Chapter 606

Doctors had to be one of the most important professions in the world.

Sooner or later, everyone needed one. It didn’t matter how powerful or wealthy you were. Even kings needed physicians.

That was especially true in Hell’s Kitchen.

Even if you were blessed with perfect health, had no genetic disorders, carried immunity to every infectious disease known to mankind, and somehow managed to remain healthy for your entire life, there was still one little problem.

Could you guarantee nobody would stab you on your way home and steal your wallet?

Could you guarantee that two gangs wouldn’t start shooting at each other while you happened to be walking through the park, leaving you with a bullet that had your name on it?

When that happened, what were you going to do? Patch yourself up with a bottle of antiseptic and a Band-Aid?

Without medical training, how were you supposed to know whether your injuries needed a little first aid or an amputation from the neck down?

So if ordinary people needed doctors, Hell’s Kitchen’s street-level criminals needed them even more.

Of course, after getting shot or stabbed, most gang members weren’t exactly eager to visit a legitimate hospital. They preferred unlicensed back-alley doctors who wouldn’t ask inconvenient questions.

Nobody wanted to leave the operating table and walk straight into a jail cell.

That was precisely why the Eredar Twins had Fisk deal with the doctors throughout Hell’s Kitchen.

The objective was simple.

"I need those doctors to recommend Umbrella’s products to their patients whenever possible. If a patient has suffered a serious injury resulting in a disability, the doctor should strongly recommend our civilian prosthetics. If the patient has an external injury or an illness, every prescription they write should include medication manufactured by our company."

Patients trusted their doctors.

When someone went to a hospital, they were effectively placing their life in another person’s hands. No matter how skeptical they might sound, people naturally paid close attention to medical advice.

And sick people were vulnerable. They were frightened, desperate, and often willing to do almost anything if they believed it would make them better.

If their doctor enthusiastically recommended a particular treatment, many would borrow money just to afford it.

Prescription medicine was even simpler.

Who was going to look at a prescription and say, No thanks, I’ll pick something else?

If you were qualified to make that decision yourself, why were you at the doctor’s office in the first place?

"Of course, threatening them and cracking a whip isn’t enough if we want these doctors to enthusiastically promote our products." Oletheis’s lips curled into a faint smile. "So we’ll give them an incentive to cooperate."

"Every time a doctor sells one of our products," she continued, "they’ll receive a percentage of the profit."

Evenson nodded noncommittally.

He could already imagine what would happen once the plan went into effect.

There would probably be plenty of patients in Hell’s Kitchen who didn’t actually need an amputation. But if a doctor got a cut of the prosthetic’s profits...

Well.

Chop.

Still, Evenson reconsidered after thinking about the price of Umbrella’s prosthetics.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

A titanium arm was probably pretty useful in Hell’s Kitchen.

At the very least, it could probably take two knife hits.

And Umbrella’s medicines weren’t fake, either. They were genuine alchemical potions. They actually worked.

Evenson had a complete set of textbooks covering Azerothian alchemy. The only reason he hadn’t invested time into mastering the profession was, well...

He had no time.

That was his story, anyway.

More importantly, Earth didn’t have Peacebloom or Silverleaf. Without the proper ingredients, there wasn’t much point in practicing Azerothian alchemy.

It wasn’t as though Evenson had the time to investigate which Earth plants might serve as substitutes.

The Eredar Twins, however, had considerably more time on their hands.

They had conducted extensive research, comparing Earth plants with the ingredients described in their alchemy manuals. Eventually, their efforts paid off.

They discovered that, when processed through a specialized extraction method, Chinese bellflower and honeysuckle could serve as effective substitutes for Peacebloom and Silverleaf.

Using those substitutes, they successfully produced Healing Potions and Disease-Curing Potions.

Of course, these were only the most basic varieties.

Anything more advanced required plants with actual magical properties.

Unfortunately, those were rather difficult to find on Earth.

The basic potions were still remarkably effective.

The red Lesser Healing Potions were, for straightforward physical injuries, among the most effective medicines currently available. Their effects were practically immediate.

The yellow Disease-Curing Potions were even more impressive.

For ordinary headaches, colds, fevers, and similar ailments, they were practically miraculous. They could even produce significant results against certain diseases that modern medicine considered incurable.

They couldn’t completely eliminate those illnesses, but they could dramatically slow their progression.

"I’ve already found a way to get the prosthetics and potions through the drug regulators," Salorass said proudly. "The next step is to expand into the market, gather enough clinical data, and get them covered by health insurance."

"Thanks to Hell’s Kitchen’s appalling crime rate, gathering the necessary clinical data shouldn’t take long." Oletheis’s smile widened as she laid out their vision for the future. "Once the products are accepted into the insurance system, we’ll expand nationwide. Then we’ll begin exporting overseas."

She paused.

"And after that, the entire world."

"Money will come pouring into our company like a tidal wave."

"Excellent."

A gleam appeared in Evenson’s eyes. Oletheis had clearly sold him on the idea.

And money wasn’t even the only benefit.

If Umbrella could establish itself as a cornerstone of the medical industry, its influence throughout the world would rise accordingly.

"That’s not enough," Evenson said. "Find a way to develop even more powerful potions. Ideally, something capable of actually curing terminal diseases."

He leaned back.

"That kind of potion doesn’t need to be mass-produced. In fact, we should do the opposite. Keep complete control of it ourselves."

"You don’t need to tell us."

The Eredar Twins exchanged a knowing smile.

They were already thinking several steps ahead.

Monopolize healthcare, and eventually you monopolize life itself.

Once Umbrella reached that point, who would dare move against them?

And there was more.

When Umbrella began producing medicines capable of curing diseases that had once been considered hopeless, how much faith would the public place in the company?

People would start looking to Umbrella for miracles.

Better medicines.

Longer lives.

Reversing aging.

Perhaps even immortality.

And if humanity believed that Umbrella might one day achieve the impossible, who would willingly destroy the company responsible for that hope?

The three of them were still quietly plotting how to place the world’s health, and eventually its lives, firmly within Umbrella’s grasp when a clear child’s voice suddenly came from the doorway.

"Godmother!"

A little girl of about seven or eight came running into the room.

She wore a bright red dress, and without hesitation, she threw her arms around Oletheis’s waist.

Evenson’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

He stared at the scene for several seconds before his brain finally caught up.

"Godmother?"

"Surprised?"

Oletheis calmly stroked the little girl’s head.

Then she reached into her clothing and pulled out an exquisite crucifix.

"I joined the church," she explained matter-of-factly. "It’ll make it easier for me to integrate into high society."

Evenson’s mind immediately went in several different directions.

These two really have figured out the habits of the upper class.

Then another thought struck him.

Wait.

If you’re going to wear a crucifix, why didn’t you buy one from me?

No.

That wasn’t the important part.

His thoughts tangled themselves into a knot.

He finally gave up.

"Who is this kid?" Evenson asked, staring at the little girl. "Whose daughter is she?"