Chapter 286: A Warning
"So this is how real top-tier product is made…"
Peggy picked up a piece of Blue Angel, dazzling like a sapphire, and couldn't help but sigh with emotion.
She'd been in this line of work herself once. Back then, she'd always looked down on the products circulating on the streets, believing they were all more or less the same—same crude methods, same sloppy craftsmanship. Quality, in her eyes, was mostly a matter of luck.
But now, having witnessed true professional technique with her own eyes, she was completely convinced.
She had to admit it—she'd been a frog at the bottom of a well, ignorant of how vast the world really was, unaware of what real talent looked like.
In that sense, her final wish had been fulfilled. She had no regrets left.
"Frank," Peggy asked once they were back home, "have you learned this technique?"
"No," Frank shook his head. "I can't."
"That's a pity," Peggy said calmly. "But Jesse has learned it. As long as Jesse knows how to do it, that's enough."
"What do you mean?" Frank asked.
"Do you understand the value of this Blue Angel?" Peggy asked, her tone turning grave.
"What Walter created is a product that can completely overturn the entire industry. I've never seen anything of this quality—never."
"And more importantly, only you can make it."
"The materials you use, the methods you apply—they're all unheard of. Completely new. Even if others wanted to copy it, they couldn't."
"Do you know what that means?"
"It means this is an exclusive product. A monopoly. No one else in the world can replicate it."
"Walter truly is a genius—a top-tier genius. If he'd risen a few decades earlier, he'd be on the level of Pablo Escobar or Carlos Lehder," Peggy said.
The names she mentioned were legendary drug lords, figures etched into history. That alone showed just how highly she regarded Walter.
"But," Peggy continued, "Walter isn't someone who'll stay under another person's thumb for long. He may look a bit meek right now, but I can tell—he's not someone you can easily control. You won't be able to."
"Jesse, on the other hand, is different. He's an honest, simple kid. I don't know what kind of spell you cast on him, but he trusts you deeply—and that, you've handled very well."
"If something ever goes wrong in the future," Peggy said slowly,
"at least you'll still have Pinkman as a card to play."
Her gaze lingered on Frank—less like advice, more like a final reminder.
Any technology-driven innovative enterprise has a core product.
Most of the time, that core product is developed by the boss himself—the founder is a scientist—or it's protected by airtight contracts and patents, locked down so tightly that no one can touch them.
Take Gray Matter, for example. Its core technology and patents are firmly held in Gretchen and Elliott's hands.
Those kinds of core technologies are protected by law. If anything goes wrong, the lawyers step in immediately—they're not just there for show.
Heisenberg's core product, however, is the Blue Angel.
And the problem is this:
the formula and the technique for Blue Angel exist only in Walter's head.
This kind of thing can never see the light of day. There's no way to apply for a patent. Frank can't rely on the law to secure his interests.
He might file a patent application in the morning—and be invited by the police for a "chat" in the afternoon.
What Frank and the others are doing can't really be described as a company anyway.
It's more like a small, privately run restaurant.
Frank is the manager.
Walter is the head chef.
And whether the restaurant thrives or fails depends almost entirely on the chef's skill.
If the chef is good and the food tastes great, business booms.
If the food is bad, customers stop coming—simple as that.
This was exactly the point Peggy was trying to drive home.
Right now, the restaurant is a partnership among three people, with very clear roles.
Frank is the face of the business—bringing in customers, managing connections, handling logistics.
Walter cooks—the core of the operation.
Pinkman is the all-around helper: assisting in the kitchen, occasionally cooking, running errands, sourcing supplies—basically doing everything.
Walter owns shares in this "restaurant" too. Logically, everyone should just work together and make money.
But the danger lies in other thoughts creeping in.
What if Walter starts thinking:
The restaurant is already famous. Customers come on their own now. We don't need someone hustling for business anymore. Frank's role has become insignificant—yet he still takes such a large cut every time.
At that point, Walter might decide it would be better to kick Frank out, hire someone cheap to act as the front, pay a fixed salary, and keep all the profits for himself.
Just like Steve Jobs—who founded Apple, only to be kicked out of his own company.
The difference is that Frank isn't Steve Jobs.
Frank doesn't know how to cook.
If he's kicked out, he can't start a new restaurant on his own. He has no technical skill to fall back on.
He'd become nothing more than a disposable tool—used, then discarded—working only to benefit someone else.
But this restaurant doesn't have just Frank and Walter.
There's a third person: Pinkman.
Pinkman has been apprenticing in the kitchen this whole time—and he's already learned Walter's technique.
As long as Frank holds onto Pinkman, even if he's kicked out, it won't be the end.
With Pinkman's skills, Frank could rise again, reopen shop, and compete head-on with Walter.
In fact, if things went far enough, they could even end up kicking Walter out instead.
"You also need to be careful," Peggy warned,
"that he might try to win Jesse over. That kid is soft-hearted—you can tell at a glance."
Jesse didn't just learn how to "cook" from Walter.
He also ran errands with Frank. He knew the business, the connections, the clients—everything.
If Walter managed to pull Jesse to his side and kick Frank out, Jesse could simply take over Frank's role.
Two people splitting profits instead of three—wouldn't that be far more tempting?
And with Jesse firmly under his control, Walter wouldn't have to worry about the formula leaking out.
Blue Angel would remain a monopoly—his monopoly.
"..."
Frank frowned deeply as he listened. He'd never considered any of this.
"No matter what," Peggy said firmly,
"you must remember this: you have to protect Jesse. At all costs."
"Huh? Wait…"
Frank didn't understand at first. Then, after a moment, his head snapped up as realization hit him. He stared at Peggy in disbelief.
Right now, only two people in the world knew the Blue Angel formula:
Walter.
And Pinkman.
No one else.
If Walter wanted to ensure total monopoly—absolute control—there were only two options.
The first was to bind Pinkman to himself completely, locking him onto his side.
The second…
Was to make sure that everyone else who knew the formula
disappeared.
Leaving only himself.