American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

Lynn leaned against the shelf and casually picked up a bottle of amlodipine.

The label printing, font spacing, and NDC (National Drug Directory) codes are all included.

However, the heat-sealed texture of the pressure-sensitive seal is finer, and the light transmittance of the bottle plastic is also one shade higher than the original.

This is not a product of any US pharmaceutical company that has been approved by the FDA.

Lynn remembered Arjun's underground tunnels.

This is definitely a repackaged Indian generic drug.

Looking past the shelf, Rosa was pulling a wad of crumpled bills from her wallet.

At the same time, she also pulled out the white card from the inner compartment.

This woman probably thought this was the normal procedure:

The pharmacy receives a cash payment, and then seeks reimbursement from medical insurance for a portion of the cost.

Many community clinics do this.

But she would never know that Arjun would turn around and use her Medicaid number to claim the full $420 from the federal government at the original drug's retail price.

The cost of these three bottles of Indian medicine is at most less than five yuan.

As for those original brand-name drugs that should have been given to patients?

It will naturally flow to the black market, where it will make a third profit.

The puzzle is complete.

Lynn completely saw through Arjun's profit model.

Simple, extremely profitable, and leeching off America.

Moreover, it is almost flawless.

The Bronx has over thirty independent pharmacies, all of which are cheaper than CVS.

For the poor in this community, cheap prices are the norm, and the exorbitant prices of chain pharmacies are the anomaly.

No one would report a pharmacy for selling something cheaply. Have you ever seen someone call 911 to complain about a supermarket offering discounts?

Arjun's pricing is precisely within the "reasonably cheap" range.

The price is high enough for the medical insurance system to recognize it as a normal price difference subsidy transaction, yet low enough to make every patient who walks into this pharmacy feel grateful.

This is Arjun's greatest wisdom: his guests are not victims, but beneficiaries.

Beneficiaries will not report their benefactors.

"God bless you, Mr. Patel." Rosa made the sign of the cross.

Arjun folded his glasses and stuffed them into the breast pocket of his white coat.

"You're welcome. Just give me a call next time and I'll prepare it for you in advance."

Looking at Arjun's retreating figure, Lynn suddenly understood why the system used "Brahmin" to describe him.

This person may genuinely believe they are doing good.

Rosa counted out the money one bill at a time, just about to hand it to Arjun.

Just then.

"Bang!--"

The glass door was violently flung open, slammed against the wall, and bounced back.

A man as thin as a clothesline rod rushed in.

Her collarbone was prominent, supporting a pilling hoodie, the sweat stains on the collar already yellowed and hardened.

His pupils were so large that the iris was almost invisible, his lips were dry and cracked, and there were scabs on the corners of his mouth from where he had bitten himself.

Typical symptoms of the euphoric phase after consuming ice.

The man lunged straight at Rosa, who had just turned around.

"Where's the money! Give me the money!"

He grabbed Rosa's wrist with astonishing force, his blackened nails instantly carving a bloody gash into the back of her hand.

Rosa screamed, the paper bag fell to the ground, and the medicine bottles rolled all over the floor.

"No! Are you crazy! That's my money for medicine!" The woman struggled desperately, tears streaming down her face.

"Shut up, you filthy bitch!"

The man slapped his wife across the face, then grabbed the loose change from her hand with his other hand and yanked it away.

After getting the money, the addict turned around and tried to run away.

But he couldn't escape.

A hand gripped his hoodie collar tightly.

The Pharmacist Arjun, who was so kind and friendly just a moment ago, pulled the grown man back with one hand.

It slammed hard onto the ground.

Arjun pressed his knee firmly against the man's back, grabbed his hair with his right hand, and slammed his face against the floor tiles.

"Bang!"

His nose collapsed on the spot, and blood gushed out, seeping into the cracks between the gray floor tiles.

Ah-Jung's hitting motions were nothing like those of a businessman protecting his business.

It was more like cleaning up some kind of excrement that made him extremely nauseous.

There was a pause with each punch.

During the pause, he stared intently at the addict's face.

The man's hoodie was ripped open, revealing a dark tattoo on his thin chest.

The handwriting was blurry, but Lynn could barely make out the spelling "Rosa".

Below the letters, a crooked rose is tattooed.

How ironic.

He tattooed his wife's name on the spot closest to her heart, yet he stole her life-saving money for a few hits of methamphetamine.

Arjun also saw the tattoo.

He slammed his fist down harder.

The doorbell rang again.

Sachi walked in upon hearing the scream and grabbed Arjun's wrist.

"That's enough. If you keep hitting him, someone will die."

Arjun turned his head away.

Those deep brown eyes were filled with violence; there was no trace of the pharmacist in them.

He whistled.

The curtain at the back of the pharmacy was lifted.

Two burly South Asian youths rushed out and grabbed Sachi's arms from either side.

Sachi glanced back at Lynn.

Lynn leaned against the shelf, his hands in the pockets of his white coat, and shook his head expressionlessly.

He also hates these abusive dogs.

Sachi understood.

There's no need to cause trouble over a pile of rotten flesh on the ground.

Rosa sat slumped on the ground, her face swollen and red, not daring to even look at her husband.

The veteran slowly released his grip and took a half-step back.

The two henchmen released him, but their hands remained on his lower back.

Arjun stood up.

A few drops of blood were splattered on the white coat, and the registered pharmacist's nameplate was crooked.

He looked down at his fist and flexed his knuckles.

He then bent down and pried open the addict's fingers one by one from his tightly clenched fist.

He pulled out the crumpled stack of banknotes.

He smoothed out the banknotes.

One after another.

The two henchmen understood immediately, dragged the man off the ground like a piece of trash, and threw him outside.

The man was curled up on the sidewalk, his nosebleed and saliva mixed together, leaving a stain on the concrete.

The pedestrians coming and going on the street didn't even give it a second glance.

Ah-Qiong took off the blood-stained white coat and took out a brand new one from under the counter to put on.

Button up the top button again and fasten the nameplate securely.

He walked toward Rosa, who was still trembling.

"Madam, I'm so sorry to have startled you."

He bent down, picked up the medicine bottle from the ground, put it back in the paper bag, and handed it over with both hands, along with the money he had stolen.

"Today's medicine is free."

Rosa took the paper bag with trembling hands, covering her swollen cheeks, her eyes filled with tears.

"God bless you... Mr. Patel..."

"Go on," Arjun gently patted her shoulder. "Be careful on the road."

The doorbell rang once.

The pharmacy fell silent again.

Arjun pulled a wet tissue from her pocket and carefully wiped the bloodstains from her hands.

He wiped the spaces between his fingers, the nails, and every line on his palm clean.

He didn't look up at Lynn until his hands were completely clean.

The tone shifted quickly, like turning the page of a prescription.

"You've come at the right time. What do you need?"

"Weren't you afraid of getting into trouble for what you just did?"