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

Walter is in trouble.

New Jersey District Court.

The steps outside the courthouse were crowded with cameras and microphones. Thirty families, more than sixty gaunt-faced parents, held up photos of their deceased children, silently protesting under the scorching sun. The young people in the photos were all smiles, mostly wearing rugby jerseys or cheerleader uniforms, but now they had all become cold, lifeless tombstones.

The drama of "David versus Goliath" is unfolding!

The media loves stories like this: a victimized, impoverished civilian, an evil pharmaceutical tycoon, and a public interest lawyer trying to advocate for the people.

"Vortex Pharmaceuticals concealed the risks of addiction!" Plaintiff's lawyer Robert Bilott stood before the camera, his voice trembling with rage. "They packaged heroin as candy! My client only sprained his ankle, yet he died from an overdose! We demand justice! We demand the truth!"

The flashbulbs were flashing wildly, making the beads of sweat on his forehead glisten.

On the other side of the courthouse, a black Lincoln sedan drove into the underground parking garage.

Saul Goodman climbed out of the car and straightened his flashy bright yellow tie.

"It looks lively outside?" he asked his assistant.

"Yes, boss. CNN and Fox News are here. Attorney Bilott is giving a passionate speech."

"Very good." Saul smiled. "Let him act. The more pathetic the better. It's part of our bargaining power."

......

The mediation room. A conference table that looks ridiculously long.

Seated on the left were the plaintiff's lawyer, Bilott, and five plaintiff representatives. Although their clothes were clean, the wear and tear on their collars was still clearly visible.

There was only Thor on the right.

He slowly opened his briefcase, took out a bottle of Evian mineral water, unscrewed it, and took a sip.

"We do not accept any form of private deal!" Attorney Bilott launched the attack, slamming a thick stack of medical records on the table. "We want to go to court! We want the jury to see what you've done! We want to bankrupt Walter Pharmaceuticals!"

Saul didn't look at the documents. Nor did he look at Bilott.

His gaze swept over the five plaintiffs' representatives. Background information flashed through his mind:

One was a truck driver who lost his job due to a back injury, and his son died of a drug overdose.

One was a single mother who worked as a cashier at a supermarket; her daughter died from a mix of OxyContin and alcohol.

One is a retired worker whose house has been foreclosed on by the bank...

Saul took a check out of his briefcase.

It was a signed check. The number was followed by a dizzying string of zeros.

"Twenty million US dollars."

Saul gently pushed the check to the center of the table.

The air seemed to freeze.

"What?" Bilott was stunned.

"Twenty million US dollars. This is the one-time settlement offered by Vought Pharmaceuticals."

"This money will be divided equally among the thirty plaintiff families. After deducting legal fees, each family will receive approximately $400,000."

Four hundred thousand US dollars.

In 1987, this was a huge sum of money. Enough to buy two houses, or send three children to college, or pay off all debts and then travel around the world.

The single mother's throat tightened. She stared intently at the check.

"This is an insult!" Bilott slammed his fist on the table and stood up. "Thirty lives for twenty million? We want a verdict! We want Walter to admit their guilt!"

"Mr. Bilott, please have a seat." Saul gestured for him to sit, maintaining his irritating politeness. "If you reject this proposal and insist on going to court, I guarantee you will get what you want: a spectacular trial."

"But I also guarantee that this trial will last five years, even ten years. We will file countersuits against every plaintiff and investigate their past. That dead quarterback? We will prove that he smoked marijuana before taking the drugs. That good girl? We will find out her abortion records from high school. We will subpoena every witness and apply for every extension until your clients sell their houses, spend their retirement funds, or even die of old age while waiting for the verdict."

"You..." Bilott trembled with rage, "You're a devil."

“I’m a lawyer,” Saul corrected, “and one of the best in America.”

He leaned back in his chair and pointed to the check.

"Or, you can sign now, take the money, and leave. Four hundred thousand dollars. Cash. It will be in your account within two weeks. You can repair the house, pay off the mortgage, and buy a decent insurance policy for the rest of your children."

"But there's one condition."

Saul produced a fifty-page document—a Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA).

"This money was paid on the premise of 'no admission of liability.' After signing the agreement, you are not allowed to disclose any details of the case to anyone—including the media, neighbors, and even your priest. You must withdraw all charges and admit that Water Pharmaceuticals was not at fault under the law."

"If you take the money, you have to shut up. Never again."

Silence fell over the conference room. Only the hum of the air conditioner could be heard, like a countdown.

Bilott looked at his clients: "Don't listen to him! We can win! We can get more! For justice!"

But no one responded to him.

The truck driver reached out with trembling hands and picked up the confidentiality agreement. His hands were calloused, and oil residue clung to his fingernails.

"My...my house is going up for auction next month. Without it, I'll lose my job and end up homeless," he whispered, avoiding the lawyer's eyes. "My son is dead. Justice can't bring him back to life. But this money...can save me and my wife."

"I'll sign too," the single mother said, crying. "I need to pay for my youngest daughter's tuition."

One by one.

Idealism shattered like glass under the heavy weight of reality.

Bilott watched this scene in despair. He knew he had lost. Not to the law, but to humanity, to poverty.

...

Half an hour later.

Saul carefully put away all the signed documents. He stood up, buttoned his suit jacket, and extended his hand to Bilott.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Bilott. By the way, your legal fees are approximately three million dollars. Congratulations, you're rich now."

Bilott looked at the hand and felt utterly disgusted. But he still shook it.

...

Vought Pharmaceuticals, President's Office.

Victor is looking at the quarterly financial report. OxyContin's sales are soaring like a rocket, with sales exceeding $300 million this quarter.

Saul walked in and placed the settlement agreement on the table.

"It's settled. Twenty million. Including legal fees and public relations costs, the total cost will be kept under twenty-five million."

Victor picked up his pen and signed his name on the final authorization document.

"Twenty-five million," Victor said. "That's about our monthly GG fee."

"What are the media saying?"

"They'll report that the two sides reached a settlement and the plaintiff received 'satisfactory' compensation. As for the specific amount and details? That's a trade secret." Saul poured himself a glass of whiskey. "Nobody will know the truth. In the public eye, Water Pharmaceuticals remains a responsible, caring company."

Victor closed the financial report, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the entire industrial area.

"That's called 'operating costs,' Saul."

"As long as no one goes to jail, fines are just a form of taxation. Based on the current profit margin, we can easily cover the 'cost' of two hundred people per year."

Saul paused slightly in his hand, which was holding the wine glass. Even he felt a chill run down his spine upon hearing such a cold-blooded calculation.

"Boss, sometimes I feel like you're more of a lawyer than I am."

"No, Thor," Victor turned around, "I'm a businessman."