Fdc Sales Mis Page

Arjun clicked into the MIS module that tracked prescription audits . The software was expensive, licensed from a US vendor, and meticulously built. It aggregated data from 1,200 chemists across his zone. Every time a bill was generated for Nebuflam-D, the system recorded it. Every time a doctor’s prescription was scanned at a pharmacy loyalty program, the system knew.

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 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. Fdc Sales Mis

He walked out of the data entry room, past the janitor who had stopped humming, past the empty cubicles, past the motivational posters that said “Data is the new science.”

Or so they believed.

On days when the company ran high-intensity sales blitzes, primary sales spiked—but redemption data showed no corresponding increase . In fact, on those days, the system recorded a suspiciously high number of prescriptions written after 9 PM , which was impossible because most clinics closed by 7.

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. Arjun clicked into the MIS module that tracked

But who? A rep desperate to meet target? A stockist colluding with a retailer? Or the MIS itself—not the software, but the people who controlled what data entered it.

Someone was entering fake prescriptions into the system to game the CRM. Every time a bill was generated for Nebuflam-D,

“Primary sales are strong,” his boss had said in the morning review. “But secondary is dead. The product is leaving our warehouse but not moving off pharmacy shelves.”

Pooja hesitated. Then she opened a drawer. Inside were forty sheets of blank prescription pads—with Dr. Iyengar’s forged stamp.