expression grave. "As expected. Those bastards at Wyeth are selling poison all over the world for profit."

"But look here, Doctor. This is Group B, our 'Apollo'."

Allen switched the camera.

The slice on the right side of the screen is clean, smooth, and clearly textured. Apart from a slight sign of accelerated metabolism, there are no abnormalities in the heart valves.

"Perfect target selectivity!" Allen pumped his fist excitedly. "'Apollo' precisely struck the satiety center in the brain, completely avoiding the receptors in the heart. It's like a highly trained sniper, killing only the enemy, not harming civilians. Doctor, this is a miracle! This is a true technological breakthrough!"

Arthur stared at the two comparison images, speechless for a long time. As a veteran who had spent twenty years in the pharmaceutical industry, he had witnessed far too many failures and compromises. But this time, he saw a pure victory, a victory belonging to science.

"Print it out," Arthur said, his voice slightly hoarse. "At the highest resolution. Compile all the raw data, pathological slides, and statistical analyses into a book. Also, seal up those mouse heart specimens; they're our evidence in court."

"Yes!" Allen answered loudly, then turned and got back to work.

Arthur watched his young assistant's busy figure and took a deep breath. He picked up the phone on the table and dialed an internal number.

"Mr. Corleone, you need to take a look at this."

......

Half an hour later.

Victor Corleone stood in front of the microscope, looking through the eyepiece at the truth of that microscopic world.

Although he didn't understand those complex biochemical indicators, he could decipher that thin valve. The left one was ugly and twisted, like a crumpled piece of paper; the right one was smooth and flat, like a newly sprouted leaf.

Life and death, good and evil, are clearly distinguished within this small round hole.

"Are you sure?" Victor looked up, his eyes piercing.

"One hundred percent certain." Dr. Arthur straightened his back, his tone full of confidence. "We replicated the experiment on one hundred mice, and the results were statistically significant (P < 0.001). Apollo is safe. It's not only safer than Fen-Phen, it's safer than any other weight-loss drug on the market."

Victor was silent for a moment, then slowly revealed a slight smile.

"Very good," he said softly. "Arthur, you did very well."

He walked to the bulletproof glass wall of the laboratory and looked at the mice inside that were still running around tirelessly.

"Do you know what this means?" Victor asked.

"Does that mean we can apply for FDA approval?" Arthur asked tentatively. "With this comparative data, we can even apply for fast track approval."

"No, it's not just that." Victor shook his head, turned around, and the light behind him cast a long shadow of him, enveloping Arthur and Allen.

"This means we have a loaded gun in our hands."

He pointed to the thick stack of comparative reports on the table.

"This report is not only Apollo's birth certificate, but also Wyeth's death sentence."

"But sir..." Allen couldn't help but interject, "If we release this report now, while it might hurt Wyeth, it will also raise the FDA's awareness of the entire weight-loss drug category, and approvals might become more stringent..."

"Who said we're going to announce it now?"

"We have to wait."

"wait?"

"Wait until that journalist named Daniel Green fanns the flames even brighter. Wait until public anger reaches its peak. Wait until those FDA bureaucrats are being thoroughly vilified and desperately need a 'hero' to save face."

Victor walked to the table, picked up the pathology slide photograph of Fen-Phen, and flicked it lightly with his finger.

"Then we'll put this report on David Rossi's desk. We'll tell him: Look, we have the antidote!"

"In this situation, in order to divert attention and prove that they are still 'doing something,' the FDA will be eager to approve 'Apollo' for the market, thereby claiming that they have corrected their mistakes and brought safer drugs to the people."

Arthur and Allen exchanged bewildered glances. They were scientists, accustomed to seeking truth in the laboratory. But in the business labyrinth Victor had built, truth was not merely truth; it was also a bargaining chip, a weapon, a ladder to power.

"Archive the data," Victor gave the final instruction. "Make three backups. One to keep in the lab, one to be deposited in a Swiss bank vault, and one..."

He paused for a moment and looked at Sofia, who was standing at the door.

"There's one more copy. Give it to Sophia. She knows how to use it."

"Yes, sir."

Victor took one last look at the microscope, then strode toward the door.

"Get the champagne ready, gentlemen." He stopped at the door without turning around. "Not to celebrate the successful development of a new drug, but to celebrate our taking over this era."

The door closed.

The only sound in the laboratory was the hum of the centrifuges.

Dr. Arthur looked at the report in his hand and suddenly felt it become very heavy.

"Doctor..." Allen asked softly, "We're doing the right thing, aren't we? We're saving people, aren't we?"

Arthur stared at the smooth slice representing "Apollo" and remained silent for a long time.

"Yes, Eren," he said softly, "we're rescuing people. But before we can, we have to kill a Titan."

He crumpled the pathology slide representing Fen-Phen Wyeth's disease into a ball and threw it into the trash can.

Those are the remnants of the old era. And a new era is being born under their microscopes!