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

Newark, New Jersey. FBI Regional Field Office.

Fox Mudd sat amidst a mountain of file boxes.

He was only 23 years old, fresh out of Quantico, still carrying the naivety of "I'm going to save the world," and his eyes held a fanaticism beyond his years. His colleagues called him "Spooky" because he was always staring blankly at those dead cases that no one cared about.

At this moment, he was holding two seemingly unrelated files.

On the left is the case of the Irish gang's downfall in 1981. The official case report states "gang feud," but the records show that they killed each other.

On the right is the 1982 case of Fat Tony's imprisonment. He was sent to federal prison by the DEA because the new drug "Deep Purple" caused a large number of deaths among teenagers.

"Coincidence?!" Mud muttered to himself. He took out a handful of sunflower seeds from his pocket and started cracking them open.

The files all contain opinions from DEA members named Hank, all of which, intentionally or unintentionally, point to the same place: a small workshop then known as "Walter Pharmaceuticals".

Now, that small workshop has become "Wat Pharmaceuticals," a rising star in the industry valued at hundreds of millions of dollars.

Mulder picked up a red pen and circled the name "Victor Corleone".

Three months ago, a DEA informant attempted to provide information about the "unknown whereabouts of certain chemical precursors" at Vought Pharmaceuticals. Two days later, the informant died of a drug overdose. The DEA's internal investigation was dropped.

Mudd didn't believe in coincidences. He believed that all coincidences in the world were carefully orchestrated conspiracies.

"What are you looking for, Mudd?" a voice interrupted him.

It was his supervisor, Blevins.

"I'm looking for a ghost, sir," Mudd said, closing the file. "I think we have a rat here. A rat that grew up eating pills."

Blevins frowned. "Don't get into trouble, Mulder. Water Pharmaceuticals is a major taxpayer now, and a donor to the Anti-Drug Coalition. Don't touch it without evidence."

"Of course, sir," Mudd replied with a smile.

But what he was thinking was: To hell with the evidence. I want the truth.

...

One week later. Water Pharmaceuticals headquarters.

The building stands like a fortress of steel and glass in the center of the industrial park.

At 9 p.m., the cleaning company's bread truck stopped at the back door on time.

A sanitation worker wearing a gray overalls and a baseball cap pushed a garbage cart in. He pulled the brim of his cap down to avoid the lobby's security cameras and headed towards the elevator.

It is Mudd.

To prepare for this infiltration, he spent a week studying the cleaning company's schedule and even stole an access card.

The elevator ascended. Mudd's heart raced. He didn't need to find the core secrets; he just needed a clue—a poorly destroyed financial statement, or a name.

"bite."

The elevator doors opened. Fourth floor, administrative office area.

The corridor was deserted, save for the eerie green glow of the emergency lights. Mude pushed a garbage cart, pretending to collect trash, but his eyes were rapidly scanning every office.

He stopped in front of the CFO's office. The door was locked.

Mud pulled out a set of lock-picking tools. It was an elective course in Quantico, but he got a perfect score.

Click. The door opened.

He slipped inside, turned on the flashlight, put it in his mouth, and began rummaging through the wastebasket and shredder.

There was nothing of value. Except for a crumpled draft of a memo.

Mudd unfolded the paper and read it by the light of the flashlight.

To: Victor Corleone

From: R&D Department

Subject: Progress of Clinical Trials on the [Top Secret] Project

...We discovered a startling side effect in a pain management trial on patients with advanced pancreatic cancer...tumor cells shrank...this is more than just painkillers...if this is true, we may have discovered a cure for cancer...

Mudd's hands began to tremble.

A cure for cancer?

Not only are Waterpharm manufacturing painkillers, but they're also secretly developing drugs to treat cancer? And it seems they want to suppress this news? Why? To maintain profits from chemotherapy drugs?

Just then, footsteps were heard in the corridor.

Heavy, orderly. Not like the footsteps of a cleaner.

Mudd quickly turned off the flashlight, stuffed the paper into his underwear, grabbed the trash bag, and retreated into the hallway.

"Hey you!"

A beam of bright light shone on his face.

