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I could tell he didn’t believe me at all, but instead of probing, Jake went along with it. With a wry smile he said, “Well, let me show you some of the awards we’ve received,” he murmured again, long strides taking him over to the wall unit. The thing was massive, reaching all the way up to the fifteen foot ceiling, running the entire length of the room, divided into multiple niches and cabinets.
“Here, we have our award for best new HIV drug of the decade,” he said smoothly, picking up a small, clear plastic toy with Manning’s logo embedded inside. “And here’s an award from JAMA for a breakthrough in diabetes treatment,” he continued. “I believe your grandmother uses it. Funny you haven’t heard of us before.”
But before I could get off a retort, the door opened and Mary Beth came in again.
“Your water,” she said, placing the glass on a coffee table. “And Mr. Manning, there’s a package for you outside.”
“Can’t you sign for it?” he asked with an exasperated frown.
“Normally, yes,” said Mary Beth. “But you know how that new delivery service is. If it’s your name on the label, they won’t let me sign even though they’ve been here fifteen times in the past.”
“Dammit,” Jake shook his head in disgust. “These new start-ups … still fine-tuning their customer service. I’ll be back,” he said with a glance at me, and strode out of the office.
The door closed, leaving me in the cavernous space. I sipped the water and decided to take a closer look at some of these awards. There were so many, like little plastic tombstones five inches high. Most were clear with the company logo and some words etched inside, an announcement of Manning’s latest achievement.
One tombstone caught my eye in particular. I scrutinized it and saw that it was for Manning’s savvy marketing of the drug Pernacular. Hmm, my forehead furrowed. Where had I heard that name before? I’d been so busy with my own personal turmoil that I hadn’t been following the news recently.
All of a sudden, it dawned on me where I’d heard the name. In my legal ethics class. A company had purchased the rights to a drug which patent had expired long ago. Their business strategy was to act as a monopolist and jack up the price overnight. As a result, Pernacular had risen in price by 5,500% — from approximately $13.50 per pill to almost $700.
The effects had been devastating. The drug was intended for pregnant women suffering from a parasitic infection. A rare occurrence, yes, but the drug was the only treatment which could guarantee the safety of the mother and her unborn child. And no one else would produce a competing drug because the market was just too limited, only five hundred women were affected each year, a number too small to incentivize competitors to action.
So Manning had ruthlessly exploited the opportunity. As a single-source generic, Pernacular had patients in its grip with no alternatives, few resources, and only inferior, second-tier fallbacks. Worst of all, Manning’s actions were perfectly legal. There was nothing that we could do as aspiring lawyers to combat this cold-blooded business decision.
I stood back, aghast. The father of my child was a tyrant? A man so hardened, so ruthless that he was indifferent to the plight of pregnant women? And not just that. Manning had a bevy of successful drugs. Surely they could have carried off a successful IPO without making women and children suffer.
But a rush of understanding came over me. I’d been dumb again. I’d had my head in the sand like an ostrich pretending enemies didn’t exist, and Jake was a grade A predator, ruthlessly exploiting the weak, pressing every advantage that came his way. The signs had always been there, the question was why hadn’t I realized it earlier? Jake was a CEO, and people in top positions often have a merciless side to them, willing to stab their own mother if needed.
Bile rose in my throat, the bitter flavor choking me, the burning in my heart impossible to ignore. I couldn’t go forward with my plan to reveal the pregnancy. I couldn’t bring up a child with the “Bad Boy of Wall Street,” given the choices he’d made with respect to Pernacular. Yes, I appreciate what money can do, but the collateral damage was just too high. Women and children need to be helped, not harmed through the grinding of the capitalist machine.
I jerked as the door banged open and Jake strode in, jolting me from my thoughts. My emotions were swirling, confusion and distress clouding my mind, making me feel faint. But his long legs covered the space between us in mere seconds.
“God,” he muttered. “The incompetence of some of these new companies,” he said before sweeping me into his arms.
