secretary put his pen to his mouth and leaned back in his chair. “Uh… to identify and target a niche, I guess.”
Louis hit the table with the soft part of his fist. “Exactly. Find a gap in the market and exploit it. Give the man in the street what nobody else can, and he’ll make you rich. That’s basically what it means, isn’t it?” The secretary nodded, his eyes darting from side to side, wondering why he was the target of the boss’ sudden attention. Louis glanced around the table. “And it’s all horseshit. Every one of you who went to Harvard, or Yale, or MIT, you’ve all majored in horseshit,” and he sniffed the air. “I can even smell it.”
The secretary wiggled in the seat, looking for a means of escape. The VP next to him hooked down his tie. No one else said a word, staring down at the dossier in front of them, not daring to make eye contact with anybody, let alone the boss.
“But it’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you for what those idiots taught you.” Resting his knuckles on the table, Louis hunched forward. “If you want to earn a lousy million, then targeting a niche might do it for you. But if you want to earn hundreds of millions, even billions,” and he trailed off, reeling them in, “then you create a niche.”
The Vice Presidents looked at one another and shrugged. It was the secretary who broke the awkward silence. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Louis had been glaring at some of the grayer heads, hoping they would be the first to catch on and speak up. He flashed his gaze onto the secretary, and said, “How did Bill Gates become the richest man in the world?”
The secretary didn’t answer. Louis eyed the rest of them. The question, as he had expected, was met with blank faces.
“Well I’ll tell you. He didn’t find a niche in the software market. His creation became the software market.” Still nobody spoke, but Louis could tell a few of the older boys were now starting to cotton on. “What about Henry Ford? He didn’t find a niche in the motor vehicle market. The invention of the assembly line created the market for him.”
“So you’re saying we have to do the same?” the secretary said.
Louis straightened his back, flattening the length of his tie with his knuckles. “Exactly.”
“But how? The pharmaceutical market is flooded.”
Louis fisted the table again. “By creating our own disease.”
The secretary stroked his double chin. At first a blank, his face began to lighten as the concept slowly dawned. Louis smiled, opening his confidential dossier to the first page. The sound of flicking paper filled the room as everyone else did likewise.
“That’s the first step in our four-step plan. We need a disease for which only GRN has the product to cure. We have to monopolize an illness, patent it if we have to, and then flood the market with our wonder drug.”
Louis lifted his glass and took another sip, a small one, barely wetting his lips this time. When no one offered a comment, he said, “We turn the tables on the current approach to curing illness. Most pharmaceutical companies waste millions in research and development, all competing for the same thing, all hoping to find the magic bullet that will put an end to cancer or AIDS or whatever. We’re not going to spend a goddamn cent. We’re going to create a disease to fit the drugs we already have.”
The silence continued, then the secretary said, “I hope you’re not thinking of poisoning the water supply.” His candidness elicited a few nervous snickers around the table. “I mean… uh… something like that wouldn’t be ethical, would it?”
Louis grinned. “What has ethics got to do with the pharmaceutical industry? We’re in the business of making money. Simple as that.” He planted his forefinger on top of the dossier. “But to get back to the point, to create a disease all we need do is turn something that’s normal into something that’s abnormal. Something that has to be treated. You’ve heard of Münchausen’s Syndrome, haven’t you?”
The secretary stoked his double chin again. A few VPs wiggled in their seats and pretended to concentrate on the dossier.
“Let me explain. Someone who’s a Münchausen is perfectly healthy, but they make the doctors believe they have an illness that needs treating. They’re con artists. They have thousands of dollars spent on investigations and medical intervention. And for what? There’s nothing wrong with them. So if one individual can divert thousands of dollars from the insurance companies, imagine how much we can make if a whole city like New York, or the whole country for that matter, is convinced they have an illness they don’t really have.”
The secretary glanced up from his dossier. “You want GRN to create a pretend illness?”
Louis nodded. “A pretend illness with a real drug. We already have a range of anti-depressants. We’ll use one whose sales have dipped. Repackage it to save on costs,” and he smiled. “Of course we’ll have to come up with a savvy name for what it’s treating. DeVille’s Syndrome, or something like that.”
The secretary had the pen in his mouth again. “But… will it work? I mean…”
“Of course it will. The trick is to make the consumers feel worse about themselves than they already do. That our magic pill will take away their problems and make their life more bearable.” He paused to take stock. “The pharmaceutical industry has moved into the next phase of its evolution, and we have to move with it, if not take the lead. Pills are no longer just about treating life-threatening conditions. They also improve our quality of life.”
The secretary had a wry grin. “Pills for a lifestyle?”
The comment was greeted with a murmur of chuckles around the table.
“That’s not such a silly idea. People are always looking for something that will make them happier, or increase their sense of security, even feel more popular. Pills already exist to treat anxiety and stress, why not have a pill that can treat our everyday sadness? Or even guilt? You’ve just cheated on your wife and are feeling bad about it. Take a pill! Wash away those unwanted feelings. Next, take a pill to save the marriage. Even the career that’s on the ropes. The consumer needs to believe that a pill will save them in their hour of need. Step in GRN.” The flash of an idea momentarily stunned him. That’s brilliant, Louis. Just goddamn brilliant. “In fact, here’s our criteria for the diagnosis of DeVille’s Syndrome. A triad of symptoms: sadness, insecurity, loneliness.”
The secretary glanced at the dossier. “You’re sure the public will fall for it?”
Louis had been waiting for that question and almost jumped on the secretary in his eagerness to answer. “Look at ADHD, Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. According to some statistics over one in three kids have it. We’re in an epidemic of hyperactive brats jumping all over the furniture and climbing the walls. Sure, some of them might have an underlying pathology that actually needs treatment, but thirty percent? Goddamn ludicrous. That was a disease created to sell more amphetamines. The medical profession has swallowed a lie and the pharmaceutical companies are making a fortune out of it. Which leads to the next step.”
Everyone flipped the dossier to Step Two: BUILDING CONSENSUS WITHIN THE MEDICAL COMMUNITY.
“An integral part of the plan involves winning over the hearts and minds of the medics and any other legalized drug pusher in the community,” Louis said. “The basic platform is already established.
