The Saint of One Dollar

March.

As the winter winds began to carry the first hints of warmth, my company, SCC, had become the hottest enterprise in the United States.

The rumors that started in Chicago spread across the entire country in less than a week. Before long, people were coming from everywhere to verify the truth—not just from giant pharmaceutical companies like Lilly, but from the FDIA (the predecessor to the FDA), the Public Health Service, and even the Surgeon General’s office, which oversaw the health of the Army.

Of course, my answer to them was always the same.

"Information regarding the new drug, beyond what is in our press release, will be revealed at an upcoming announcement."

It wasn't like I was selling it right this second, and since the factory was still under construction, there was no need to worry about what the government thought.

I had at least invited the people from the Rockefeller Foundation, sent by old man Rockefeller, to a hospital to show them a brief summary of the clinical trial results, but for everyone else, I had only provided basic information about Sulfadine through promotional materials—or rather, press releases.

That was the only way to make them desperate to hear the announcement, wasn't it?

"Sir, I’ve checked the projector. The microfilm for the presentation is in perfect condition."

"Tell the guy in charge of the operation to relax. We can't afford any silly mistakes."

"Understood!"

After sending away the employee in charge of setting up the presentation hall, I looked at Professor Compton, who was sitting on the sofa in the waiting room behind the podium.

"Thanks to you, Professor, we were able to secure a great location. Thank you."

The place I had rented for the presentation was the main lecture hall of the Ryerson Physical Laboratory, where Professor Compton worked. According to him, it was considered a "prime spot" for academic announcements, so I supposed it held some significance.

"Don't mention it."

At my words, Compton shook his head and smiled.

"If what I saw is true, this will surely be one of humanity's greatest victories in science. It is only natural that I should help."

Professor Compton was one of the few people I had shown the clinical trial results of Sulfadine. At first, he had been skeptical, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after seeing the patients who had recovered perfectly at the hospital with his own eyes, he had become so proactive that he not only helped prepare the presentation but even volunteered to act as the moderator.

For me, having a Nobel Prize winner as a moderator meant half the success was already guaranteed, so it was a win-win.

"The biggest problem during the presentation will likely be Dr. Morris Fishbein."

It was then that the professor wore a worried expression.

"He is the editor of the American Medical Association, and since he calls himself a 'Quackbuster,' he will attack you quite persistently. Sometimes he picks fights over the most ridiculous things, so be careful not to get dragged into it."

But I shook my head at that.

"It’s fine. Wouldn't it be more of a hot topic if someone like that is there?"

I actually welcomed a little chaos. That was the only way to leave a lasting impression on people's memories.

"Sir, it's time to start the presentation."

That was when the employee who had left earlier came back in to call me.

"Understood. Professor, shall we go?"

"Let's."

Soon, Compton and I stepped out of the waiting room and onto the podium of the lecture hall. Hmm, I expected it to be packed, but there were quite a lot of heavy hitters here. The Vice President of Lilly, the Rockefeller Foundation people I saw last time, the FDIA, and is that an officer over there?

On top of that, there were scholars, young students who looked like they were from the University of Chicago, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reporters aiming their large cameras at the podium.

The eyes of the people filling the 250-seat hall were focused on me and Professor Compton.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. I am Arthur Compton, your moderator. I sincerely thank everyone who came here to listen to this announcement."

Clap, clap, clap, clap!

To get a round of applause just for a name—as expected of a Nobel Prize winner. Anyone watching would think he was the one giving the presentation.

"The presentation that will follow might just be a victory parade for one of humanity's greatest triumphs. As such, as a scientist and a professor at this school, I dare to hope that many meaningful discussions will take place in this hall."

After delivering the opening remarks customary for such an event, Professor Compton looked at me and continued.

"Then, we will now begin the new drug announcement from SCC, a new chemical company in Chicago."

Now, it was my turn.

As I headed toward the microphone, hundreds of eyes that had been fixed on the professor turned toward me in unison.

"That man is..."

"Is he, uh, Al Capone's son-in-law?"

"I see..."

My father-in-law is truly something. Just the mention of his name changes the way people look at you.

"Nice to meet you. I am Jun Lee, the president of SCC."

I opened my mouth, receiving gazes that were half-suspicion and half-curiosity.

"In recent years, medicine has made dazzling progress. We have escaped smallpox, once called a curse from God; we are saving patients with diabetes, who were once on death's door; and we can see bones without cutting flesh. However."

With those words, the moment I signaled the employee operating the projector behind me—

Click!

The projector emitted light, and the first slide appeared on the white glass screen behind me.

"No..."

"That is..."

Soon, the people who checked the slide began to murmur. They couldn't help it.

"Six years ago, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠son of former President Calvin Coolidge met a tragic end. Even though all of America's best doctors were mobilized."

His name, written under the black-and-white photo of the young boy, was a name known to everyone living on American soil.

"The cause was a mere small blister on his toe from the White House tennis court."

Such a ridiculous, small cause. And in the face of an even more ridiculous and tragic result, Americans were able to perceive the terror of sepsis for the first time.

"As such, despite the advancement of medicine, humanity is still threatened by life-threatening conditions because of a single small wound. And."

