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

Corleone Manor hosted a ceremony even grander than Victor's birthday party.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Five hundred white Chiavari bamboo chairs, flown in from Italy, are arranged in a perfect geometric array on the lawn. Thousands of Ecuadorian white roses adorn the entire estate like a dream, or more accurately, an elaborately constructed photography studio.

This is a wedding.

The bride is Katie Grant, the sales president of Walter Reed Pharmaceuticals, and is known as the "First Lady of the pharmaceutical industry."

The groom is Michael Bradley, a rising star in the Republican Party and hailed as a "future governor," representing New Jersey's 12th congressional district.

The officiant was Victor Corleone, the owner of the manor.

...

Security checkpoint at the main entrance of the manor.

Each guest must not only present a gold-embossed invitation, but also be scanned by a metal detector.

"Senate Majority Leader Mitchell just passed by," Saul Goodman, the greeter, whispered into his earpiece, a red circle drawn on the list in his hand. "Make a note of him. Arrange for him at the head table, next to the federal judge. Also, remind the waiter that he only drinks single malt Scotch whisky, without the ice."

"That's a Goldman Sachs partner...that's the FDA deputy commissioner...My God, the GDP here today could buy half of Africa."

As he sighed, Saul directed his men to carry the heavy gift boxes one by one.

These boxes contain a toaster or a coffee maker, and of course, a check is included.

According to the Federal Election Commission (FEC) regulations, corporations are not allowed to donate large sums of money directly to candidates.

But Saul Goodman is a master of exploiting loopholes.

He invented a strategy called "wedding bundling".

"Listen, ladies," Saul addressed a group of elegantly dressed Vought Pharmaceuticals representatives backstage, "each of you write a personal check for $1000, payable to 'Bradley Campaign Committee,' with the note 'Wedding Gift.' That's the legal limit for personal donations."

"Then," he waved the thick stack of envelopes in his hand, "the company will give each of you $2500 in next month's 'performance bonus.' After taxes, you'll still make a few hundred dollars. That's a win-win situation, understand? That's the operating manual for the American Dream."

The pharmaceutical representatives chuckled knowingly and pulled out their checkbooks.

Five hundred employees, each receiving $1,000. That's $500,000 in "hard money." Add to that the "soft money" generated through political action committees (PACs), and the wedding was effectively an unprecedented political money laundering operation.

...

The bride's dressing room is on the second floor of the manor.

Katie Grant sat in front of her vanity mirror wearing a custom-made Vera Wang wedding dress worth $100,000. The layers of lace and silk enveloped her like clouds.

The makeup artist had already left, leaving her alone in the room.

The woman in the mirror was stunningly beautiful. Her skin was as white as porcelain, and her red lips were as vibrant as fire, but her eyes were as empty as a delicate shop window doll.

She looked at the huge six-carat diamond ring on her ring finger.

This wasn't purchased by Michael. It was purchased by the company's public relations department as "various props," and was even listed as "marketing expenses" on the balance sheet.

On the table lay a prenuptial agreement that was fifty pages long.

That wasn't a contract about love, but a business agreement about asset divestiture, confidentiality obligations, and political damage control. Article 32 even stipulated that "if the divorce occurs during the election campaign, the woman must cooperate in a six-month public relations performance."

The door was gently pushed open.

Victor walked in. He was wearing a black tailcoat today, with a white rose pinned to his breastplate.

"Ready, Katie?" Victor stood behind her, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror.

Katie didn't turn around, but tears suddenly streamed down her face, ruining her perfectly applied eye makeup.

“Victor…do we really have to do this?” Her voice trembled. “Michael is a good man, but he…he doesn’t even know what I like to eat. Last night at dinner, he spent two hours talking to me about New Jersey’s garbage disposal bill and his approval ratings in the polls.”

"That's his job, Katie." Victor took a folded silk handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

"He doesn't need to know what you like to eat. He just needs to know that Waters Pharmaceuticals is supporting him. He also just needs to know that you are the final piece of the puzzle on his way to governorship—a beautiful, capable, and 'clean' corporate executive wife who can help him win over suburban female voters."

"But I love you."

Katie whirled around and grabbed Victor's hand. Her nails dug deep into his palm, her eyes filled with desperate hope.

"You know I've always loved you. Ever since the day I started this job, when you asked me in the interview room, 'How are you going to sell me this medicine?'... Why can't it be you? We're the same kind of people, Victor."

Victor neither withdrew his hand nor avoided her gaze.

"Katie, look at me."

He took her hand in his own, his voice low and rational.

"To put it nicely, I'm a controversial figure. The media calls me a 'legal drug lord.' If I marry you, your picture will appear on the cover of every tabloid, with headlines like 'Drug Queen and Her Gangster Husband.' We'll become the target of everyone's ire."

To put it bluntly... I don't have feelings for you. You know that.

These words shattered Katie's last illusions.

Victor bent down and gently wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Michael has a clean record. He's a Vietnam War hero, a Purple Heart recipient; he's a Juris Doctor, a Yale graduate; he's the perfect political golden boy. Of course, I don't deny that we chose him because he can get into the rooms I can't. He can shield us from the bullets aimed at O'Shaughnessy on Capitol Hill."

"And I can tell that Michael really likes you. Or rather, he likes the image you represent. That's enough."

Victor straightened up and adjusted his bow tie.

"I've always believed that it's better to marry someone who loves you than someone you love!"

"But what about my happiness?" Katie's voice trembled with tears.

"happiness?"

Victor walked to the window and pulled back a corner of the curtain.

"Katie, look out the window. Those bulletproof luxury cars, those reporters scrambling to take pictures, those senators enjoying the finest caviar. It's all a byproduct of power. At this level, love is a luxury, power is a necessity, it's oxygen."

He pointed to the bustling crowd below.

"You can choose to walk out now, take off this priceless wedding dress, and tear up that prenuptial agreement that could instantly make you a millionaire. You can go back to the small restaurant you worked at before you came to Walter. That way, you might find a white-collar worker who truly loves you and shares your passion for chess, and live what's called a 'happy life'."

"But would you be content with that? After seeing the view from the clouds, would you really want to go back to the mud?"