You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 219 Pure Researchers

When Christopher heard the words "double director" come out of the blood-covered old man's mouth, he gasped.

As a researcher who once managed tens of millions of dollars in research funding, he knew exactly what kind of power and status this title represented in the American healthcare system, because they were once the same kind of people in the same social class.

That's why his gaze as he stared at Thomas's hunched back was filled with disbelief and a profound sense of absurdity.

Christopher took another look around the dilapidated church with its peeling walls.

It felt like walking into a cheap Hollywood movie set, where you could pull out any dirty old man from the garbage dumps of a slum and he could be a top surgeon who once published front-page papers in top medical journals.

Thomas completely ignored the shocked gaze behind him.

He wiped the water droplets from his face, then gripped the edge of the yellowish sink tightly with both hands, hunched over, and breathed heavily for a few moments.

The cold tap water seemed to barely pull him back to his senses from the high-pressure emergency room state.

"Cough cough."

Thomas turned around, his cloudy eyes looking at Leon sitting on the wooden chair.

"Speaking of which—when you were outside, you only said you wanted to save this person's life."

Thomas's voice was heavy with exhaustion as he pointed to Christopher on the marble table.

"But who exactly is he? Why would you go to such lengths, even offering me $20,000 in cash, just to save this young man's life?"

In Thomas's eyes, who was over seventy years old, Christopher, who was in his early fifties, could indeed only be considered a young man.

Leon leaned back in his chair, his eyes beneath the brim of his hat calmly watching the old pastor.

He quickly went through the current situation in his mind.

Before Alex bought that English paperback anthology and Thomas underwent a complete ideological reshaping, the American universal values ​​ingrained in this old man's mind remained a hidden danger.

If we were to tell him now that the person lying on the platform is a Pfizer executive, involving a multinational pharmaceutical giant and a capital game involving billions of dollars, it would only add unnecessary psychological burden to this pastor who is already on the verge of collapse, and might even arouse some unnecessary moral baggage in him.

The fewer troubles, the better.

"He is a debtor who owes others a lot of money."

Lyon casually shrugged and spoke in a reassuring tone.

"If he dies, the boss's accounts won't be settled. Don't worry about his identity; I'll handle all the subsequent troubles."

Lyon pointed outside the door. "There are dozens of homeless people waiting outside for the antibiotics you just bought to save their lives. Go on with your work, priest."

Thomas did not show any doubt after hearing this explanation.

His current mental state is no longer sufficient for him to delve into the background of a stranger.

He simply nodded numbly, tossed the dirty towel aside by the sink, dragged his leaden legs, pushed open the wooden door of the baptismal chamber again, and walked towards the nave outside, filled with wails and death.

"Squeak" 7

The heavy wooden door closed again, barely shutting out the screams and stench from outside.

Seeing the wooden door close tightly, Lyon immediately abandoned his casual demeanor.

He turned his head, his gaze refocusing on Christopher on the marble countertop.

"Did you see that?"

Lyon's voice sounded particularly cold in the empty baptismal chapel.

"That head of surgery who just saved your life. He's ended up like this simply because he did something he shouldn't have done."

Christopher abruptly raised his head, his withered lips trembling slightly.

"He violated regulations by skipping the lengthy, rigid general practitioner referral process in the hospital, which was only for the wealthy, and pushed an emergency patient directly into the operating room."

"Just because he broke the rules and threatened the interests of the entire medical system, those big shots revoked his license and kicked him out of the hospital."

"Now, he can only work as a caregiver for the homeless in this dilapidated church, using antibiotics."

Lyon extended his gloved fingers and tapped Christopher's calf.

"Even someone like this, who only tried to save people, ended up here. And you?"

"You're a suspected corporate espionage agent being targeted by Pfizer's legal team, burdened with exorbitant cascading breach of contract penalties. What makes you think you still have a future in the United States?"

"Are you really content to spend your whole life fighting coyotes for territory here?"

"So, what do you think of my suggestion?"

After hearing these words, Christopher fell into a deathly silence.

He lowered his head, staring intently at the work-like stitches on his leg, his mind replaying Thomas's numb, empty gaze and the protective suit covered in bits of flesh and black blood.

He clenched his right fist and pressed it against his lips, his chest heaving as he took deep breaths, trying to suppress the endless confusion about the future that was deep in his heart.

A full minute passed.

Christopher slowly lowered his hand.

He looked at Lyon again, his tone no longer arrogant, but instead cautious, probing, and conciliatory.

"Since your backer can provide ample funding and even disregard Pfizer's blockade to give me a top-tier P3 lab—"

""

Christopher swallowed hard, his voice strained.

"What is the actual skill level of the researchers in the East? If I bring core technologies there, what kind of technical assistance can they provide?"

Christopher leaned against the cold marble countertop, running his fingers through his hair and scratching it a couple of times.

He didn't scream hysterically, nor did he fly into a rage like a gambler who's lost everything.

As a scholar who has spent most of his life in top-tier laboratories relying on data and logic, his emotional outbursts only reached this level of frustration.

"I led that project for four whole years."

Christopher stared at the moldy ceiling of the baptismal room, his voice filled with deep resentment.

"The molecular structures of those ligands, and the paths taken through each trial and error, were all developed by me and my team through countless sleepless nights."

"Why should the name of that idiot who only knows how to read financial statements be put on the patent in the end?"

He pulled his hands out of his hair and rubbed his face vigorously.

"To be honest, I don't care which country I go to, or who the buyer is."

Christopher turned to Leon, his bloodshot eyes fixed on him. "I just want my project to actually come to fruition. And I want my name to be listed as the inventor on the final patent."

He swallowed hard and made his final condition: "But before that, I must confirm that you really have the necessary conditions to support this kind of cutting-edge CRISPR vector research."

"I don't want to be a babysitter for a bunch of incompetent people who can't even figure out the purity of reagents."

>

Fortune