Chapter Twenty-Three
Maro n
"Not bad, Korolev."
That’s what I tell myself as I settle back into my leather chair. I’ve just reviewed the latest reports on Tramoxine, and the numbers speak for themselves. Our 'miracle drug' is surpassing even our most optimistic projections. Profits are skyrocketing, and demand is practically endless.
My eyes scan over a chart that shows our market domination. We’re not just ahead of the competition; we’re crushing them. Tramoxine has become the go-to solution for managing mental health conditions, much to the delight of our shareholders.
I glance at my watch. In fifteen minutes, I’ll be attending a board meeting to discuss plans for expanding our production and distribution. I can already feel the taste of victory on my tongue.
As I sit here, thinking about charts, profits, and strategies for market expansion, an uninvited thought breaks through. Mindy. What could she be doing right now? Is she happy? Does she ever think about me?
Stop that, mudak!
I quickly snap myself back to focus. I can’t allow my mind to be elsewhere, at least not right now. This meeting is important and I have to be fully present. Besides, I already asked Pavel to dig up everything he can on Mindy. In just a few days, I’ll know all about her current life - where she lives, if she’s seeing someone, if that little girl is hers – the whole goddamn package. Then, I can decide my next move. Until then, I just have to be patient. Which is not exactly my strongest suit.
Some minutes later, the intercom buzzes, jolting me from my reverie. "Mr. Korolev, the board is waiting for you in the conference room," my assistant’s voice crackles through the speaker.
"On my way," I respond, straightening my tie and grabbing my laptop.
I stride into the conference room like a lion entering its pride. The board members straighten in their seats, their eyes hungry and expectant. Every single one of them is a vulture in a tailored suit, only here for one thing: the promise of green. Lucky for them, I’m about to feed their insatiable appetite.
Sitting in the front row is Igor, my lead chemist. His expression is calm and focused. As I take my seat next to him at the head of the table, the air is taut with anticipation.
"Good morning, gentlemen," I begin talking, my fingers dancing over the remote control. The lights dim, and the presentation flickers to life on the screen behind me. "Ready to have your minds blown?" A small laughter ripples across the room but as the first slide appears, their eyes widen. "As you can see, Tramoxine isn’t just meeting expectations, it’s exceeding them. Profits are up 200% from last quarter."
I tap on the next slide, revealing another dramatic graph. "As you can see here, demand isn’t just going up. It’s reaching astronomical levels." A murmur of recognition echoes through the room.
I click through the slides, each one more impressive than the last. Bar graphs climb like skyscrapers, pie charts bulge obscenely, and line graphs soar off the charts. It’s financial pornography and my audience is getting off on it.
"Here, you will note," I say, gesturing to a particularly gaudy chart, "our market penetration is unprecedented. We’re not just cornering the market; we’re choking the life out of our competition."
By the time I reach the final slide, the board members are practically salivating on the table. I sit down and settle back with a smirk on my face. "Any questions?"
The room falls silent, then erupts into excited chatter. It’s clear that I’ve hooked them, line and sinker. But as the excitement reaches its peak, a throat-clearing sound cuts through the conversation. All eyes turn to Dr. Yuri Volkov. The man looks distinctly uncomfortable.
"Mr. Korolev," he begins, his voice hesitant, "while our financial success is undeniable, it seems that we’ve encountered some… issues."
I feel my jaw tighten. "Please elaborate, Dr. Volkov."
Volkov adjusts his glasses, avoiding eye contact. "There have been reports of adverse effects in a small patient group."
I frown. "Can you be more specific? What effects?"
He takes a deep breath and adjusts his glasses again. Sweat breaks out on his temple, and his hands are shaking slightly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the man’s afraid. "Well… two cases of severe liver damage, three kidney failures, and…" He looks up over his glasses, "some fatalities, sir."
The room goes silent in an instant. I lean forward, my heart rate picking up slightly.
“Fatalities?” I ask, keeping my voice level. “How many are we talking about?”
“Three, confirmed,” he replies quietly, sliding a report across the table. “And four more patients with severe organ damage. Their prognosis is… not optimistic.”
Blyad.
This is not good.
I review the pages, the numbers jumping out at me like accusations. Three deaths. Four people with organ damage. Which is fucking concerning, yes. But in the broader context… what is the broader context? Have these cases been investigated? Have they consulted their doctor before taking the medication? Could they have been under the influence of alcohol when they took the pills?
"Dr. Volkov," I say, injecting calm confidence into my tone, "while any death is regrettable, we must look at the bigger picture. Do we have solid evidence that Tramoxine is directly responsible for these incidents? Could any other substance be involved? Many of our patients have complex medical histories. Correlation does not equal causation. Furthermore, how many patients are undergoing Tramoxine treatment right now?"
He consults his notes. "Approximately four-point-three million, Mr. Korolev."
I turn to address the board. "You heard it gentlemen, four-point-three million patients actively taking Tramoxine as we speak. And while these reports are concerning, we don’t even know if these incidents are linked to the pill."
The board members exchange glances and I can practically see the wheels turning in their heads.
