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

New York, Javits Center.

The Super Bowl festivities have just ended, but the frenzy in New York City is just beginning. Halftime GG has created a massive void in the hearts of 300 million Americans.

The Cinderella story of becoming a supermodel and the saying "In this world that judges by appearance, being thin is justice" have spread like a virus in every family, every office, and every hair salon.

At this moment, the area outside the Javits Convention Center was already packed with people. Thousands of doctors, drug distributors, and columnists from all over the United States, armed with recorders and point-and-shoot cameras, lined up in the cold wind.

Inside the venue, under the huge dome, the lights were dimmed to the extreme, leaving only a spotlight shining vertically on the center of the stage.

There were no lengthy speeches from leaders, and no boring data charts.

There was only a minimalist piece of music, the sound of a heartbeat.

"Thump—thump—thump—"

With each heartbeat, a number flashes on the giant LED screen.

300,000,000 (US population).

60% (overweight percentage).

300,000 (the number of people who die from obesity each year).

Finally, the screen went completely black.

A voice came from the darkness, deep and powerful.

"We are losing this war."

The lights suddenly turned on.

Victor Corleone, wearing a black turtleneck cashmere sweater and dark blue jeans (which he specially chose before the press conference as a tribute to Steve Jobs, who may still be struggling in Cupertino at this moment), stood alone on the empty stage.

The audience fell completely silent.

Victor paced back and forth. "In this country, one in three people is obese. We're told it's a lifestyle choice. We're told to accept our bodies. We're told health is more important than beauty."

He stopped and looked directly at the audience.

That's a lie.

A commotion arose in the crowd.

"Obesity is not a choice, it's a disease." Victor's voice rose a few decibels. "It devours your confidence like cancer, destroys your social life like a plague. It gets you rejected in job interviews, gets you rejected on dates, and forces you to shop only in the 'plus-size' section when buying clothes."

"Doctors tell you to eat less and move more. But that's as absurd as telling someone with depression to 'cheer up'."

Victor held up one finger.

"We need weapons. We need weapons that can truly turn the tide of the war."

He pulled a small glass bottle from his pocket. Under the spotlight, the blue capsules inside gleamed with a captivating luster.

"I named it 'Apollo'."

A stunning comparison image appeared on the big screen: on the left was a bloated, tired, and oily-faced "Cinderella," and on the right was a radiant and hot "supermodel."

"It's not a traditional diet pill. It doesn't suppress your appetite; it reshapes your brain." Victor started spouting nonsense, but it didn't matter, because everyone present was willing to believe it. "It works precisely on your hypothalamus, telling your body: 'Hey, you don't need that extra fat anymore.'"

"And it's safe."

Victor pressed the remote control. The comparison image from Dr. Arthur's lab appeared on the screen: the swollen and twisted heart of the Fen-Phen group, and the healthy and powerful heart of the Apollo group.

No heart valve damage. No pulmonary hypertension. No nightmares that wake you up in the middle of the night.

"This is not just a victory for science, it is a victory for humanity."

Thunderous applause erupted from the audience.

Victor raised his hand, and the applause stopped instantly.

"But I must be honest with you all. Although the FDA approval process is in its final stages, you all know how inefficient bureaucracy can be. This means that our production will be very limited in the first few months."

This is the first step in scarcity marketing.

"We can only prioritize supplying top-tier, 'certified' clinics. We want every 'Apollo' pill to reach those who truly need it."

The distributors in the audience began to stir. They understood the unspoken message: whoever pays the most and is the most obedient will be the "top clinic."

"Moreover, to ensure effectiveness, we recommend a long-term treatment process," Victor continued, paving the way for "off-label prescriptions." "Obesity is chronic. You can't expect to solve a lifetime problem with a week's worth of medication. You need perseverance, you need faith."

"Apollo is not the end, it is the beginning of your new life."

Victor held the medicine bottle high in his hand.

"From today onwards, your life will no longer be heavy."

Thank you everyone.

The music started again, this time a stirring symphony. A huge order hotline and website address appeared on the large screen.

The press conference is over. But the real madness is just beginning.

Backstage lounge.

Victor unbuttoned his collar and took the glass of water Sophia offered him. His back was already soaked with sweat.

"How is it?" he asked.

"This is insane!" The order hotline was overwhelmed. The website crashed three times. Just now, that distributor from Miami showed up with a suitcase full of cash, saying he wanted to buy up the entire Florida supply for the next six months.

"How many?"

Three million dollars. In cash.

Victor smiled.

Tell him to line up.

At that moment, Barry Hines burst in, his face flushed with excitement.

"Boss! Did you see that? CNN just broadcast your speech live! The ratings are even higher than the President's State of the Union address!" Barry waved his cell phone. "Time magazine wants an interview, they've even come up with a headline: 'The Savior of the Diet Pill World.' And Oprah, she wants you on her show, handing out pills to the audience!"

"Reject Time magazine," Victor said calmly. "We need to maintain our mystique. As for Oprah... tell her I can go, but I'll only talk about 'obesity is a disease,' not specific medications. We want the audience to ask doctors themselves: 'Doctor, what is Apollo?'"

"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" Barry gave a thumbs up.

Just then, an untimely voice rang out.

"Mr. Corleone."

Dr. Arthur Klein, the head of research and development, stood in the corner.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" Victor was in a good mood and didn't mind his spoilsport.

"An FDA commissioner just called me," Arthur said, his voice trembling slightly. "He asked about our clinical data. He said... although the data we submitted showed no problems with cardiac safety, he heard that we promoted the concept of 'long-term use' at the press conference. That's off-label promotion, which is illegal."

Victor paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.

"Ha ha ha ha..."

Arthur was baffled by the laughter and became even more terrified: "Sir, is this really funny? What if the FDA launches an investigation..."

"Arthur, my friend," Victor walked over and patted the scientist on the shoulder, "you only need to remember one thing: in this world, there's nothing a dinner can't solve. If there is, then two dinners will do."

He turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. His black turtleneck made him look like an ascetic, but his eyes were like those of a tyrant.

"Sophia, get me an appointment with Commissioner Rossi. Tell him... I'd like to invite him to dinner and, incidentally, discuss how to make the FDA more 'efficient'."

"Okay, darling." Sophia understood.

Victor picked up the bottle of medicine called "Apollo" from the table.

"Let's go." Victor straightened his clothes. "There are still thousands of souls outside, yearning to lose weight, waiting for us to harvest them."