Chapter 305: Whose Child Is It?
Frank didn't hide the truth about his cirrhosis. Over the phone, he told Walter everything.
When Walter heard the news, he could only sigh in disbelief.
Not long ago, because of a misdiagnosis, Walter had thought his days were numbered. He had even entrusted his family to Frank, preparing himself for the worst.
And now—just as Walter's condition had finally turned the corner—something had happened to Frank instead.
Walter promised him that no matter what happened in the future, he would help take care of Frank's family.
After a few more words, Frank got down to business and explained what really mattered.
This sudden diagnosis of advanced cirrhosis—along with the doctor's blunt warning—had completely derailed many of Frank's plans.
He hadn't expected everything to come crashing down so fast, so abruptly. He had thought he still had plenty of time.
Now, Frank could barely do anything himself.
Other matters had to be handed over to someone else—especially Heisenberg's operation.
That business didn't belong to Frank alone. It was too big, too deeply entangled, with partners spread across different regions. It had to keep running smoothly.
Which meant that, for now, Heisenberg's business could only be entrusted to Walter and Pinkman.
In the past, Frank had handled almost everything personally. Walter stayed in the background, focusing solely on production, while Pinkman acted like an assistant—running errands and dealing with miscellaneous tasks.
But now that Frank was down, the two of them had no choice but to step forward and hold the operation together themselves.
Fortunately, most of the early headaches had already been taken care of by Frank.
The partners were in place.
The distribution channels had been opened.
Trust had been built.
At this stage, there were only two real problems left.
First: increasing production capacity.
Second: finding a partner in New Mexico with an established smuggling network—someone who could connect the New Mexico line with Chicago.
As for production, Frank had already completed more than half the work. The factory buildings had been purchased under the name of a chemical company, and renovations were underway.
Walter's health had recovered. He could run, jump, and move freely again. Frank asked him to keep an eye on the renovations—especially the basement that would later serve as the lab. That place had to be locked down tight.
Walter didn't need to go anywhere in New Mexico. As long as he handled that properly, it would be enough.
The remaining matters—maintaining relationships in Chicago and New York, keeping the lines smooth—would all fall on Pinkman.
Luckily, this month's shipment had already gone out. There were still more than two weeks before the next delivery, which gave Frank enough time to coach Pinkman—cramming at the last minute. Even if it wasn't perfect, it would still get the job done.
Pinkman kept insisting he wasn't up to it, clearly lacking confidence.
But at a time like this, even if he wasn't ready, he had to be.
There were only three of them. They couldn't bring in anyone new. Frank was down, Walter absolutely could not be exposed, which meant Pinkman had no choice but to become the public face of Heisenberg.
And truth be told, this wasn't completely throwing him into the fire. Wherever Frank went, whatever he did, Pinkman had always been by his side. The people in Chicago and New York already knew him.
Still, many of Frank's long-term plans had to be shelved—abandoned halfway.
The money-laundering company, for example, would never be completed. He simply didn't have enough time left.
That said, the money he had already accumulated should be enough for the family's daily expenses and the kids' college tuition. At the very least, he had achieved his original goal.
Even if he were gone, the children wouldn't be forced back into a life of scrambling just to fill their stomachs.
As for Heisenberg's operation—it was a three-way partnership. If Frank were gone, his share of the profits should, in theory, go to his children, like an inheritance.
But this was an illegal business. There were no contracts, no legal protection. In the end, it would depend entirely on Walter and Pinkman.
If Frank died and the two of them decided to reclaim his share and split everything evenly, there would be nothing Frank could do about it.
That said, based on his relationship with them—and their character—Frank believed they wouldn't swallow his cut. Still, people change.
Thinking that far ahead was pointless anyway. By then, he'd already be dead. His descendants would have their own fate.
The best solution, really, would be for Frank to arrange a successor—someone to step into Heisenberg's structure and protect his interests.
In short, Frank's sudden collapse put enormous pressure on both Walter and Pinkman. But pressure or not, they had no choice but to shoulder it.
Walter told Frank to focus on recovery, reassuring him that a suitable liver would eventually be found.
The next day, Pinkman returned to New Mexico. Production couldn't wait, and he couldn't stay in Chicago indefinitely.
A few days later, an unexpected visitor showed up at the hospital.
"Frank."
Old man Milkovich walked into the ward, followed by Mandy, Lip, and Ian.
"Did you find Mandy?" Frank asked immediately. "Good. Then we can finally check whose kid she's carrying."
Even lying in a hospital bed, Frank hadn't forgotten the issue.
After all, the child in Mandy's belly might belong to someone else—or to Lip.
"There's no need," Mandy spoke up before her father could say anything. "The baby isn't Ian's."
"Mandy—" Terry frowned, about to interrupt.
"Enough," Mandy snapped impatiently. "You know exactly what happened. I already told you whose child it is. Dad, this is our business. Don't drag other people into it."
Frank caught something in her tone, in the tension between them. He was about to speak when he stopped himself.
"Lip, Ian—take Mandy outside for a moment," he said instead. "Some things aren't for kids to hear."
Once they had left, Frank looked at Terry.
"The child is yours?" he asked quietly.
Terry slumped into a chair, burying his face in his hands, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
"What the hell happened?" Frank pressed.
"I drank too much," Terry finally said after a long silence. "I thought she was her mother. I don't even know how it happened. I blacked out completely."
"Just once?" Frank asked.
If it had only happened once, Mandy wouldn't be so certain about the child's father.
"I don't remember," Terry muttered.
That was answer enough.
"You're a piece of shit," Frank said flatly, grabbing a cup from the table and throwing it at him.
Water splashed all over Terry.
"You—!" Terry jumped to his feet, furious.
But after locking eyes with Frank for a long moment, he sagged back down again, letting out a deep, broken sigh.
The room fell silent.
No one spoke.
The ward remained quiet for a long time, heavy with unspoken weight.