I paused for a moment and looked around at the audience.

"Today, I finally stand here to cast away the terror of sepsis that has loomed over humanity."

That was when—

"Wait, let me ask you something!"

A man in a fedora sitting in the front row raised his hand high as if he had been waiting.

I checked his name tag.

Ah, so that’s the guy?

His forehead looked a bit wide under his fedora, perhaps because he was thinning on top. He stood up and continued in a booming voice.

"Do you have a medical license? No, did you even graduate from college? For someone whose qualifications are unclear to dare discuss medicine on this sacred podium—this is an insult to the AMA and all doctors!"

"Heh heh heh heh."

"That's right, does he even have a medical license?"

"Isn't he just a fraud? Professor Compton must have been taken in by a fraud."

Once the bald man finished speaking, low laughter and murmurs spread among the audience. Ah, so this is how it’s going to be? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He called himself a 'Quackbuster,' so I guess he did his research on me.

Well, it’s true that in this life, I didn't go to college, so not having a medical license was a given fact, but...

"An excellent question, Dr. Fishbein. And I heard a similar story at the Presbyterian Hospital before. As you know, the doctors at that hospital pride themselves on being the best in Chicago."

You, I was bored, and you walked right into my trap.

"But... when my wife was hovering between life and death due to severe sepsis from puerperal fever after childbirth, do you know what those 'great' doctors said? They told me to pray to God. They said there was no way to treat it with modern medicine."

Telling me to pray to God—it’s absurd even thinking about it now. If that worked, would I have been reincarnated here without even a computer? How terrible would it have been if I didn't have Rita and Jay?

As the expressions of Dr. Fishbein and the doctors who took collateral damage stiffened, I continued.

"And I succeeded in saving my wife's life using this drug."

With those words, I took a small vial of medicine out of my pocket. It was Sulfadine in the form of an injectable solution, made by dissolving sulfanilamide, the raw material of the drug.

"..."

Pop! Pop!

Behind the silent audience, the camera flashes of reporters who had found good angles went off repeatedly. It’s a bit better now that it’s quiet.

"The main ingredient of this drug is sulfanilamide, one of the substances used in dyeing. I confirmed that this sulfanilamide has the effect of inhibiting bacteria, and..."

I immediately continued my explanation, projecting the chemical structure and clinical data of 'Sulfadine' onto the screen one by one. Perhaps because I had already laid the groundwork with a moving true story, the audience, including Fishbein, might have had dissatisfied expressions, but they no longer interrupted.

"...Therefore, I plan to link up with hospitals in Chicago, or other regions if desired, to accumulate more clinical data before full-scale production and sales. That is all I have to say."

Clap, clap, clap, clap!

As soon as I finished the presentation, the audience's applause followed as if they had been waiting for it. For now, the picture itself seems to have turned out well, right?

"Next, we will have a Q&A session. Those who wish to ask a question, please raise your hand."

"I have a question!"

"Here, over here!"

With Professor Compton's words, a significant portion of the audience raised their hands and shouted. Let's see, the doctors already had their turn with the bald man earlier, so should I call on the reporters this time?

"You there, the gentleman at the far left?"

"My name is Paul de Kruif, a journalist."

Soon, a man with a sturdy build and a side part began to speak with a serious expression.

"First, congratulations on making such a phenomenal discovery. However, the problem is whether people will truly be able to use this new drug. I want to ask if this drug, which could save countless people, will really be available to everyone, or if it will only go to politicians in Washington or the wealthy."

"Should I take that as a question about the price of Sulfadine?"

"Yes."

Well, I had already decided on the price. To think about what form to make and sell sulfanilamide in, I naturally had to consider the production cost and the selling price. Therefore, I could say it with confidence.

"Of course, the specific amount will vary depending on the form or dosage of the drug, but at the time of official sale, it will not exceed 1 dollar per dose."

Since the cost is roughly 30 cents, even at this price, it’s honestly a profiteering margin. In reality, selling it for about 50 to 60 cents to as many people as possible would actually be the right strategy for market dominance.

However.

"1, 1 dollar...?"

"No, is that a reasonable price?"

"It’s so cheap..."

The people's thoughts seemed to be a little different.

***

The day after the successful presentation, I unfolded the Chicago Daily Examiner I always read in my office.

"A saint? A passing dog would laugh at that."

What kind of title are they giving to the person furthest from being a saint in this world? Well, seeing as that nickname is even coming up on the radio, yesterday's presentation must have been quite impressive. Considering it’s at least 1/4 the price of existing treatments, well... it’s not bad.

It was then, as I was slowly turning the newspaper page with that thought in mind—

Ring-ring!

The phone on my desk connected to the secretary's office began to ring.

"Who is it?"

If it’s a call about yesterday's presentation, this would be the first contact. Lilly or another pharmaceutical company? Or the military or federal government? Maybe it’s old man Rockefeller.

—Sir, we’ve received a call from a place called 'A Century of Progress.'

"...Century of what?"

Is it an academic journal? Or, what, a cult?

However, in reality, it was neither.

—It’s the corporation organizing the Chicago World's Fair in three years. They said yesterday's presentation was impressive and asked if you might be interested in participating...

...I hadn't thought of this.