Someone Filed A Complaint Against My Pharmacy

“Do you know what you’ve put me through? I was already in despair after learning that I had lung cancer. I wanted to try some cheap medicine to save up some money, but this scammer of a pharmacist even exploited dying cancer patients like us! He sold me expired, fake medicine, and I suffered from a 40℃ fever!

“Look, it’s this pharmacy called Mercy Pharmacy, and the owner is Luke Zimmerman! You have to avoid this place!”

Peter’s choked-up complaints were incredibly persuasive. The comment section went wild.

[Holy crap, he even scammed a cancer patient’s money? He’s a monster!]

[My mother’s condition got worse after she bought special medicine from his pharmacy! Someone is finally exposing him!]

[I lost huge clumps of my hair ever since I took the special medicine from his pharmacy! It’s definitely fake!]

[I’ve heard of this pharmacy and thought that the owner was a good person. Bah!]

[Scammers should all just die!]

[Let’s all call the Drug Administration Bureau! We need to make sure scammers like him go out of business!]

The internet was filled with insults toward me and my pharmacy.

But I ignored them all. Instead, I frowned as I clicked on the two accounts that claimed to have suffered from side effects after taking the special medicine I sold.

I believed they were ghostwriters Peter hired to slander me, but upon going to their account page, I found them to be familiar clients.

The person who claimed that his mother’s condition worsened had been buying from me for two years.

Last year, his daughter fell sick, and he needed to pay thirty thousand dollars for her surgery. I pitied him for having such a hard life, so I had given him his supply of medicine for free that year.

At that time, he had bawled as he thanked me for saving his mother and daughter. He said that I was his benefactor and that he would repay me even if it meant he had to work like a slave for it.

Apparently, he was furnishing said repayment.

As for the second one, she was even more of a familiar face.

She was Ruth Queen, and last month, she had moved out of the dorm I provided for the pharmacy’s employees.

Half a year ago, Ruth did not have the money to pay her rent. Her landlord chased her out, causing her to become homeless.

I pitied her for being a single mother. She had to take care of her son, but she had also been afflicted with cancer. Her life was truly tough.

That was why I had let both her and her son live in the employees’ dorm for free.

Last month, she moved out of the dorm because her son was about to start school.

To think that they were all ungrateful pieces of trash who bit the hand that fed them!

I clenched my phone tightly and looked at my parents’ memorial photos. My heart stung in pain.

Five years ago, my father was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer. He pitied me and would rather die than take the special medicine costing 38,000 dollars from the hospital.

To help him get better, I took every step I could, reached out to everyone I could, and finally established a direct import channel for a special medicine from overseas.

Hospitals sold it for 38,000 dollars, but I managed to get it for only five hundred.

As I saw other patients suffering from lung cancer but not having any money to buy their medicine, just like my father, my heart went out to them, and I sold them the special medicine at the original price.

More patients learned that they could buy cheap special medicine from my pharmacy, and they begged me to sell medicine for them.

When I saw them descending into despair and how their families were destroyed because of their illness, I found myself pitying them and agreed to sell them the medicine.

When my father passed away, I had wanted to put an end to my selling medicine to these people, since it was tough work and didn’t earn me any money, but upon learning that I wanted to stop, the patients wept and begged me to continue buying and selling medicine to them.

They treated me as their savior, and their eyes were full of pleading and gratitude when they looked at me.

Touched, I opened the pharmacy.

I wanted every patient, like my father, to be able to take the special medicine and not be tormented by pain and agony.

To think that my kindness had turned into a weapon they used to attack me!

While my thoughts wandered, my phone rang.