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

On the second floor of a foot massage parlor in downtown Newark with a neon sign that reads "Foot Massage".

This is the most unsightly corner of the entire city, where the air is filled with a mixture of cheap incense and the musty smell of backflowing sewers.

Victor pushed open a peeling wooden door. A handwritten note was pasted on the doorplate:

Jimmy McGill Law Firm.

The room was small, almost entirely filled with a huge, imitation mahogany desk that looked like it had been found at a secondhand furniture market. Behind the desk was a large wallpaper of the U.S. Constitution, attempting to create a sense of solemnity that wasn't actually there.

"Listen, Betsy, this is absolutely a misunderstanding! It's not insurance fraud, it's called creative asset restructuring!"

Behind the desk, a man with greasy side-parted hair and wearing a cheap double-breasted suit was talking animatedly into the phone.

"What? You're going to hang up? No! Listen to me, if you refuse to pay out now, I'll sue you for racial discrimination! My client may be white, but he feels like an oppressed minority... Feed? Feed?"

The man angrily hung up the phone and slammed the receiver down on the landline.

"Damn insurance company vampires!"

He cursed, then looked up and saw Victor standing in the doorway.

His originally dejected face instantly transformed into a professional, fake smile, as fast as a face-changing magic trick.

"Oh, what a rare guest! Please come in, please come in!"

Jimmy McGill emerged from behind his desk and extended his hand warmly.

"I'm Jimmy McGill, you can call me Jimmy. Whether it's drunk driving, theft, or public indecent assault, I'm your best friend as long as you pay me. Of course, if it's murder, we'll have to go to that soundproof conference room next door—I'm just kidding."

Victor did not shake hands, but simply looked at him quietly.

That look made Jimmy's smile freeze for a moment.

"Looks like this isn't a simple traffic accident." Jimmy withdrew his hand, rubbing it awkwardly. "Well, sir. What kind of trouble have you run into? The tax bureau? Or are you being chased by your ex-wife for debt?"

"I've heard that you can talk the dead back to life."

Victor walked to the only guest chair, took out a handkerchief to wipe the dust off, and then sat down.

"That's an exaggeration." Jimmy sat back in his boss's chair, crossed his legs, revealing the worn soles of his shoes. "But within the bounds of the law, I can indeed create some miracles."

"very good."

Victor placed his briefcase on his lap.

"I have a business deal. It's about how to make a pharmaceutical company legally 'invisible'."

Jimmy's eyes narrowed.

His eyes, honed by years of experience on the streets, instantly sensed danger.

"Invisibility? Sir, this isn't the magic of the Maiar from Lord of the Rings. A company is a company; it needs to be registered, pay taxes, and have a legal representative."

"That's why I came to find you."

Victor opened his briefcase and took out a document.

"I want to register a series of offshore companies, nested within each other."

"Wat Pharmaceuticals is only responsible for producing 'basic chemical raw materials.' Sales are handled by a trading company in Panama, and due to Panama's secrecy laws, shareholder information is not disclosed to the public."

"Then, the controlling stake in this Panamanian company was acquired by an investment trust in the Cayman Islands."

Finally, the beneficiary of this trust is an anonymous account located in Switzerland.

Jimmy was dumbfounded. He had thought it was just a small business owner trying to evade taxes, but he hadn't expected to run into a money laundering master.

"Wow, wow, slow down."

Jimmy raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Sir, you're playing with fire. This is called 'money laundering,' a federal felony. If the DEA or IRS traces this back to you, even if I had three heads and six arms, I couldn't save you."

"Besides," Jimmy lowered his voice, "this architecture is too complex and very costly to maintain. Are you sure your 'small business' is worth it?"

Victor remained silent.

He simply took a brown paper bag out of his briefcase and turned it upside down.

"Splash—"

Bundles of green US dollars, tied with rubber bands, cascaded down the table like a waterfall, forming a small mountain.

That's a full $50,000.

In 1981, when the average annual salary was over ten thousand dollars, that amount of money was enough to buy half a street of old houses in a dilapidated industrial area of ​​New Jersey.

Inflation had already arrived by 1981.

Jimmy's Adam's apple bobbed violently.

He stared at the pile of money like a hungry wolf eyeing fresh meat. His greed was so real it overshadowed the fear in his eyes.

"Here is fifty thousand."

Victor said calmly.

"If this architecture can be running smoothly within a month, this is just a deposit."

The room fell into a deathly silence.

The only sounds were the crackling of the neon lights outside the window and Jimmy's rapid breathing.

Jimmy reached out and trembled as he touched the pile of banknotes. The rough texture of the paper and the intoxicating smell of the ink made him feel dizzy.

He stood up, walked to the door, locked it, and then pulled down the blinds.

In the dim light, his eyes changed.

The original slickness and frivolity disappeared, replaced by a focused, almost obsessive professionalism.

"Okay, boss."

Jimmy sat back down in his chair and took out a thick law book and several privately kept telephones from the drawer.

"Since you're so sincere, let's talk about the details."

He pushed aside the pile of money, took out a piece of white paper, and uncapped his pen.

"Panama and the Cayman Islands alone are not enough. That's too outdated; the IRS has been eyeing those areas for a long time."

Jimmy was rapidly sketching a complex flowchart on paper while explaining in a very fast voice:

"We need to add a 'sandwich' in the middle. We register a shell company in the Netherlands and use the bilateral tax treaty between the Netherlands and Panama to turn the flow of funds into 'royalties'."

"Then, we register a company in Ireland as a transit point. There's a huge loophole in Irish tax law: as long as the company's management is not in Ireland, it can be considered a 'non-tax resident'."

"That way," Jimmy pointed sharply at the end of the paper with the tip of his pen, "your money will go around the world like a ghost, and finally return to your pocket cleanly. The DEA won't find it, the IRS won't find it, not even God can find it."

Victor looked at the densely packed blueprint, a hint of admiration flashing in his eyes.

"very good."

"This doesn't sound like something Jimmy McGill could do," Victor said.

"Jimmy McGill simply couldn't do it."

Jimmy looked up, a sly smile playing on his lips. He pointed to the huge Constitution wallpaper behind him.

"But Saul Goodman can."

"Saul Goodman?"

"That's my stage name. You know, these days, a Jewish lawyer sounds more reliable than an Irish lawyer. 'It's all good, man.'"

Jimmy stood up and extended his hand to Victor. This time, his hand was no longer trembling, but filled with confidence and ambition.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Corleone. From today onwards, I am your legal bodyguard."

Victor stared at the hand and remained silent for a moment.

Then he reached out and grasped it.

"Remember your promise, Saul."

Victor's voice was soft, but every word was like a nail driven into Jimmy's heart.

"If my bulletproof vest gets drafty, I'll come and fix it myself."

Jimmy shivered, but he still managed to force a signature smile.

"Don't worry, boss. In the gray area of ​​the law, I'm the one with the flashlight."

Stepping out of the building, Victor took a deep breath of the cold air outside.

A light rain began to fall, and the neon lights became blurred in the rain and mist.

"drive."

Victor got into the car and spoke to the driver.

"Where to, boss?"

"Let's go to the factory." Victor closed his eyes. "Now that the legal issues are resolved, it's time to expand production."