That night, Arjun drove to the warehouse district to meet a stockist named Suresh. Suresh sat in a grease-stained office surrounded by cartons of antihypertensives and antacids. He was frank.
Arjun stared at the glowing screen in his cubicle at 9:47 PM. The office was empty except for the janitor, who hummed an old Hindi film tune while mopping the corridor. On Arjun’s monitor, a cascade of numbers scrolled silently: units sold, doctor prescriptions, stockist balances, tertiary sales, secondary sales, primary sales. Fdc Sales Mis
He returned to his dashboard the next morning. The system had automatically generated a stock ageing report for Nebuflam-D. It showed that 34% of inventory at the stockist level was within 60 days of expiry. The algorithm flagged it as “moderate risk.” But what the algorithm didn’t say was that Suresh was planning to return those batches next week, triggering a cascade of negative entries that would nuke the zone’s incentive payouts for the quarter. That night, Arjun drove to the warehouse district
Arjun walked to the data entry cubicle. A young woman named Pooja was manually uploading scanned prescription forms from field force. He asked to see the originals for Dr. Iyengar’s forty scripts from week one. Arjun stared at the glowing screen in his cubicle at 9:47 PM
And yet, week four of the launch, the MIS dashboard showed a flat green line where a hockey stick should have been.
Pooja hesitated. Then she opened a drawer. Inside were forty sheets of blank prescription pads—with Dr. Iyengar’s forged stamp.