Armani and Cocaine
I was picking out a suit with Rigelotte Weiseman before heading to meet the pharmaceutical company. She'd said she'd buy me one.
"The first step in building trust with people is showing them that you share their world, their culture, their context."
"Yes."
"In a pharma boardroom, that context is cocaine and Armani suits. But I assume you're not planning to do cocaine."
"No....... I am not."
It wasn't wrong. Cocaine isn't great for your health. I'd heard some people used it for dieting because it helped you lose weight.
I put on the suit Rigelotte had picked out and stood in front of the mirror. She smiled faintly, like a kid playing with a doll.
"Looks good?"
"Does it?"
"You look smart."
I chuckled inwardly. Rigelotte stood there with her arms crossed, eyeing me up and down. Navy suit, black tie. From a distance, it looked like any ordinary suit, but up close, the fabric was different. Armani. With the tie and accessories, it came to $1,000 in 1970s money—nearly ten million won in modern terms. Expensive stuff definitely had a different vibe.
It felt a bit of a waste, but I couldn't exactly ask for cash instead. I fiddled with my tie and said,
"Thank you."
"$1,000 isn't a big deal....... Think of it as an investment. There are doors that won't open without outrageously priced suits."
I nodded. Ten million won was a lot of money, but I didn't argue with Rigelotte.
"Yes....... I suppose so."
Hey, if she's buying, why not? To these people, it must be pocket change. Bill Gates wouldn't bother picking up a $1,000 bill off the street—better to spend that time working. The Weiseman family was probably in the same league. America's top tycoons.
"I'd love to grab coffee together, but business first......"
Rigelotte and her entourage led the way to the parking lot. I hurried after them.
Syntex. One of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in 1970s California—and our destination today. They'd amassed a fortune developing and producing steroids, even holding monopolies on some products. This was the place the Weiseman Foundation had connected us to for selling the EpiPen.
And just like that, we arrived. Syntex employees escorted us deep into the company building. The boardroom door swung open. Clutching my presentation materials, I stepped inside.
Several Syntex staff were seated there. But it wasn't just staff. That was Syntex's CEO, Albert Bowers. An organic chemist who'd researched steroid synthesis—and the man who'd later invent a famous painkiller.
I greeted him politely.
"Hello, Dr. Bowers."
He shook my outstretched hand, staring at me with a grave expression. His eyes were like a shark sizing up prey, waiting for me to slip up.
"As you've heard, I'm here to propose investment and collaboration based on the patent I've just secured."
Rigelotte watched from behind.
"You're that guy, right? The Asian genius doctor from the Palo Alto news."
Research credentials over race, hopefully.
"Nature three times, Lancet once."
"Impressive. We're making time because of the Weisemans, but drugs don't move on genius ideas or medical need alone. There's industrial reality."
"Don't worry. It's simple."
I set the EpiPen down in front of Dr. Bowers. He picked it up with his pen and examined it.
"What's this?"
"An invention for easy response to acute anaphylaxis outside the hospital. It uses off-the-shelf epinephrine."
Dr. Bowers furrowed his brow.
"I'm not a doctor."
"Anaphylaxis is a deadly allergic reaction. Epinephrine treats it."
"I know that."
"My invention makes hospital-only epinephrine injections usable anywhere, instantly."
"How?"
"Pen-shaped injector. Just press the back against your thigh. Even laypeople can self-administer in emergencies."
"Hence the pen shape......"
"Exactly."
"Profitable?"
The question I'd been waiting for. Now it was marketing time.
"Two advantages. First, sick people don't buy this. It's for ordinary folks—like allergy sufferers or their parents—stocking up just in case."
"Sharp."
"No reliance on prescriptions. Revenue free from doctors' whims."
Not that I should say it, but the EpiPen was like insurance: bought before the crisis, not after. Parents with kids would snap it up to prevent fatal accidents.
"Second, restaurants fear allergy lawsuits these days. Stocking EpiPens reduces death risks."
Dr. Bowers looked impressed at that.
"Oh, good point......"
"We could even lobby to mandate them in public places and restaurants."
Possible in America. The room's staff murmured at "mandate." Businesses love blind money.
"Look at it this way: a $5 epinephrine vial becomes a $30 life insurance policy through the EpiPen. Maximum value from limited production—with huge margins."
The Syntex CEO pondered.
"How many high-risk allergy patients in the US?"
"Tens of thousands at least?"
I could almost hear the calculator in his head. Tens of thousands of potential customers, plus mandates everywhere......
"Patent transfer terms?"
"$100,000 upfront, 1% royalty. In exchange, I hope for an accessible price point."
A hefty sum back then, but Dr. Bowers scratched his head with a positive nod.
"We'll review positively. Sign with our lawyers soon."
I nodded. The company was hooked. Staff in the back were already buzzing about lobbying strategies.
"Thank you."
I bowed lightly. Rigelotte eyed me curiously.
Did he really pull this off?
Rigelotte quietly marveled. She knew he was talented, but not this level. Walking in with a single sheet of paper and convincing tough Syntex to ink a deal worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Was this even possible?
Impressive.
Even the Weiseman family hadn't expected it to go this smoothly. He was their nurtured talent, but he'd exceeded expectations by miles.