Chapter 251: The Invitation
"We don't have a place to stay right now, so it's best if we can move in today," Frank said as he finished filling out the form.
"I'll give my dad a call," Jane offered.
A few minutes later, Jane returned.
"It's fine. As long as you pay, the place is yours," she said.
"I live right next door. If you need anything, just come find me," she added after collecting the payment.
"Stop staring. You're practically drooling," Frank teased as Jane walked away.
"Ahem…" Pinkman gave an awkward cough, clearly embarrassed.
With the housing issue settled, Frank immediately called Walter to give him their new address.
"Why this place?" Walter asked as he arrived at the rented house, clearly confused.
Previously, they always met at Pinkman's place. During Frank and Pinkman's absence, Walter hadn't visited, so he was unaware of what had happened to Jesse's home.
"It's a long story. From now on, this is our new meeting spot," Frank explained.
"These are your earnings," he added, placing a briefcase on the counter.
"!!" Walter's pupils contracted slightly as he opened the case and saw stacks of cash inside.
No matter how many numbers are tossed around on the phone, nothing compares to seeing real, tangible money laid out before you.
Walter picked up a stack and flipped through it, unable to stop himself from feeling emotional.
Not too long ago, he had to max out his credit cards just to cover a $5,000 consultation fee, and the $90,000 treatment bill nearly drove his family into chaos.
Now, $200,000 sat right in front of him—and it was all his.
After decades of diligent, tireless teaching, all he'd managed to save was a few thousand dollars. Meanwhile, his mortgage and car loans were still hanging over him.
"Walter, you don't need to check—it's all real," Frank said with understanding. He didn't want to interrupt Walter's quiet reflection, but Jesse clearly lacked the same tact.
"Thanks," Walter said sincerely, closing the briefcase.
"This is dirty money. Have you thought about how you're going to clean it? I have some assets in Chicago—I can help launder it for you," Frank offered.
"I'll think about it," Walter replied, his grip tightening around the briefcase.
Seeing his reaction, Frank dropped the subject.
"So, how's the formula coming along?" Frank asked, changing the topic.
"Oh! Right!" Walter had been so distracted by the cash that he'd completely forgotten why he'd come.
"This is the chemical formula I developed. It avoids all the ingredients that are hard to obtain," he said, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket.
It quickly became clear that neither Frank nor Pinkman had any clue what they were looking at. To them, Walter's formula might as well have been written in another language.
"This is the shopping list. Once we've got everything on it, we can get started," Walter continued.
"Six liters of… something? Some kind of methyl? What kind of furnace is this? Mr. White, I can't even pronounce half of this stuff," Jesse stammered as he tried to read the list.
"These are all essential. I believe you can get your hands on them," Walter replied with confidence.
"We'll figure it out," Frank assured him.
Frank didn't recognize most of the items either. They weren't things you'd find in an ordinary store, but that didn't matter. As long as you had a name, you could get what you needed—just like buying prescription drugs from a pharmacy. You don't need to know what they're for, just the name, and the clerk will fetch them for you.
Fortunately, Walter's handwriting was legible—unlike a doctor's.
After wrapping up business, they left Jesse alone in the apartment to figure out how to decorate the new place.
"How's your health?" Frank asked Walter as they stepped outside for a smoke.
"Same as before. The treatments haven't helped at all," Walter replied.
"What about you? Have you gotten treatment for your cancer?" Walter asked in return.
"Looking at you? Hell no. I don't want to suffer through that crap. Besides, I can't even imagine what I'd look like bald," Frank said.
"Oh, by the way, in a couple of days we're throwing a birthday party at my house. You should come. While you were gone, Junior kept asking about his 'uncle Frank,'" Walter added.
"A birthday party? Your wife's about to give birth?" Frank asked in surprise.
"Yeah." A warm smile spread across Walter's face at the thought of the new life soon to arrive.
"Got a name yet?" Frank asked.
"We're thinking of 'Meralda'. Marie picked it. But Skyler wants to go with 'Holly,'" Walter replied.
After chatting a bit more, Walter headed home.
Frank and Jesse later went shopping for furniture—there was nothing in the new house, so at the very least, they needed two beds and mattresses. Otherwise, they'd be sleeping on the floor.
Over the next few days, Frank and Jesse were busy scouring the black market for the items on Walter's list.
Jesse did most of the legwork—this was his turf, after all. Frank, unfamiliar with New Mexico, stuck close to make sure Jesse didn't get scammed.
The items on the list were rare—not something you'd find on store shelves. But with enough money, anything was possible. It just took time and effort to source them from out of town.
They had made $660,000 from the last batch. In theory, each of them should've received $220,000, but each only took $200,000. The remaining $60,000 went into a public fund for "Heisenberg Enterprises" to cover shared expenses.
For example, the reward paid to Old Milkovich had come from that shared pot.
Public is public, private is private. In any group or business, the line between the two must be clear—or things fall apart quickly.
Frank had made this point clear to both Walter and Jesse during their first planning meeting, even before they cooked their first batch.
If the public fund ever ran dry, they'd each chip in equally to replenish it.
They had spent a bit of the shared money already, but there was still more than enough left to cover the rest of the supplies.
A few days passed, and Frank arrived at Walter's house for the birthday party.
"Uncle Frank! When did you get back? Come in! Come in!" Junior exclaimed excitedly, hobbling to the door with his crutches.
"I just got back a couple of days ago," Frank said, giving him a warm hug.
The house was decorated with streamers and balloons, and the table was loaded with food—some homemade by Walter's family, others brought by guests.
There's a Western tradition: when visiting someone's home, you bring a dish to share. Everyone enjoys it together.
That's why, in so many Western TV shows and movies, people show up holding a tray—usually with pie or pasta..