4. Big Pharma Profits from Cancer
4
Big Pharma Profits from Cancer
From Barry Wright’s manifesto:
Big pharmaceutical companies developed the cure for cancer years ago but never released it. Why? So they can profit from selling us poor saps their expensive “treatments.”
T ESSA
The naproxen finally kicked in, and I sank deeper into my cloud-soft sofa. Rain pattered against the window, blurring my view of the camellias, and my eyelids drifted shut. For once, my pain had conveniently waited for an obligation-free weekend when I didn’t have to fight it at work. Thank the universal power it had been only a dull ache Friday at the lab. Though my anxiety over what it might become had led me to rashly promise Maya Perrell that I’d mentor Oliver.
What had I been thinking? When we’d met yesterday in the lab, I’d been relieved to find that they had already identified and validated some key biomarkers and developed an assay. (I’d crammed the night before to learn the terms so I’d be able to talk intelligently with him.) Then he’d walked me through his convoluted preclinical testing process. Despite all my arguing, I couldn’t convince him to skip even one step. And we’d have to skip a lot of steps if we were going to meet our timeline.
Something punched my stomach. “Oof,” I muttered, cracking open an eye.
A pair of yellow eyes stared back as my red tabby cat kneaded the heating pad over my torso.
“That’s for me, you know, Hedy,” I said. “You should be thankful the vet removed your reproductive organs. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”
Hedy rotated on the heating pad, turning her back to me. Her striped tail flicked against my nose.
“Fine. Be that way. I’m not sorry.” A dull pain flared in my abdomen, but with the medicine and the heating pad, it was manageable. The cat helped a little too.
I closed my eyes again and matched my breaths to the rhythm of her purrs.
The buzz of my phone startled me awake. Hedy was no longer on my stomach, but Anita was wedged between my feet, her slate-gray fur soft against my ankles. From the stickiness of my eyelids and the bitter taste in my mouth, I must have slept for at least half an hour.
My phone buzzed again, and I shifted my hip to pull it from the pocket of my leggings. The display read, Discovery Diagnostics.
Who would call from the office on a Saturday?
I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. That was a mistake, it turned out. My stomach pulsed with a sharp stab. Shallow breaths, I reminded myself.
“Tessa Wright,” I said as crisply as I could while lying flat on my back.
“It’s Oliver. Sorry to bother you on a weekend.”
I scooted upright, untucking my feet from under my cat and ignoring the punch of pain. “Is something wrong with the assay?”
“No, nothing wrong. I was checking some things, and I had a thought…”
I’d been that founder. The one consumed by ideas for my business at all hours of the day and night. The one who worked seven days a week and called people on the weekends like they thought about work as much as I did.
Oliver hadn’t yet learned that no one loved his business like he did. That others saw it as a machine that turned straw into gold. All they cared about was the gold. Either they’d run the machine until it failed, or they’d tinker with it to make it churn out the gold faster and faster until it wasn’t even gold anymore but lead, and they didn’t care.
But I cared. I saw the potential in Discovery Diagnostics. It could help so many people. People like my mother. People like me.
I tugged my knees to my chest.
“Actually,” he said, “could we talk in person? You probably don’t want to come here, but I could come to your place…”
“No.” The word was out of my mouth before he’d finished asking the question. No one came over. Not even my friends, hardly even Bridget, who’d known me before Red Rover. Since everything went down years ago, only people I trusted were allowed inside my fortress. Right now, that list was limited to my housekeeper—paid handsomely, background-checked, and with a signed nondisclosure—Bridget, if she called first, and my cats. Maybe I’d invite my other friends over someday, but Oliver was not on the list.
Why would he ask to come over? He was too young to remember what had happened, but had someone told him? Did he want to observe the beast in her natural habitat? I wrapped an arm around my shins.
“Okay,” he said. “We could meet somewhere. Coffee?”
The thought of putting on real pants and going out in public when the pain could crumple me at any moment sent a chill through me. I’d never let anyone see me like that—except Harry, and we all knew how that had turned out.
“I can’t,” I said. “What is it you need to talk about?”
There was a beat of silence on the line so long that I pulled the phone away from my ear to check we were still connected.
Finally, he said, “I think we need some boundaries in the office. Si—your predecessor—left the operations of the lab to me. Dr. Perrell wants us to work together, but we could benefit from some separation. How about you do your work in the executive suite so we can focus on the research?”
“So you can focus on the research,” I said flatly. “You’re saying I have nothing to add.” That hurt, but I’d rather let Hedy use my arm as a scratching post than let him see it.
“No, I’m saying your skills would be better used clearing roadblocks and ensuring we have the resources we need to move quickly. That’s what…that’s what your predecessor did.”
Pain sliced through my abdomen. The naproxen was wearing off, as was my patience. “My predecessor must not have done their job very well, or they’d still be here, and I wouldn’t.”
The line went silent, and I used the respite to dial up the heating pad. Sitting upright wasn’t working out for me. I wished I could lie down, but he’d sense my weakness.
“You’re here because Dr. Perrell wants you, not me,” he growled at last. “I need you to leave me alone so I can do my work in the lab. Find something else to do and stay out of my way.”
If I weren’t so miserable, I’d have snorted. The kitten had bared his little teeth, pretending to be a lion. It was almost cute. And not fighting him might play in my favor.
I’d probably still be miserable on Monday, so I could give the appearance of ceding the field to him. Besides, I had an idea for a side project I could kick off while he was distracted.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?”
“I’ll stay out of your way next week. You can come to my office Friday and deliver a progress report. If you’ve made advancements in line with the schedule, I’ll continue to let you run the project without interference. Sound fair?”
I could almost hear him choke on my offer to let him run his own lab. I was no baby-faced company founder anymore. But he was.
“Fine,” he said, his voice gritty as sandpaper.
“Great. See you Friday.” I disconnected the call. I reached over the side of the sofa for my laptop, groaning as the stretch strained my sore muscles. After a quick check of my security cameras, I flipped over to the company’s email program and scheduled a video call for Monday with the lab manager, Yujun. If Oliver didn’t want to work with me, fine. I had a pet project to spin up.
I’d show him who was really in charge.