Two security guards in black tactical vests stood at the end of the corridor. They weren't carrying batons; instead, their hands were on their gun holsters. Mudd knew that posture, that look—they were retired special forces soldiers all too well.

"I'm a garbage collector!" Mudd raised his hands, feigning panic. "Don't shoot! I just went to the wrong floor!"

Security guards came over and roughly searched him. They found his wallet and his FBI badge.

The lead security guard glanced at the identification.

"The FBI? Here to collect the trash?" Old Jack tossed his badge back to Mulder. "Take him to see the boss."

...

Top floor office.

Victor was sitting behind a wooden table, trimming a cigar.

Mudd was forced into a chair, feeling as if he were being interrogated.

"Agent Fox Mulder," Victor read the name from the badge, "Oxford University Psychology degree. Quantico's honors student. You have a bright future in the FBI, so why are you stealing trash from my company?"

"I have a search warrant," Mulder lied, "in my car."

“No, you don’t,” Victor lit a cigar. “If you had a search warrant, you would have come in through the front door with a team of men in trench coats, not sneak in through the back door like a rat.”

Victor stood up and walked over to Mudd.

"You know I can call the police right now, get you charged with trespassing, and then your career is over."

Mudd gritted his teeth, staring at Victor. "Then call the police. But in court, I'll demand the release of all your R&D department's documents, including that pancreatic cancer treatment project."

Victor was taken aback for a moment. His expression was perfectly controlled; only that fleeting moment of surprise was caught by Muldur.

"You know?" Victor's voice turned cold.

"I saw it," Mudd said, feeling he had caught them red-handed. "You're suppressing the cancer cure. For money."

Victor remained silent for a long time. He turned to look at the night view outside the window, his back view appearing somewhat lonely.

“You don’t understand, Agent Mulder,” Victor sighed. “That project is still very immature. If we go public now, it will give countless desperate families false hope. That would be cruel.”

Victor turned around, his eyes filled with the helplessness of being misunderstood.

"Let's go."

"What?" Mude was taken aback.

"Take your secret with you," Victor waved his hand. "I won't prosecute you. Because although you're an intruder, you're also someone seeking the truth. I respect that."

The security captain released his grip.

Mudd stood up, looked at Victor suspiciously, then grabbed his things and strode out of the office.

Only after the elevator doors closed did Mude breathe a sigh of relief. He touched the crumpled paper in his underwear. He had it. It was evidence.

in the office.

The moment the elevator doors closed, the helplessness and dejection on Victor's face vanished.

He sat back down in his chair and took a puff of his cigar.

"Did he believe it?" Old Jack asked.

“Of course he believed it,” Victor laughed. “Smart people like him are always more likely to believe in conspiracy theories. Because conspiracy theories make them feel more clear-headed than ordinary people.”

"That memo?"

“That was a ‘honeypot trap’,” Victor explained. “I put the ‘leukemia cure’ version in the trash can on the third floor, the ‘cancer cure’ version on the fourth floor, and the ‘alien DNA’ version on the fifth floor.”

Victor flicked his cigarette ash.

"Now I know he went to the fourth floor. And for the next six months, he will waste all his energy trying to verify that non-existent 'cancer cure.' He will harass oncology experts and investigate false leads in our supply chain."

"And what's the real secret?" old Jack asked.

Victor pointed to the floor beneath his feet.

"The real secret, that we're turning all of America into addicts, is right under his nose. But he can't see it. Because that secret is too boring, not sci-fi enough, not thrilling enough."

Victor watched as Mudd hurriedly left the building on the monitor screen.

"That's the secret of magic, Jack. If you want to hide an elephant, the best way isn't to lock it up, but to make the audience stare at the little white rabbit in your other hand."

"Let him do his work. We need time."

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I submitted it to Qidian before, but it was rejected because of its sensitive subject matter. I'm writing it on Qiezi now, but I don't know how long it will last.

It tells the story of the rampant use of addictive substances in the United States. As I said at the beginning, you need to know how it came about. It is based on true American stories and is full of carefully designed traps. It involves both physical and psychological addiction. Don't get involved, or no one can save you when you are caught in the trap. I recommend the American TV series "Addiction Measurement" again!