Free In the Company of Liars by David Ellis Page B

products. The company has billions in revenue worldwide. The point seems to be to cast Flanagan-Maxx as the cold, heartless corporate giant.
    â€œLet’s talk about the pharmaceutical products division, sir,” McGaffrey suggests.
    McCoy moves in her seat. She wants this testimony to be over, and it’s just beginning. There is no drama here, this part. F-M makes drugs for virtually anything, from brain disorders to respiratory infections to organ transplants to HIV/AIDS treatment.
    â€œLet’s talk about a particular product, sir,” says McGaffrey. He has a commanding voice but not as deep as she expected. He compensates for this with high volume. His every word in this courtroom is a controlled shout. “Let’s talk about a product called Divalpro.”
    Walter Benjamin nods without enthusiasm, adjusts his glasses again, and begins to explain it to the judge. Divalpro is a drug marketed to seniors for high blood pressure, one of the most successful products in the Flanagan-Maxx line, one of their cash cows. There is only one problem with Divalpro, a problem that is now known to anyone who follows the news, and certainly to anyone in the state capital.
    Divalpro’s patent is about to expire. Which means problems for Flanagan-Maxx. It means copycats. Worst of all, it means generic substitutes, drugs with the same active ingredient as Divalpro but cheaper, much cheaper, and therefore more attractive to the state Medicaid system than the expensive name-brand drug.
    â€œExplain, if you would, Mr. Benjamin, the prior-approval list.”
    This, of course, was the main problem here. The state’s department of public aid, always looking to cut costs, installs an immediate preference for cheaper generic alternatives by implementing a “prior approval” system. All generic alternatives receive prior approval from the stateMedicaid system, so a doctor can prescribe them by signing a piece of paper. If the doctor wants to prescribe the more expensive, name-brand drug like Divalpro, he or she is required to go through considerable paperwork for approval. Which one is the doctor going to choose? The patients will ask for Divalpro, given its past monopoly and a considerable advertising campaign through direct mail and television, but the doctor will assure them that the generic alternative is essentially the identical drug. Flanagan-Maxx’s profits on this drug will take a nosedive.
    This was where Walter Benjamin, director of governmental affairs, came in. It was time to hit up the legislatures in the seven states he covers, including this one, for legislation to get Divalpro placed on the prior-approval list of medications. If Flanagan-Maxx could pull that off, it would be on the same footing as the generics and would maintain a considerable portion of its client base.
    â€œWe weren’t asking for preference,” Benjamin emphasizes, ever the company man. “We just wanted to be on the same footing as the generics. We just wanted a level playing field.”
    Sure, and never mind that the state will be spending millions on a drug that could be spent elsewhere in the Medicaid program, when the generic alternative is every bit as effective.
    â€œAnd Mr. Benjamin, in your capacity as director of governmental affairs, did you personally, sir, go to our state capital and plead your case?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWho did?”
    â€œWe retained the services of Dillon and Becker.”
    â€œAnd who at that firm in particular?”
    â€œSam Dillon.”
    â€œSam Dillon? The deceased in this case?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy Sam Dillon?”
    McCoy studies the witness’s face. Walter Benjamin has probably asked himself that very question countless times since February. Why Sam Dillon? Why did I have to choose Sam?
    â€œWe hired Sam because he knew his way around the capital, so to speak. He was a former state senator. He was a Republican. He was very