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

The blizzard had just passed, and the streets of Newark were piled high with dirty snow. But inside the bank lobby, it remained warm and cozy, the marble floors reflecting a cool, glossy sheen.

First National Bank of New Jersey.

Steven Harper, the branch's credit manager, sat behind his large oak table, impatiently flipping through a foreclosure document.

"Tell that Italian guy that if he doesn't see the money by Friday, the bailiffs are on the scene at 8 a.m. sharp on Monday," Harper roared into the phone. "I don't care if he's some kind of 'pharmaceutical heir,' the interest rate is 21%! 21%! Those lunatics at the Fed are driving us crazy, I don't have time to listen to his complaints about being broke."

He hung up the phone and picked up his coffee cup.

Just then, a shadow fell over his desk.

Harper looked up.

Victor Corleone stood there. He wore a camel-colored cashmere coat, a gray scarf, and his hair was neatly combed. There was no trace of coldness about him; rather, he exuded an unsettling composure.

"Mr. Corleone," Harper said with a mocking smile, "if you're here to apply for an extension, I suggest you save your breath. Chairman Volcker (the Federal Reserve Chairman) hasn't given me any patience."

"I'm here to pay the bill, Mr. Harper."

Victor took an envelope from the inside pocket of his coat and gently placed it on the table.

The movements were gentle, yet seemed to carry a tremendous weight.

Harper paused for a moment, then picked up the envelope with suspicion and pulled out a piece of paper from inside.

That was a cashier's check issued by Citibank.

The number above is: $125,400.00.

Harper's hand trembled slightly. A few drops of scalding coffee splashed onto her pristine white cuff, quickly spreading out like a brown flower.

"One hundred and twenty-five thousand four hundred dollars," Victor said calmly. "To settle all outstanding payments from the first quarter, including principal and interest. The extra four hundred dollars is your 'late payment penalty'."

Harper stared at the promissory note, repeatedly checking the watermark and security thread.

it is true.

In the harsh winter of 1981, when credit was tight and businesses were going bankrupt one after another, people who could come up with 100,000 yuan in cash at once were rarer than pandas.

"This...this is impossible," Harper stammered, his previously arrogant face instantly turning a deep shade of liver. "Walter Pharmaceuticals is already insolvent, how could you possibly..."

That's in the past.

Victor looked down at Harper.

"In this world, some people fail in business because they are stupid; others just lack a bit of luck. And luck happens to be the only thing I don't lack lately."

Victor reached out, snatched the unsigned mortgage release agreement from Harper's hand, and threw it in front of Harper.

"signature."

Harper swallowed hard and picked up his pen. As he signed, Victor could clearly see the veins throbbing on the back of his hand.

As the last letter fell, the debt crisis that had hung over the Corleone family like the Sword of Damocles was temporarily relieved.

Victor put away the contract and straightened his collar.

"Mr. Harper, remember this face."

Victor pointed to himself, a graceful yet cold smile playing on his lips.

"Because soon, I'll be the biggest depositor at this bank. Hopefully, your coffee will taste a bit better then."

After saying that, Victor turned and left.

The leather shoes made a crisp "tap, tap" sound on the marble floor, each step feeling like stepping on Harper's heartbeat.

……

That evening. Corleone Estate.

The oak fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, and the orange-red flames cast warm shadows on the walls, dispelling the long-standing chill of the old house.

A snow-white tablecloth covered the long table in the restaurant. The silver cutlery gleamed in the candlelight.

Anne Corleone sat opposite Victor. She wore a white cardigan, her long hair casually pulled back. She had similar deep-set eyes to Victor, but now, those eyes no longer held the fear and unease of the past, but were filled with a long-lost tranquility.

"Try this, Annie."

Victor, like a waiter, placed a plate of freshly seared ribeye steak in front of his sister.

"Medium-rare. The Maillard reaction is just right," Victor explained with a smile. "The high temperature causes the amino acids and reducing sugars to react, producing these brown substances. They are the source of the aroma, and also the taste of happiness."

Annie cut off a small piece and put it in her mouth.

The juicy meat bursts on your tongue.

As she chewed, tears suddenly streamed down her face.

"What's wrong?" Victor put down his glass and asked with concern, "Is it not good?"

"No...it was delicious." Annie wiped away her tears, looked up at her brother, "I just thought we'd never have dinner like this again in our lives. I thought...we'd lose our house, lose everything."

Victor stood up, walked to Anne's side, and gently put his arm around her shoulder.

"That was hell, Anne. We were there."

Victor looked out the window.

Outside the window, the blizzard continued to rage. The wind whipped snowflakes against the glass, howling and wailing as if countless hungry ghosts were roaring in the darkness.

But on this side of the window, there is the warm glow of the fire, the aroma of food, and the embrace of family.

Victor could feel Anne trembling slightly in his arms. He knew that the fear of poverty and violence was deeply ingrained in her, and it would take a long time to heal.

"But now, we've climbed out."

Victor said softly, his tone carrying an undeniable firmness.

"From this day forward, no one can take anything from us. Not bankers, gangsters, or police. Nobody can."

Anne turned around, hugged Victor tightly around the waist, buried her face in his coat, and burst into tears.

Victor stroked his sister's hair, but his gaze went past her shoulder to the portrait of his father above the fireplace.

The old Corleone in the portrait still smiles kindly.

"Being a good person won't save us, Dad."

Victor thought to himself.

"But I will protect this home in my own way, even if it means going further and further into the darkness."