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

New Jersey State Prison, Section C.

Fat Tony knelt in the confessional of the chapel. Through the thin veil, he could see the priest's blurry outline.

Fat Tony had lost a full fifty pounds. His eyes were sunken and his hands were trembling.

"I am guilty, Father!" Fat Tony's voice was hoarse. "I sold those purple potions, killing so many children! But I wasn't the one who first opened Pandora's box; someone else did!"

On the other side of the screen, the "priest," FBI agent Miller, subtly adjusted his posture.

"Repentance is the cure for the soul, child," Miller said in a low voice, mimicking the tone of a clergyman. "Tell God who that person is. Only by telling the truth can your soul be saved."

Fat Tony swallowed hard. His eyes held fear, but even more so, a morbid fanaticism. He had found a new faith, or rather, a new lifeline, in prison.

“It’s Victor… Victor Corleone,” Fat Tony whispered. “He’s the devil. He wears a suit, but he’s ruthless more than any of us. I know his secret… he’s the original source of the Purple Water!”

Miller's heart raced. This was the breakthrough they had been waiting for.

"You need to write this down, Tony. For God's sake."

"I will," Fat Tony said, making the sign of the cross. "Next Monday. Next Monday I will give you everything I've written down, Father. I want the Lord's forgiveness!"

......

At the same time. Manhattan. The top floor of the Vought Tower.

Victor was looking at architectural blueprints. It was his plan to build a new estate on Long Island.

Saul burst in without knocking. He was pale and his forehead was covered in sweat.

"We're in trouble," Saul said, throwing a copy on the table. "This came from our inside source among the prison guards. Fat Tony is in contact with the FBI."

Victor put down the blueprints and picked up the report.

"He hasn't said anything yet?"

"Not yet. But he promised to hand over the evidence next Monday," Saul said anxiously, pacing around the room. "Victor, if he says anything now, even without solid evidence, just one media frenzy and our stock price will plummet! Your IPO myth will be over!"

"Calm down, Thor! Why is he waiting until next Monday?"

"Because he's afraid of dying! He's testing whether the FBI can spare his life!"

"He definitely has something to be afraid of."

Victor walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the bustling Manhattan.

"Remember that Irishman named 'Mad Dog' McGuire?"

Saul paused, taken aback. "That Irish gang leader whose legs were broken by Fat Tony, then stuffed into a trash can and dumped in front of the police station? He's been locked up in Sector C for three years."

"Top up his account," Victor said casually. "Transfer $50,000 to his prison account. Make a note: 'Greetings from an old friend.'"

Thor's eyes widened. "You want to use someone else to do your dirty work? But that's too obvious..."

“No, it’s not obvious. Who can know who paid the money? I trust your methods, Saul.” Victor turned around. “In prison, a pack of cigarettes can start a brawl. Fifty thousand dollars? That’s a king’s reward.”

"Furthermore," Victor added, "I want you to arrange for Fat Tony to be transferred to the regular exercise area. Say it's a reward for his positive reform efforts."

Three days later. Prison exercise yard.

Hundreds of prisoners strolled around a fenced-off area. Black people occupied the basketball court, Latinos occupied the weightlifting area, and white supremacists squatted in the corner.

Fat Tony sat alone on a bench, holding a Bible. He sensed the strange looks he received.

Just then, a limping man walked over.

It was "Mad Dog" McGuire. He was leaning on a cane, a twisted smile on his face.

"Tony," McGuire's voice was like a broken bellows, "I heard you've recently become religious? What, can God heal your conscience?"

Fat Tony closed the book and looked at him warily. "Stay away from me, McGuire. I have guards watching me."

"Oh, guard," McGuire glanced at the watchtower in the distance. The usually strictest guard was facing away, seemingly engrossed in smoking.

"The prison guards are busy today," McGuire said, tossing aside his cane and pulling something out of his sleeve.

It was a toothbrush with a sharpened tip. The handle was wrapped with strips of cloth, and the tip was sharpened to be as sharp as a needle.

Fat Tony wanted to run, but fear made his legs feel like lead.

"This is for my leg," McGuire lunged forward.

As if they had planned it together, the surrounding prisoners instantly formed a circle, blocking the view from the outside.

"No! Help!"

Fat Tony's screams were drowned out by the commotion of the prisoners.

*Pfft.*

The toothbrush pierced Fat Tony's carotid artery.

Blood gushed out, splattering on McGuire's狰狞 face and on the Bible that Fat Tony was clutching tightly.

Fat Tony collapsed to the ground, clutching his neck with both hands, trying to stop the flow of life. He looked at the sky, which had turned from a clear blue to an eerie purple in his eyes.

Just like the purple water he sold.

When the prison guards finally "discovered" the commotion and rushed over after blowing their whistles, Fat Tony was already motionless. His eyes were wide open, and he died with his eyes open.

......

Wall Street. Vought Pharmaceuticals office.

The television news is broadcasting a midday news briefing.

A serious gang conflict occurred today at a New Jersey state prison. Notorious gang leader Andy Nozo died in the fight. Police have preliminarily determined it to be a gang-related killing...

Victor sat on the leather sofa, holding a remote control in his hand.

Saul sat opposite him, holding a glass of whiskey, his hand still trembling slightly.

Victor turned off the TV.

"The FBI will suspect us," Saul said. "It's too much of a coincidence."

“Suspicion is not evidence,” Victor stood up. “Besides, who would believe that the CEO of a publicly traded company worth hundreds of millions would orchestrate a fight in prison? It doesn’t make sense.”

"Saul, get ready. We're going to Washington next week."

"Where are you going?"

"Let's go meet the real big shots," Victor said with a smile. "Now that we've said goodbye to being expired, it's time to get dyed some other colors. Like the color of power."