Chapter 262: One of a Kind
"What's this?" Old Milkovich asked curiously, catching the sample Frank tossed to him.
"Our newly developed product," Frank said with a smirk. "One of a kind in the whole world—completely unique. It may be blue, but it's of even higher quality than before. Practically perfect. You can try it yourself."
Old Milkovich eyed the sample suspiciously, but without hesitation, opened the bag and took a hit.
"Damn! This is insane!" he exclaimed, clenching his fists. A surge of raw energy rushed through him, as if he could punch a bull to death.
"This is even better than the last batch! Who cares if it's blue, yellow, or pink—as long as it works! How much of this stuff do you have?" he asked eagerly.
"Same as always—however much you want, I've got it," Frank replied calmly.
"Got it. Tomorrow, same spot. I'll bring people," Old Milkovich said.
"Sure. Just a heads up—last time the amount they asked for was too little. You should bring more people and do a proper count. Call me tonight and let me know how much you'll need," Frank said.
"Even more than last time?" Milkovich was stunned, sucking in a sharp breath.
Last time, Frank had offloaded over ten pounds—and now he was talking more? This was far from a small operation.
Frank stayed at the Milkovich house for a bit, chatted with Mickey and Mandy, then left.
That same night, Frank got a call from Old Milkovich. The order this time had more than doubled—they wanted over thirty pounds.
Frank had brought back sixty pounds in total, so he was only selling half of it for now.
The next day, Frank and Pinkman brought the goods to the usual meeting spot.
Though none of the big buyers had ever seen blue product before, they had already tried the sample Milkovich had brought them the previous day. They now knew the color might be odd—but the quality was unmatched.
With higher quality came higher value.
After testing the product on the spot and confirming its quality, the trade was completed: nearly two million in cash. Even Pinkman struggled to lift the bags.
Once the deal was done, Frank didn't leave right away. Instead, he sat down with the big players and talked business.
Thanks to Walter's new formula, they were no longer limited by raw material shortages. This meant large-scale production was now possible—allowing them to guarantee a stable supply line.
Frank negotiated monthly quotas with them and other business arrangements.
When it was all done, he and Pinkman didn't stash the money in the station locker like last time. This wasn't just a few hundred grand—this was almost two million.
They drove straight to Sheila's house and found Karen.
"This much cash!?" Karen's eyes nearly popped out at the sight of it.
Pinkman looked equally stunned. Even now, it all still felt like a dream to him.
"I've already asked Anfisa to hurry back," Frank said, hanging up the phone.
When Anfisa returned and saw the stacks of cash, her face was full of shock.
Frank's goal in coming to Sheila's was to deposit all of the money into the company accounts.
This kind of money—especially in cash—was far too dangerous to keep lying around, especially in a place like the South Side.
Walter and Pinkman had already agreed to let Frank handle the laundering. Frank had full control of the money; he just needed to make sure the clean profit was properly split with them.
However, they couldn't just dump this much cash into personal bank accounts—it would draw way too much attention.
But company accounts were a different story. In the corporate world, two million wasn't particularly outrageous. Some companies had capital running into tens of millions.
Previously, Frank had set up two shell companies: a chemical company and a media company. He could easily run the money through them.
Lately, Karen had been learning how to run a business. She even interned at a real media company. Anfisa had also been studying accounting.
As long as the books were clean and audit-proof, the money would be fine.
After a long day of depositing the funds, Frank finally breathed a sigh of relief.
He'd seen his fair share of action before—but this amount of money still made his heart race.
With everything handled, Frank and Pinkman drove home. It was already dark.
"Lip." Frank stepped inside and saw Lip sitting on the couch, tinkering with a laptop. Lip hadn't come home the night before.
"Fiona said you were back," Lip greeted him without looking up.
"What've you been working on lately?" Frank asked, lighting a cigarette while Pinkman was pulled away by Carl.
"Professor Hurst is working with the Department of Defense on a prototype for a mini drone—supposedly to help the military more easily blow up shepherds in Iraq," Lip said. "Though I think he just wants government funding to impress his female students."
"I've been helping him. It counts for some assembly language credits, and it'll look good on my college résumé," Lip added, gesturing for Frank to hand him a cigarette.
"College résumé? You've decided to go to college?" Frank's eyes lit up.
"Yeah. I talked to Professor Hurst—he submitted my paperwork. I'll be starting at the University of Chicago. That old bastard used it to rope me into his drone experiment. He's out partying every night and dumping the whole project on me," Lip said, poking at his hair in frustration.
"Mandy's outside, waiting for you," Ian said as he walked in.
Lip uploaded his files, closed the laptop, and left.
Through the window, Frank watched Lip and Mandy embrace. They chatted and laughed as they walked away together.
It seemed they hadn't broken up—they were still a couple.
If that was the case, why did Lip choose the University of Chicago?
With his grades and no more worries about tuition, he could've gone anywhere in the world.
Frank knew Lip loved tinkering with machines—robots, drones, all that. His dream school had always been MIT.
So choosing the University of Chicago… wasn't that because Karen was there?
Frank understood his son far better than Lip probably realized.
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