Chapter 9: Fractures in the Foundation
The lab in the warehouse was a thing of beauty. Everything had been upgraded: the equipment was state-of-the-art, and the workspace had been optimized for maximum efficiency. Jesse had everything under control—almost everything.
But there was a problem.
Walter had become more controlling, more obsessive, and it was starting to wear on Jesse. The constant scrutiny, the never-ending questions about every step in the process—it was getting old fast.
"Jesse, you're not measuring the temperature properly," Walter snapped one evening, eyes fixed on the digital thermometer in Jesse's hand.
Jesse stood up straight, irritation simmering beneath his calm facade. "It's fine, man. The reaction's fine."
Walter's lips tightened. "You're cutting corners. You can't do that. We're working with dangerous chemicals here!"
Jesse shot him a glare. "Yo, you're the one who wanted to scale up. Now you're stressing about every little thing? Relax."
Walter's hand clenched into a fist. "I'm not relaxing while you jeopardize this operation. This is too big for your—" He stopped himself, but the words hung in the air.
Jesse bristled. "For my what, huh? You think I can't handle this? I'm the one who made it this big, not you."
Walter took a step closer, his voice cold. "Without me, you wouldn't even have this lab. Without me, you wouldn't have the knowledge to produce anything more than street-level junk."
Jesse didn't flinch, but the words stung. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I needed your chemistry lessons. But I didn't need you to run things, man."
Walter's eyes flashed with anger. "I'm the reason you're not in prison right now, Jesse. I'm the reason you're not dead. Don't forget that."
Jesse's heart rate spiked, but he forced himself to remain calm. He was done being the underdog in this operation. He had helped build it from the ground up, and now Walter was acting like he was still in charge.
"Yeah, you saved me from getting locked up," Jesse said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm not your damn apprentice anymore."
Walter's jaw tightened, and for a moment, it felt like the air itself was thick with tension.
"Maybe you should be," Walter muttered, turning back to the table.
Jesse's fists clenched. "I'm not your student," he repeated, his voice a little louder this time.
Walter paused, his back to him. The silence stretched for a beat too long.
"You're not leading this," Walter finally said, his voice low and dangerous.
The words hit Jesse like a punch to the gut. "I'm leading this damn thing just fine."
Walter slowly turned around. "You think you're running things? You're playing at this, Jesse. And one mistake, one wrong move, and we both pay for it. You're not ready for what comes next."
Jesse's face reddened. "You keep saying that. But I am ready. And if you can't see that, maybe you should get out of my way."
The words hung between them like a threat, and for a moment, it seemed like neither of them knew how to move forward.
Walter's lips curled into a sneer. "Fine. Do it your way. But when this blows up in your face, don't come crawling back to me."
Jesse stared him down, refusing to back down. But the truth hit him—he was sick of Walter's dominance, and more importantly, he was sick of being treated like the second-in-command.
The Breaking Point
A few days later, things had only escalated. Walter's presence in the lab was stifling, his constant hovering and questioning becoming unbearable. Jesse found himself doing everything he could to avoid direct contact, working longer hours alone, not answering when Walter called.
Finally, Jesse reached his breaking point.
"Yo, Walter," Jesse called as he walked into the lab. "I need a break. I'm done for today."
Walter didn't even look up from the notebook he was scribbling in. "We're not done. Not until the batch is ready."
Jesse's voice hardened. "I said I'm done, man."
Walter slammed the notebook shut and turned to face him. "You don't tell me when you're done, Jesse. You're working until it's finished."
Jesse's chest tightened with frustration. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for—the moment when he took control of his own damn life.
"No, Walter," he said, his voice low but firm. "I'm done. I'm not your damn assistant anymore, and I'm not your slave."
Walter's eyes narrowed. "You think you can do this without me? You think you can run an operation of this size with no experience?"
Jesse's heart raced, but his voice was steady. "I don't need you. I never did."
There was a long, charged silence between them. Walter's expression darkened, the weight of the words settling in.
Jesse walked toward the exit, not bothering to look back. But before he reached the door, he heard Walter's voice.
"Go ahead, Jesse. Walk away. But know this—you'll fail."
Jesse stopped for a second, staring at the door in front of him. Then, without another word, he walked out.
A New Path
Jesse didn't look back. He knew what he had to do now. The lab, the product, the network—it was all his. No more looking over his shoulder, no more second-guessing himself. He was in charge, and nothing was going to stop him.
That night, he sat in his car outside the warehouse, the weight of the decision still heavy in his chest. But he wasn't going to let Walter win.
He'd proved his worth. He'd built this operation with his own hands, and now he was going to make it bigger than anything Walter could ever imagine.
But with this new sense of freedom came a price. The cartel was already circling, and Gus Fring's offer still loomed over him like a shadow.
Jesse had no illusions about what was ahead, but for the first time in a long while, he felt free.
He started the car and drove off into the night, his future uncertain, but his path clear.