Dr. Volkov opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "We must immediately investigate these cases, of course. But as of yet, I see no reason to alter our plans for expansion."
I stop speaking and lock my eyes on Dr. Volkov. The poor bastard looks like he’s about to piss himself, but he’s not backing down.
"Mr. Korolev," he begins, his voice trembling but determined, "with all due respect, we can’t simply brush this off. It’s not just about the numbers, sir. While the direct cause of these deaths has not been confirmed yet, we can’t afford to take any risks. Imagine how this could affect our reputation. It is our responsibility-"
"Responsibility?" I snarl, slamming my hand on the table. Volkov flinches, but I don’t give a shit. "Our responsibility is to the millions who depend on Tramoxine for its various benefits. You want to take that away based on what? A hunch?"
Volkov’s face is pale and I can see the fight drain out of his eyes. He slumps back in his chair, defeated.
"That’s what I thought," I say, straightening up. "Yes, we will investigate these cases, but I won’t let that alter our expansion plans."
The tension in the room slowly dissipates, replaced by the rustle of papers and the scraping of chairs as the board members prepare to leave. I’ve won this round, but somehow, my victory feels hollow. I must take matters into my own hands and dig up the truth about those deaths.
As the board members file out, their chatter fading like background noise, Igor comes up to me.
" Pakhan , we need to talk." His voice is low but firm. "In private." His jaw is set in a way that tells me this isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. He jerks his head toward a secluded corner, and I quietly follow.
"What is it, Igor?" I growl once we’re out of earshot. "What’s got you looking like you’ve seen a ghost?"
Igor runs a hand through his hair, a habit I’ve come to recognize as his tell for bad news. "Listen, pakhan , I'll just give it to you straight. Volkov’s right."
I stare at him. "What the fuck do you mean Igor?"
"Astoasium. The magic bullet in Tramoxine, besides its psychoactive components. The FDA pulled it. Made it illegal."
The words hit me like a slug to the chest. "Are you fucking kidding me? When?"
"Last week," Igor mutters, his eyes darting around the room, making sure that nobody hears us. "We need to pull Tramoxine, boss. Now. Until we figure out if we’re somehow linked to those deaths." Igor insists, his eyes boring into mine.
I feel my teeth grinding, the muscles in my jaw jumping. "Pull Tramoxine? Are you out of your fucking mind, Igor? What about our four million patients? And the ones waiting for treatment?"
Igor’s eyes narrow, his voice rising with each word. "We’re tap-dancing on the wrong side of the law here, pahkan . If we don’t make a move, it will raise ethical concerns about the business. You know what the press can do with just a few viral articles. If we don’t do something now, they might force us to close down the entire fucking operation!"
I step closer, my voice dropping to a menacing growl. "Listen good, Igor. We don’t even know if those deaths are linked to us. Not a goddamn shred of proof. Don’t you think we should investigate first?"
Igor doesn’t back down, his breath hot on my face. "Boss, with all due respect… one of the main ingredients is illegal and it’s-"
"Then tweak the fucking formula, " I snap, cutting him off.
"You know we can’t do that without stopping production! And that’s not all, pakhan ." Igor leans in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Someone’s been sniffing around. Asking questions."
I pause. "You’re telling me now? What questions?"
"Some woman contacted me." he starts, slightly hesitant. "Claimed to be a psychiatrist, calling on behalf of the Board of Psychiatry and Neurology. Apparently, one of her patients died from taking Tramoxine. She’s one of those overzealous types who wants to know every fucking detail."
I feel the blood drain from my face, but I quickly compose myself. "A psychiatrist? Did you get a name?"
Igor shakes his head. "She was probably using a fake name anyway. But she knew her shit, boss. Talked about autopsy reports, chemical compositions." He pauses. "And she knows your name. She also knows that you’re alive and keeping a low profile. I’m telling you, pakhan , this woman is dangerous."
I rub my jaw, my mind racing. " Blyad. This is the last fucking thing we need right now, Igor. Any idea how she found out about me?"
Igor shrugs. "No clue. But she said she had evidence that could 'bring down the entire operation.' Her words, not mine."
Motherfucker.
I rub my eyes and lean against the wall. Punching a hole through it suddenly seems like a tempting idea. But instead of taking out my anger on the wall, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to dial Pavel.
"I’m listening, boss," My second-in-command’s voice crackles through the line.
"Pavel, I need a favor," I tell him. "Igor had a call from some mysterious woman, claiming to be a psychiatrist. I need you to find out who she is ASAP. I’ll text you her number in a minute. Call in favors if you need to. I want her name, background, everything."
"Got it, boss," Pavel says. "Send me the number."
I hung up the phone and turn back to Igor. He nods in understanding, but his expression remains grim. "What about Tramoxine?"
I close my eyes for a moment, weighing my options. When I open them, my decision is made. "We continue production for now. Scale back marketing, keep a low profile. We’ll get our legal team ready. If this bitch wants to go to war with us, we’ll give it to her."
As Igor nods and turns to leave, I grab his arm. "One more thing, Igor. This stays between us. No one else needs to know about our… enthusiastic psychiatrist. Got it?"