Chapter 292: Good News
Earlier, in order to launder money, Frank bought a stake in the Alibi bar and registered two shell companies.
In hindsight, that decision—made well in advance—proved to be extremely wise.
A bar's capacity for laundering money was limited. Or rather, Frank's rate of making money had become far too fast for the bar to keep up.
When Frank first invested in the bar, he only had two hundred thousand dollars. For an amount like that, the bar was more than sufficient. With a bit of effort, laundering over a hundred thousand a month was easy.
For most people, that would've been more than enough. They'd have stopped there.
After all, not long ago, Frank had been risking prison time—pretending to be disabled—just to scam a few hundred dollars a month in welfare by claiming Ginger's benefits, barely scraping together a thousand dollars.
But Frank had gone a step further and registered two additional shell companies.
At the time, his thinking was simple: What if, one day, there's too much money and the bar can't handle it?
Back then, he hadn't yet spoken to Lawyer Goodman. He didn't really understand how laundering money through shell companies worked—how complex the system was, how many layers and connections were needed to make it airtight. He'd registered the companies on instinct, half-understanding, half-gambling.
Seen from that perspective, Frank's mindset back then was borderline arrogant—like someone earning three thousand a month, eating and drinking while bragging as if tens of thousands meant nothing.
But that confidence came from his belief in their future.
Or more precisely, from his absolute trust in Walter's technology.
And Walter didn't let him down.
The moment the new Blue Angel formula hit the market, it exploded beyond all expectations. The money poured in faster and faster—so fast that supply couldn't even keep up with demand.
Soon, the bar hit its ceiling. It simply couldn't launder any more. Most of the money piled up in the shell companies' accounts, growing day by day—a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.
That was why, after talking with Lawyer Goodman, Frank immediately started planning the construction of a full network of companies and laundering pipelines.
He shared his ideas with Karen.
Karen, in turn, shared her own plans with Frank.
Frank naturally supported her and allowed her to use the money in the company accounts.
That said, he still had principles.
Karen could only use his share of the money.
Walter's and Pinkman's shares were off-limits.
With that capital, Karen moved decisively, pouring resources into building her online media operation.
Once Fiona finished her accounting training, she could set up an accounting firm. By linking it operationally with Karen's media company, they could begin laying down the laundering network in earnest.
Everything was moving in the right direction.
Then Frank frowned, looking at Jimmy sprawled on the couch.
"I gotta ask," he said irritably,
"why is he still living in our house?"
Frank had started to notice that Jimmy seemed to have practically moved into their house.
"Why aren't you going home?" Frank asked, frowning at him. "Where's your wife?"
"Didn't I tell you?" Jimmy said casually. "I moved my wife's boyfriend in. The two of them are living there now. I'm free."
"So you got kicked out," Frank cut in flatly.
"How can you call that getting kicked out?" Jimmy protested. "I withdrew voluntarily—for true love."
"He was kicked out," Lip said dryly. "After his wife's boyfriend found out Jimmy was still sleeping with her, he nearly shot him. I was there."
"You were there?" Frank looked confused.
"Yeah," Lip shrugged. "Jimmy doesn't speak Portuguese, and his wife's boyfriend's English sucks. I was translating."
"When did you learn Portuguese?" Frank asked in surprise.
"Recently," Lip replied offhandedly. "It's pretty easy."
Just as Frank was marveling at his genius son yet again, his phone rang.
Seeing the caller ID, Frank stepped outside to answer.
"White, what's up?" Frank asked.
"My treatment's working!"
Walter's excited voice came through the phone.
Walter had previously been told his cancer was severe—only a few weeks left. But after a full round of new tests, the results were finally back, and the doctors saw signs of recovery.
Walter had called Frank the moment he heard the news.
Naturally, Frank was thrilled.
After settling things at home, Frank and Pinkman rushed back to New Mexico to see Walter.
"What did the doctors say?" Frank asked.
"They looked at the scans," Walter said. "They say there's clear symptom regression. It's not a cure—but it's a remission phase. My tumor has shrunk by eighty percent!"
"That's amazing, Mr. White!" Pinkman jumped up, celebrating.
To Pinkman, Frank and Walter were two of the most important people in his life.
Frank was like a father.
Walter was his teacher.
He was genuinely happy for him.
"But before, they said you only had a few weeks left," Frank said cautiously. "How could there be such a huge difference in diagnosis?"
Hope was dangerous. False hope was even worse.
"That earlier scan was a misunderstanding," Walter explained. "It was tissue inflammation, not metastasis. A side effect of radiation therapy. Medication cleared it up."
"So your cancer is actually treatable?" Frank said.
"Not guaranteed," Walter replied. "But there are more options now. The doctors are discussing the next step in treatment."
"There will be good news," Frank said, patting Walter on the shoulder.
"Skyler's planning a party," Walter added before leaving. "To celebrate. This weekend."
"I'll be there," Frank nodded.
---
Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
Frank went to Walter's house for the party. Pinkman didn't go—he stayed home.
Although the three of them were partners, bound together by their business, to outsiders there was no real connection between Walter and Pinkman.
At most, Pinkman had once been a student in Walter's chemistry class—and failed it.
So even though Pinkman was happy about Walter's recovery, he couldn't show up at the party.
That evening, Pinkman was smoking on the balcony when he noticed the landlady's daughter nearby, also smoking.
He hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
"Uh… how have you been lately?"
They'd left things unresolved before—after that argument, he and Frank had taken Grandma's body back to Chicago.
"Same as always," she replied coolly. "Not great. What about you? You've been gone so long—don't tell me you were avoiding me because of what happened with my dad?"
"No," Pinkman said quickly. "We had to go out of town. I just got back."
"Oh," she replied.
"…" The two stood there in silence, smoking.
"You seem different," she said suddenly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
"Huh?" Pinkman paused. "Oh. Yeah. I've been trying to change. Is it that obvious?"
He tried to sound calm, but the corner of his mouth lifted unconsciously.