Chapter 290: The Candidate
The world doesn't stop turning just because someone is gone.
Life goes on, with or without any one person.
A few days after Peggy was laid to rest, the kids gradually pulled themselves together and returned to their routines.
Frank didn't go back to New Mexico. Instead, he stayed home for a while—mainly to think through everything he'd discussed earlier with Lawyer Goodman, especially the shell company and money-laundering scheme.
He researched carefully, dug up a lot of information online, and even talked it through with Karen. In the end, he confirmed that what Goodman proposed was indeed feasible and operable.
At the heart of the laundering plan was one critical role:
an accountant.
Not just any accountant, but one who was both competent and absolutely trustworthy. Only after finding the right person could Frank begin laying out the rest of the structure, step by step.
It was an extremely complex undertaking, massive in scope and cost. In fact, most of the money they earned would have to be poured right back into it just to get the system off the ground.
Frank's business was undeniably high-profit. Just looking at production costs versus selling price, the margins were obscene—enough to make anyone jealous.
But maintaining that level of profit, and ensuring safety, required heavy investment. Once all those expenses were deducted, the net profit wasn't nearly as exaggerated as it seemed.
The laundering system Frank wanted to build required huge upfront costs.
But once completed, it could operate independently—even without Heisenberg's money—and sustain itself.
After long consideration, Frank finally ruled out Anfisa.
She wasn't suitable.
Her past was an obstacle he couldn't afford to ignore.
And beyond the business, Frank found himself thinking about many other things—especially what would happen after he was gone.
Walter's critical condition, followed so closely by Peggy's death, had shaken him deeply.
Frank hadn't gone to the hospital for detailed examinations, but he could feel his own body well enough. He was certain it was late-stage cancer too—the kind where treatment made no real difference.
Still, his condition seemed slightly better than Walter's. He should be able to hold on a bit longer.
Walter had already earned enough. After his death, his family would be financially secure. He had no regrets.
Frank was much the same. By the time his end came, he was confident he could leave behind enough money—for the kids' education, including Liam's, and more.
But money alone wasn't everything.
Teaching someone to fish was better than giving them fish.
No matter how much money he left behind, it was still finite.
Even with Fiona watching over them, the kids were still young. There was no guarantee they'd grow up right—or that they wouldn't become reckless spenders.
If that happened, then no amount of money he left behind would truly matter.
Frank had to think about the children's future.
If possible, he wanted to pass something down to them—his work, his system.
Even if they never inherited Heisenberg's operation, at the very least they could inherit the shell-company framework he was planning.
If Frank truly built that shell-company structure to completion, it would no longer be some flimsy front. It would be a legitimate-looking enterprise with a mature, well-oiled money-laundering system.
And laundering money wasn't like dealing drugs.
The risks were far lower, far less immediately deadly.
People who played with money always had countless ways to stay ahead of the law—especially in a country like the United States.
Otherwise, the people on Wall Street—every last one of them—would have been executed ten thousand times over.
If he wanted his family to inherit anything safely, then Anfisa absolutely could not be allowed to control the lifeline of the operation.
Anfisa might stay loyal out of gratitude while Frank was alive—dutifully keeping the books, closing the accounts.
But after Frank died?
Would she really continue to take care of his children?
Work obediently for them?
In the West, things didn't work like in the East, where people talked about repaying kindness "with a spring in return for a drop."
Even in the East, there was the saying: a bowl of rice is a favor; a sack of rice is a grudge.
Frank didn't need to think hard to know the answer.
Once he was gone, Anfisa wouldn't look after his kids. Worse—she'd likely do everything she could to seize everything Frank had spent his life building.
That was why the core of this entire system—the accountant who held the keys—had to be family.
Frank began weighing the options carefully.
There were a lot of kids. The younger ones were ruled out immediately.
Among the older ones, Ian wanted to go to military school and enlist. He had no real aptitude for numbers—cross him off.
The first person Frank thought of—his ideal candidate—was Lip.
Lip was smart. Very smart. He'd definitely be able to understand the enterprise Frank was constructing, all its layers and tricks.
But Lip's interests lay in physics and mechanics. There was no guarantee he'd agree.
And he was only eighteen—barely an adult. Still raw, still immature.
In the end, Frank hesitated between Sammi and Fiona.
After repeated observation and careful thought, he finally settled on Fiona.
"Fiona," Frank found her in private.
"Hm? What is it?" Fiona asked, puzzled.
"Would you be interested in studying accounting?" Frank didn't reveal his true intentions. He eased into the topic.
"Accounting…" Fiona frowned slightly, thinking it over.
In truth, Fiona absolutely had talent for accounting and management—or rather, she'd been forced to develop it.
She'd managed a house full of wild kids for years—one hand on a kid's head, the other patting another kid's back, mediating conflicts, telling them what they should and shouldn't do.
The family had been broke—painfully so. She'd learned budgeting, stockpiling, couponing, tracking discounts, finding which stores had the best deals. She knew how to stretch a few dollars to feed six people.
She'd also dealt with emergencies—Frank's messes more times than she could count.
On a small scale, these were just household chores.
On a larger scale?
That was management.
Running a company wasn't all that different:
telling people what to do and what not to do, solving their problems, balancing the books, paying wages and benefits on time, keeping the operation alive.
Compared to Fiona's hard-earned "seasoning," Sammi was far less prepared.
Despite being more than ten years older than Fiona, Sammi had never managed a household like this. She'd focused all her energy on caring for her intellectually disabled son, Chuckie. And her personality… had its own issues.
All things considered, Fiona was the obvious choice.
Still, Frank didn't lay all his plans out for her. He simply told her he wanted her to learn accounting—and left it at that.
Fiona agreed.
In fact, now that money was no longer a constant problem, and Frank no longer forced her to grind herself down with endless jobs to support the family, Fiona had begun to show the same signs Lip once had…