The fluorescent lights of the HHM law offices buzzed overhead, barely audible over the rhythmic click-clack of Francesca's typing. Saul Goodman, back to his pre-Cinnabon alias of Jimmy McGill, was hunched over a stack of files, his brow furrowed in concentration. But it wasn't legal briefs that held his attention; it was a newspaper article, its headline screaming about the escalating opioid crisis.

"Opportunity knocks," Jimmy muttered to himself, a sly grin spreading across his face. "And this time, it's wearing a lab coat."

Within days, the strip mall office of Saul Goodman & Associates had undergone a transformation. Gone were the inflatable Statue of Liberty and the tacky neon signs. In their place, a tasteful banner proclaimed: "Injured? Addicted? Call Saul. We'll fight for your right to relief."

Jimmy's first move was to infiltrate the support groups, not as Saul, the flamboyant lawyer, but as "Gene," the sympathetic listener. He'd nod along with tales of chronic pain and addiction, slipping his discreetly designed business cards into trembling hands. "Don't let them deny you the medication you need," the cards whispered. "Call Saul. He understands."

He forged alliances with unscrupulous doctors, the ones willing to overprescribe for a little kickback. He even started a 'referral program,' offering discounts to clients who brought in new 'patients.' It was a pyramid scheme of pain, and Saul was at the top, raking in the profits.

But Saul wasn't just after the quick buck. He had a grander vision. He'd create his own pharmaceutical company, 'Goodman Relief,' peddling a 'miracle cure' for pain - a concoction of over-the-counter meds and a dash of his signature chutzpah. He'd even star in the infomercials, donning a white coat and a pair of fake glasses, extolling the virtues of his product.

"Folks, Big Pharma doesn't care about your pain," he'd declare, his voice dripping with sincerity. "But Saul Goodman does. With Goodman Relief, you'll be back on your feet, living your best life. And remember, side effects may include uncontrollable laughter and an overwhelming urge to call your lawyer."

Of course, the 'miracle cure' was nothing more than a placebo, but Saul's marketing genius was undeniable. Goodman Relief flew off the shelves, and Saul's bank account swelled.

But all good things must come to an end. The DEA caught wind of Saul's operation, and the walls began to close in. Saul, ever the escape artist, vanished once again, leaving behind a trail of empty pill bottles and a nation of confused, but slightly less pained, customers.

Somewhere in Nebraska, a Cinnabon manager with a familiar twinkle in his eye watched the news reports of Saul's latest escapade. "Slippin' Jimmy," he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Always one step ahead."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5595624&forum_id=2/#48093947)