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

There is no such thing as a free lunch, and there is certainly no free admission ticket to Yale.

Katie smiled. That was exactly what she was waiting for.

"It's really not a big deal." She picked up her tea again, gently blowing on it to cool it down. "Mr. Victor has been keeping an eye on the nominee for the new FDA commissioner. You know, the current commissioner is retiring, and Mr. David Rossi is a very capable and 'reasonable' candidate."

"David Rossi?" Martha paused, then paused. "That mid-level FDA official?"

"Yes. He needs the support of the Senate Health Committee. Of course, Senator Griffin may not be on the Health Committee, but he has a lot of influence on the Judiciary Committee. His attitude often affects the direction of the entire caucus."

"We don't need senators to do anything outrageous."

"All we need is for him to give some positive feedback at the nomination hearing. For example, ask Mr. Rossi more about his views on 'accelerating the approval process for new drugs to benefit patients,' rather than getting bogged down in those 'tedious safety data details.'"

"Or, if someone tries to attack Mr. Rossi with some old grievances, we hope that the senator will stand up and uphold 'procedural justice'."

Martha took a deep breath.

This deal is a steal.

David Rossi was already a popular choice, so it wasn't difficult for him to be included. Moreover, supporting "accelerating the approval of new drugs" is politically correct; no one would object to "allowing patients to access life-saving drugs faster."

“I understand.” Martha’s eyes were firm, and she regained the competence of a senator’s wife. “Edward has always felt that the FDA is too bureaucratic and needs a more dynamic leader who understands the industry’s pain points better. I think he would be very happy to support Mr. Rossi.”

Just then, Senator Griffin came out of the house.

He was wearing a casual cashmere cardigan and holding a pipe.

He glanced at the brochure on the table, then at his wife's beaming face. As a seasoned veteran of Washington for thirty years, he instantly understood what had happened.

He wasn't angry; instead, he gave a slightly appreciative smile.

This is what a professional broker is like. They don't talk about money, only about ideals, charity, and the future of humanity.

"Mrs. Bradley," Griffin approached, extending his hand as a gesture of courtesy to an ally of equal standing. "I've heard Mr. Victor has been collecting fine wines lately? I happen to have a bottle of 1945 Romanée-Conti. It was made to celebrate the victory in World War II; perhaps he'll be interested."

Katie rose gracefully and took the powerful hand in hers.

"Mr. Victor will certainly appreciate it, Senator. He often says that good wine needs to be enjoyed with connoisseurs, just as good chess needs worthy opponents."

...

Half an hour later.

When Katie stepped out of the Griffin mansion, a black stretch Lincoln limousine was already parked on the side of the road.

The driver respectfully opened the car door.

She sat in the back seat, and the cool air rushed in, dispelling the afternoon heat.

Victor Corleone sat there, flipping through a confidential document about the FDA's internal personnel structure. A bottle of freshly opened champagne was chilling in the car refrigerator.

"All done?" He didn't even look up.

"nailed it."

Katie took off her red-soled high heels, slumped unceremoniously in the leather seat, and rubbed her slightly sore ankles.

"Griffin will fully support David Rossi at the nomination hearing. In exchange, his stupid son, who can't even understand the Pythagorean theorem, will go to Kenya next month to take photos for two weeks, and then report to Yale."

"I also need to arrange for a photographer to accompany him, to create a 'white savior' image for that kid who only knows how to smoke leaves. God, this is more tiring than selling fake medicine."

"Very good." Victor closed the file. "With David in charge, our new drug approval will just be a matter of procedure. As long as the Judicial Committee doesn't cause trouble, those people on the Health Committee have already been fed up."

Katie turned her head and looked at the man who had single-handedly promoted her from cheerleader to where she is today.

His profile appeared somewhat austere against the backdrop of the receding street scene outside the car window.

"I have another tea party, about the 'Breast Cancer Awareness Fund,' which is another bunch of boring government wives." Katie's voice carried a hint of lazy probing. "Do you have time after the tea party, Victor?"

"What's wrong? Your schedule shouldn't be full."

"How about...we play a game after this?" Katie pointed to the top of the car's wine cabinet, where an exquisite obsidian chess set was displayed.

Victor raised an eyebrow and turned to look at her. "Want to play a game? Are you still so enthusiastic about chess? What, Michael won't play with you?"

Katie's eyes turned cold when Michael was mentioned.

"Michael?" She sneered, a hint of resentment flashing in her eyes. "He spends far more time in his district and at fundraising dinners than at home for that damn vote. The way he looks at me now is like I'm a campaign prop, or a walking ballot."

"Our honeymoon passion was long consumed by those fake handshakes, fake smiles, and endless fundraising calls."

She moved closer, and the scent of her Chanel No. 5 perfume filled the narrow carriage.

"Moreover, his chess skills are terrible. He only knows how to charge recklessly and has absolutely no understanding of strategy. He can't even tell what a sacrifice is or what a trap is. Playing chess with him is completely unchallenging."

Victor looked at her. He understood the implication in her eyes, and he also understood the emptiness behind them.

"Alright." Victor smiled knowingly, reaching for a black king coin. "I hope you've improved. Last time you only lasted twenty minutes before being checkmated."

"That was last time." Katie scoffed, her eyes gleaming with ambition. "This time, I might surprise you. After all, I've learned how to sacrifice pawns to save the queen."

The car started and drove smoothly into the heart of Washington.

In this city, some people sell their votes, and some sell their conscience.

And some people exchange their souls on the chessboard—and wear hats of certain colors.

In this vast arena of fame and fortune, everyone is both a hunter and a prey. The only difference is who sits at the chessboard and who lies on it.