Chapter 322 – Who Exactly Are You?
There were only two people in the world who could manufacture Blue Angel: Walter and Pinkman.
No third person existed.
That absolute uniqueness—its impossibility to replicate—had created something even more powerful than scarcity.
It had created a brand.
Nando hadn't come to Chicago solely because of Jimmy and his daughter.
That was secondary.
His real objective was Blue Angel.
Jimmy's marriage problem was merely… convenient timing.
"You're saying the business is… Blue Angel?" Nando asked slowly, staring at the crystalline shards in his hand. "Who exactly are you?"
Frank adjusted himself slightly in his seat.
"Let me reintroduce myself. I'm Fiona's father."
He paused.
"You can also call me… Heisenberg."
Nando's pupils contracted.
The men around him froze.
Heisenberg.
The name alone carried weight.
Before coming to Chicago, Nando had done his homework. Blue Angel had first surfaced here. It was rumored to be controlled by an organization called Heisenberg.
But Heisenberg was a ghost.
Nando had pulled strings, spent money, leaned on contacts—nothing. No photo. No confirmed identity. Not even a reliable rumor.
Frank had been careful from the beginning.
Heisenberg rarely appeared personally.
Only direct partners knew that Frank and Pinkman were connected to the organization. And even then, Frank had made one thing crystal clear:
No information about Heisenberg was to leave the room.
Violation meant termination of cooperation.
And with Blue Angel selling like wildfire, termination meant losing a literal gold mine.
No one would risk that.
Even without threats, they wouldn't have talked.
There's an old saying: people prefer to get rich quietly.
If you discover a gold vein, you don't announce it—not even to relatives. Why create competitors?
Every collaborator who dealt directly with Heisenberg was a first-tier distributor.
Anyone beneath them? Second-tier, third-tier—some even fourth- or fifth-tier.
And anyone with basic business sense understands what that means.
Let's say a manufacturer sells at thirty dollars.
A first-tier distributor marks it up to fifty.
A wholesaler passes it on for a hundred.
By the time it hits retail, it's two hundred—or more.
From thirty to two hundred may sound outrageous, but that's conservative. Add logistics, storage, risk premiums, bribes, losses, manpower—plus profit margins at every stage.
The higher your tier, the larger your slice.
Those directly tied to Heisenberg were sitting on the largest slice of the cake.
They'd happily create hundreds of second-tier distributors.
But another first-tier?
Never.
That would mean sharing the feast.
So they protected Heisenberg's identity more fiercely than he did.
Even someone like Nando—who wielded enormous influence in Brazil—couldn't uncover anything substantial.
All he knew was that Heisenberg might be in Chicago.
So he came to test his luck.
If he couldn't find Heisenberg, securing a partnership with a first-tier distributor would suffice. Brazil had a massive market waiting for Blue Angel's "salvation."
But he never imagined—
That while casually handling his daughter's failing marriage—
He would run straight into Heisenberg himself.
And suddenly, this messy domestic incident had turned into the most profitable opportunity of his career
Jimmy's girlfriend's father—this sickly, exhausted old man who looked like he could drop dead at any moment—was Heisenberg?
"You're really Heisenberg?" Nando finally asked, eyeing Frank with open suspicion.
His first instinct was disbelief.
Was this a scam?
Had someone learned he came to Chicago for Blue Angel and staged this entire act? Was this frail old man pretending to be Heisenberg to swindle him?
After all, Nando had spent so long digging for information and found nothing.
And now, the man he couldn't locate for months was just… sitting in front of him?
It was too convenient.
"You can believe it," Frank said calmly. "Or you don't have to. The choice is yours."
Silence.
The two men locked eyes.
"What… what happened?" Jimmy groaned, slowly coming to. His constitution was decent—he recovered quickly from the blow.
One of Nando's men stepped forward, ready to knock him out again, but Nando lifted a hand to stop him.
"I'll come see you later," Nando said to Frank. "We'll talk properly then."
He wasn't fully convinced—but he wasn't dismissing it either.
This wasn't the right time or place. There was still a barrel in the room filled with what used to be a human being. Hardly an ideal setting for business negotiations.
He knew where Frank lived. If necessary, he could find him anytime.
"Wait… what's going on?" Jimmy blinked in confusion. "Frank… you're not getting shot anymore?"
His memory was still stuck on the moment Nando had pulled the trigger on the conversation.
"It's handled," Frank said, handing Jimmy some tissues to wipe the blood running down his forehead.
When Nando had aimed the gun, Jimmy had stepped in front of him.
That gesture improved Frank's opinion of Jimmy—
Slightly.
Very slightly.
"We'll clean this place up," Nando said to Jimmy. "Get your wife dressed. Take her out for a proper dinner. Somewhere upscale. By the time you get back, everything will look normal."
He gave Jimmy a long look.
"We'll discuss our matter later."
There was no way Jimmy was leaving right now.
Frank departed alone.
---
When he returned home, Fiona rushed toward him.
"Dad! Where did you and Jimmy go? Why weren't you answering your phones?"
Before leaving, Frank had called Sammi to come home and watch Liam, saying he and Jimmy were heading out for a bit.
So the kids had no idea Jimmy had been abducted in broad daylight, or that Frank had walked straight into a room with a corpse being dissolved in acid.
As far as they knew, the two of them had simply gone out.
"It's nothing," Frank said lightly. "Just took care of something."
He leaned on his cane, looking as if he'd only stepped out for fresh air—
Not negotiated with a cartel boss while standing next to liquefied remains.