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

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Thank you everyone for the gifts and comments! Special thanks to "Manager Zhang who loves Chinese kale" for the 5 bonus chapter tokens, so I'm adding an extra chapter!

I've read all your comments. If you like this book and want to save up some chapters, please take two minutes to scroll to the end of the latest chapter. Reading data is very important for how much I give you credit.

This book tells the story of the capitalists who hang lampposts at West University. Every character has a real-life counterpart, and every story has references to American TV series or real-life events. Feel free to leave comments and discuss if you're interested. The protagonist is indeed based on The Godfather, and Saul is from Better Call Saul... Since it's called Walter, there will definitely be Easter eggs later on.

Regarding Prison A and the Gundam project, please leave a comment and I'll see if I can add it. If there's a lot of demand, I'll adjust the outline. Prison A collects Gundams because various universities and pharmaceutical companies take them for research, and Victor happens to be a pharmaceutical company. However, I need you to suggest which stories you'd like to see in Prison A. I don't watch every live stream, so please leave a comment and I'll collect the materials.

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An abandoned underground parking garage on the banks of the Potomac River in Washington, D.C.

Miller turned off the headlights, letting the Ford sedan disappear into the shadows.

"We've been waiting for forty minutes." Miller glanced at his watch; his palms were sweaty. "She's not coming."

"Be patient, Agent." Mulder sat in the passenger seat, peeling a peanut. He spoke, but his glasses kept scanning every exit around them. "Fear can make you late, but conscience won't."

Suddenly, the sound of rapid high heels broke the silence.

A woman wearing a dark gray trench coat and a hood emerged from behind a pillar. She walked quickly, glancing back in alarm every now and then.

Mudd immediately got out of the car and raised his hands to indicate that he was unarmed.

"Sarah?" Mulder called out tentatively.

The woman stopped abruptly, shrinking into a ball like a startled rabbit. Only after recognizing Mudd's face did she relax slightly and quickly approach.

In the dim light, Miller could make out her face. Around thirty years old, wearing thick glasses, and pale. She was Sarah Connor, a former data analyst in Vought Pharmaceuticals' R&D department.

"You shouldn't have come to me..." Sarah's voice trembled as she clutched her collar tightly. "They know everything. They're everywhere."

"Calm down, Sarah." Mulder handed her a bottle of water. "Tell us what you saw?"

Sarah didn't take the water. Instead, she shakily pulled a black envelope from her bosom and handed it to Mulder.

"This is the raw data."

Her voice was hoarse with despair.

"The report the FDA saw was fake. Perfect p-value, perfect double-blind test... it was all fake."

Miller frowned: "They falsified the data?"

“No, it’s more advanced than that.” Sarah gave a bitter laugh. “They ‘cleaned’ the data.”

"Cleaning?"

"If a child develops serious suicidal tendencies during a drug trial, or even attempts to cut their wrists, how do you think that should be recorded?" Sarah stared into Miller's eyes. "According to regulations, this is called a 'Serious Adverse Event' (SAE), which must be reported to the FDA, and it will cause the drug to be rejected outright."

"But at Waterpharm..." Sarah took a deep breath, "this is recorded as 'emotional fluctuation' or 'accidental injury.' If it's a child who withdraws because the side effects are too strong, we simply remove them from the denominator—this is called 'incomplete experimental sample,' and they are not included in the statistical results."

Miller felt a wave of nausea: "Is this why the side effects rate for Concerta is only 1%?"

“Not only that,” Sarah continued, her words quickening. “They also cracked the double-blind method. By testing blood concentrations, they could tell midway through the process who was taking the real drug and who was taking the sugar pill. If the data from the real drug group didn’t look good, they could find a reason to kick that person out. It’s called ‘data mining.’ Data is like dough, agent; as long as you knead it correctly, you can bake any shape of bread you want.”

"God..." Miller muttered to himself. This is simply a crime against humanity.

"What's inside?" Mud held up the envelope.

"A 3.5-inch floppy disk. It contained the original database that I and two other colleagues had secretly backed up. That was the only evidence that Concentrate had a 30% risk of developing major depressive disorder."

Sarah suddenly grabbed Mulder's arm, her nails digging deep into his flesh.

"But I don't have the password. The database is encrypted with AES, and only those in the core layer have the key. Maybe it's Saul, maybe it's that woman named Katie."

Just then, a deep engine sound came from the entrance.

Two blinding beams of light instantly sliced ​​through the darkness, shining directly at the three people.

It was a black Lincoln Town Car.

"They're here!" Sarah screamed and turned to run.

"Get in the car!" Miller shouted, drawing his sidearm at the same time.

But Sarah had already rushed towards the stairwell in a panic.

The rear door of the Lincoln opened, and two men in black trench coats jumped out. They walked quickly, but they weren't carrying guns; instead, they were holding long, black, baton-like objects.

"Don't shoot!" Mudd grabbed Miller's hand. "This is an echo chamber. Gunshots will attract the police, and that would be troublesome. Who knows if this evidence will be lost?! We already have the floppy disk, let's get out of here!"

Miller gritted his teeth and took one last look in the direction Sarah had disappeared. The two men in black had already chased her into the stairwell.

He knew what was going to happen. Tomorrow's news might feature another tragic case of a "depressed patient committing suicide by jumping off a building."

"Damn it!"

Miller slammed the car door shut and floored the accelerator. The Ford's tires screeched against the concrete, and the car swerved toward another exit.

In the rearview mirror, the Lincoln followed.

The Lincoln just kept its tail on theirs, maintaining a distance of two meters.

"What are they waiting for?" Miller was sweating profusely, frantically turning the steering wheel and weaving between the pillars.

"They're noting down our license plates," Mudd said calmly, clutching the envelope tightly in his hand. "Or, they're assessing whether we deserve to be 'cleansed'."

The Ford sedan sped out of the underground parking lot and merged into Washington's busy evening rush hour traffic.

The Lincoln did not follow.

Ten minutes later.

Miller parked the car in a safe block. He slumped over the steering wheel, panting heavily.

"We killed her." Miller's voice trembled.

"Victor killed her." Mulder put the floppy disk into his inner pocket, his eyes as cold as ice. "Her sacrifice was worthwhile. Now, we have bullets."

"But we don't have the key." Miller looked up at Mulder. "Without the password, this floppy disk is just scrap metal. And if we dare to go to a decoding expert, I'm sure the information will leak out, and they'll find us immediately."

Mude pushed up his glasses.

"Then let's go find someone who has the key."

"Who?"

"Victor's inner circle." Mud pulled out the slip of paper with the name on it from his pocket and wrote a new name on the back. "Since we're attacking the fortress from within, we need someone who's already inside but harbors resentment."

Miller leaned over and took a look.

The note read: Marcus.

"That sales vice president?" Miller frowned. "He's a die-hard Victor."

"Everyone has a price, Miller. Or, everyone has a weakness."

"Victor used money to control the doctors and drugs to control the children. But he forgot one thing."

"What?"

"Fear," Mudd said softly. "When the Titanic struck an iceberg, the first to jump were often those living in first class."