Chapter 345: Walter Makes His Move
Frank knew exactly how dangerous the battlefield was.
Of course he didn't want Ian to enlist.
But becoming a soldier had been Ian's dream since childhood. He had held onto it for years—training every single week at boot camps, rain or shine, through freezing winters and scorching summers.
That wasn't something that could be erased with a few casual words.
If it were that easy to give up, it wouldn't be called a dream.
If Frank forced Ian to quit, it would only spark conflict between them. And considering Frank had already inherited a mountain of emotional baggage from the original "Frank," his relationship with the kids hadn't exactly started off warm.
So outwardly, he chose to support Ian.
If Ian ended up pestering Castle, and Castle told him the darker, uglier side of military life—shattering Ian's idealized image of soldiers—then that would actually be the best possible outcome.
Life at home continued as usual.
Nothing major. Just the small, messy complications of everyday life. Every child had their own path, their own struggles.
Frank often found himself frowning, lost in thought. More than once, he pulled out his phone to call Walter—but after a few rings, the call would be rejected.
Meanwhile, things in New Mexico were far from quiet.
Pinkman had quit.
Frank was terminally ill and talking about dissolving Heisenberg altogether.
Only Walter insisted on keeping it alive—even if he had to do it alone.
But how could he possibly sustain Heisenberg by himself?
Take the newly built factory, for example.
Walter stood alone in the basement, staring blankly at crates filled with equipment of all sizes. He had no idea where to begin.
In their three-man partnership, Walter's role had always been clear: production.
He cooked.
At most, he monitored raw materials and production schedules. Everything else? Frank and Pinkman handled it.
Frank bought the factory. Walter only provided a list of equipment. Frank and Pinkman handled the purchases, the logistics, the delivery.
Even when Walter needed supplies—raw materials, chemicals—he just said the word. The other two took care of it.
Now they were gone.
And Walter was alone.
He didn't even know how to move forward.
Right now, the equipment had been delivered to the basement.
But how was he supposed to install it?
Some of the machines were taller than a person. There was no way Walter could set them up by himself, even if he exhausted himself trying.
So should he hire installers?
Hire who?
And from where?
This basement would become their production site. If he hired the wrong people and something leaked later, what then?
And even if the equipment was installed, what about the factory above ground?
According to the original plan, the surface-level factory had to operate legitimately—producing ordinary chemical products as a cover, disguising the true purpose of the basement lab.
Without that legitimate business running upstairs, the basement's power consumption alone would raise red flags.
If the basement started production without cover, it wouldn't last a month before someone noticed. A factory sitting idle on paper—but burning through massive electricity bills?
Obvious.
Walter felt overwhelmed.
In the past, Frank handled all of this.
Only now did Walter truly realize how important Frank had been.
For a long time, Walter believed he was the indispensable one.
Without his Blue Angel, there would be no Heisenberg.
That had always been his belief.
That was why, when Frank suggested they shut everything down and walk away, Walter had reacted so strongly.
He'd insisted that even if he were the only one left, he would keep Heisenberg alive.
His cancer was gone.
He could cook Blue Angel on his own.
Technically, he was capable of doing it.
But now that real-world problems were staring him in the face, Walter was finally forced to confront something uncomfortable—
Just how much Frank had actually been doing all along.
And how much Walter had relied on him.
Before, Frank made the decisions. Frank handled the operations.
Walter only had to produce.
Even when the three of them discussed something together and reached a decision, it was always Frank who carried it out afterward. Walter neither interfered nor paid much attention.
Without realizing it, Frank had become something like a stabilizing pillar in Walter's mind—a fixed anchor, a reassurance that everything would be handled.
To put it bluntly, Walter had been spoiled by that arrangement.
Meals ready when he opened his mouth. Solutions delivered when he extended his hand.
Strip away the production side of things, and what was Walter?
Just an ordinary public high school chemistry teacher.
"Fuck," Walter muttered after a long stretch of hesitation, slamming his hand against the steering wheel before finally starting the car.
He didn't go home.
Instead, he drove to the rental house.
Knock, knock, knock.
He wasn't knocking on the Jane's door.
He was knocking on Pinkman's.
"Who is it… Mr. White?" Pinkman opened the door and froze when he saw him.
Walter's expression was grim. He didn't answer. He simply stepped inside.
As soon as he entered, his eyes landed on the living room table.
Several large travel bags sat there. One of them was unzipped, revealing stacks of cash packed so tightly inside that the bills were practically spilling out.
Walter stopped walking.
He inhaled sharply.
No matter how many digits appeared on a bank statement, it could never compare to seeing mountains of cash right in front of you. The visual impact was different—visceral.
"Mr. White… Didn't Uncle Frank tell you? I—I've quit. I'm out," Pinkman said.
"He told me," Walter replied, forcing himself to look away from the money.
"Then… what are you here for?" Pinkman asked.
Outside of Heisenberg's business, the two of them barely had a relationship.
"Why are you quitting?" Walter asked directly.
"There's no big reason. I just don't want to do it anymore. I'm leaving New Mexico. Leaving the U.S." Pinkman answered.
"It's because of that girl next door, isn't it? Your little girlfriend," Walter said, piercing straight through him.
Pinkman didn't deny it. "We're leaving together."
"Frank told me you've started using again," Walter said, changing angles.
Pinkman frowned. "I'll quit."
"Quit?" Walter's voice sharpened. "Do you really think it's that easy? You can't do it alone. Stay. I'll help you."
And finally, Walter revealed his true intention.
He had realized something—he couldn't handle the operational side of things. The logistics, the cover businesses, the infrastructure.
So he had come to persuade Pinkman to stay. To come back to Heisenberg.
Frank's sudden talk of dissolving everything had only happened because Pinkman quit.
Even when Frank had been diagnosed with late-stage cirrhosis—when his time was supposedly running out—he had never once talked about shutting Heisenberg down.
On the contrary, during their calls, Frank had discussed what Heisenberg's future should look like after he was gone.
Now Walter understood.
Without Pinkman, without Frank—
He wasn't nearly as self-sufficient as he had believed.