Chapter 272: Grandma
Frank went to Stephen's old apartment, only to find that the place had changed owners. The current tenant had acquired the property through the bank and had never even met Stephen—no one seemed to know where he'd gone.
He tried Stephen's former workplace and asked around among Stephen's friends, but came up empty. It was as if Stephen had vanished from the face of the earth.
With no way to repay the kindness Stephen had shown him, Frank left his contact information with Stephen's friends, asking them to reach out if they ever heard from him.
Frank and Pinkman spent a week recuperating in New York.
During that time, Cottonmouth came looking for Frank—this time wanting to introduce his sister.
Not to be misunderstood—Cottonmouth wasn't trying to sell out his own sister or throw her into Frank's bed. His sister was no ordinary person; she was a Harlem district councilwoman, a bona fide politician.
The siblings had a unique arrangement: she worked in politics while he ran a gang. Together, they carried out illegal ventures, and a good portion of the gang's profits went to fund her political campaigns.
In a country like America, where capitalism reigns, money is everything—especially in politics. Without funding, you don't get far. With enough of it? Even the presidency isn't off the table.
As a politician, Cottonmouth's sister needed massive amounts of funding to maintain or climb the ranks. Like most politicians—even the president—she had financial backers behind her.
Frank had gifted Cottonmouth a goldmine, and naturally, his sister benefited as well. With that kind of windfall, her rise from Harlem district councilwoman to New York City council—or even Congress—was entirely possible.
So, she wanted to meet Frank and express her gratitude.
Frank, however, politely declined the meeting, choosing instead to send a message of goodwill through Cottonmouth.
Having a politician as an ally was definitely an asset.
In any country, in any era, power matters. Collusion between politicians and businesses is nothing new. Many underground organizations have government connections—acting as unofficial enforcers or profit generators, taking the blame when things go wrong.
In America's capitalist system, this is especially true. Cottonmouth made money for his sister, and she protected him in return—a textbook example of political-criminal symbiosis, or in nicer terms, a "mutual support system."
So Frank chose to keep his distance, but stay friendly.
Should anything ever go wrong—should Frank and his crew face legal trouble—if they still had value, there was a real chance that Cottonmouth's sister could help pull them out of the fire using her political clout.
But for now, that was just a side note.
After recovering, Frank and Pinkman drove back to Chicago.
Thanks to their "white" appearance, the trip was relatively smooth. No accidents, no police trouble—just a straightforward return.
Upon arriving, Frank's first priority was checking in with Anfisa and the others, making sure the books were balanced and depositing all their earnings into the company's account.
Only after everything was settled did Frank and Pinkman drag their exhausted bodies home.
And when Frank stepped inside, he encountered an unexpected guest.
"Mom?" Frank said, surprised.
It was his mother—his children's grandmother, freshly released from prison.
The moment Frank saw her, his body tensed up involuntarily, and he had the sudden urge to flee. It was a primal reaction, like a mouse seeing a cat.
But he smiled. Genuinely.
That physical and subconscious resistance? It was a good sign—a clear indication of how different he was from the old "Frank."
He had been doing everything that "Frank" would never do, all to create that difference.
He needed to feel different, to resist being gradually consumed by the old Frank's habits, like he almost had during that half-year of drifting and chaos.
The money he'd given the prison warden hadn't been in vain. In under two months, Grandma was out.
"Grandma came home a few days ago. We were all shocked—I didn't even know I had a grandma," Sammy said, pushing her wheelchair.
"The house has changed a lot. So have you," Grandma said, eyeing Frank with suspicion.
"You're that kid who visited me in prison, right? Pinkman, wasn't it?" she added, glancing at Jesse.
"Grandma…" Jesse said respectfully. He believed in respecting his elders.
"You two must've just gotten back. Go rest. Sammy, take me to the bar," Grandma said.
"Yes, Grandma~" Sammy smiled, giving Frank a subtle wink as she wheeled the old woman out.
"Dad, when Grandma came back, Carl took her to the bank…" Debbie came running over to snitch.
"The bank? What for?" Frank frowned.
"Carl said she opened a small black box inside the vault, but it was empty," Debbie said.
That little black box was probably a safety deposit box.
Before her arrest, Grandma must have stored her valuables there—but something had gone wrong. It was empty now.
"She also had me look up a cosmetic surgeon named Noah on the computer. Then she and Sammy went out, early in the morning, and didn't come back until after midnight…" Debbie reported, clearly enjoying her role.
At her age, kids like Debbie were naturally curious and a little nosy. Just a while ago she was caught in a school crush; now she was a gossip machine.
"I see. Thank you, my little informant," Frank chuckled, patting her head.
"Call me Sergeant Debbie," she said proudly.
"Yes, ma'am. Excellent report, Sergeant Debbie," Frank laughed.
"Hehe~" Debbie giggled and hugged him.
Later that evening, Sammy returned home and pulled Frank aside. "After Grandma got out, she had me drive her to confront someone named Dr. Noah… to collect a debt."
This Dr. Noah had once worked with Grandma.
As Frank already knew, back in the day she had run a small workshop and even hired a few college students to increase productivity. Noah had been one of them.