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

Winter goes and spring comes; another year has passed.

Manhattan, the top-floor panoramic conference room of the Vought Pharmaceuticals headquarters building.

This is the height of power, where you can overlook the greenery of Central Park and the shimmering waters of the Hudson River through the bulletproof glass curtain wall.

All eyes were focused on a giant map of the United States spread out in the center of the mahogany table.

The map is covered with tiny red flags. Each flag represents a hospital, large pharmacy chain, or pain management clinic that has signed an exclusive supply agreement with Water.

Red covered 80% of the map.

This is a breathtaking visual impact. In the pharmaceutical industry, having a 20% market share is usually considered "industry giant," while 80% means "God."

"80%." Victor Corleone, dressed in a dark gray suit, spoke in a voice that echoed in the empty conference room.

"This is the result of the PBM (Pharmacy Benefit Management Agency) bowing to us. This is the result of the FDA's 'prudent cooperation.' This is the result of our $500 million in public relations spending and sponsoring 3,000 'pain academic conferences' over the past three years."

On either side of the conference table sat more than twenty senior executives. From the CFO to the sales director, from the legal counsel to the R&D head, they began to applaud. Their faces beamed with the joy of impending bonuses, and greed lurked in the crow's feet around their eyes.

"but."

Victor suddenly turned around, his pen pointing sharply at the scattered white areas on the map that had not yet been covered by red.

"Another 20% of people are taking other people's medicine."

The applause stopped abruptly, like a duck whose neck had been snapped.

"Tylenol, ibuprofen, and those damn generic drugs from unknown small pharmaceutical companies."

"They're like cigarette burns on a perfect red carpet, they make me very uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable."

"Boss," the vice president in charge of marketing began cautiously, "that 20% mainly targets the mild pain market, or old-school doctors with a strong aversion to opioids. Our OxyContin already holds an absolute dominant position in prescription drugs; further penetration would be extremely costly..."

"Marginal cost?"

"Allen, tell him what cost is."

CFO Allen adjusted his glasses and opened the folder in front of him: "According to our actuarial model, every patient not covered by our services is a potential risk. If they get used to using other pain medications, they will never become our customers. This 'habit' itself is a cost we need to eliminate."

“I don’t care if they’re stubborn or not,” Victor continued. “I only care about one thing: monopoly.”

"Only a monopoly can set prices. Only a monopoly can set standards. Only a monopoly can silence the FDA."

He took a deep breath and gave the order.

"Starting today, we're launching 'Project Harvester.' We're going to buy up all our competitors. Whether they have products or just patents; whether they're already selling drugs or have just discovered a molecule in the lab."

“But boss,” Chief Legal Counsel (CLO) Harvey frowned, “the Sherman Antitrust Act isn’t just for show. If we go too far, the Department of Justice’s (DOJ) Antitrust Division will definitely get involved. Things are getting tense in Washington lately; a few young Democrats are watching us.”

"Then give them a reason they can't refuse." Victor turned to look out the window, towards the Statue of Liberty. "We're not eliminating competition; we're 'integrating resources,' protecting the core competitiveness of the American pharmaceutical industry, to counter..."

"Fight against those greedy Japanese."

...

If the previous Vought Pharmaceuticals was a feeding lion, then now it is a swarm of locusts.

Fueled by soaring stock prices on Wall Street, Water Pharmaceuticals brandished its unlimited checkbook and embarked on a buying spree.

This was not a fair competition at all; it was a one-sided massacre.

For small pharmaceutical companies with market capitalizations of tens of millions or even just a few million, when the acquisition team from Water Pharmaceuticals—five senior M&A lawyers, three financial auditors, and two expressionless security guards—knocked on the door and offered cash bids with premiums of 50% or even 100%, no board of directors could refuse.

Seattle, shrouded in rain and fog.

BioLife Biotechnology Laboratory.

This is a startup founded by three Stanford PhDs, hidden away in an unassuming industrial park. Though its exterior is unassuming, a miracle that could change the world has just been born here.

They have made a breakthrough in the research of non-opioid analgesics—a new molecule codenamed "BL-99".

This molecule can effectively inhibit the transmission of pain signals by blocking sodium ion channels, and, most importantly, it does not act on opioid receptors at all. In other words, it is theoretically not addictive.

"Mr. Corleone, this is the culmination of our hard work."

Founder Dr. Davis excitedly shook Victor's hand, his white coat still stained with a few chemical reagents. His eyes shone with the unique light of an idealist, a pure innocence untouched by corruption.

"If BL-99 is launched, it will completely change the landscape of pain management. It is safer than OxyContin, more suitable for long-term use, and has no withdrawal symptoms. Although the current synthesis cost is still high, as long as..."

He suddenly realized who he was speaking to, and that the comparison of "safer than OxyContin" seemed somewhat offensive, so he stopped awkwardly.

Victor smiled, a gentle and tolerant smile, like a generous philanthropist looking at a talented but poor artist.

"Don't worry, Dr. Davis. I saw its potential precisely in it."

Victor looked around at the simple test tubes and beakers, a perfectly measured hint of "heartache" in his eyes.

"Look at your environment. Geniuses shouldn't be working in garages. Vought Pharmaceuticals has the top R&D center and the most powerful sales network in the United States. We will get BL-99 on the shelves of every hospital. We will invest one hundred million dollars in follow-up research and development. We will turn your hard work into a great cause that benefits mankind."

These words struck a nerve with Dr. Davis. Every scientist dreams of their inventions changing the world, but funding is always a chasm standing between those dreams and reality.

"Furthermore," Saul said, handing over a document with "Merger Agreement" embossed in gold on the cover, "this is the acquisition contract. Fifty million US dollars. Cash. One-time payment. And a five-year 'Chief Scientific Advisor' appointment, promising to retain your core R&D team."

Fifty million US dollars.

Dr. Davis felt a little short of breath. His lab was on the verge of going out of money to pay salaries. This money not only meant financial freedom, but also meant he could conduct research without any worries.

He picked up the pen with trembling hands.

"Sign it, Doctor," Victor's voice whispered like a devil's, "for the sake of science."

Dr. Davis signed his name. At that moment, he thought he had found the best adoptive parents for his "child".