Chapter 25: Calculated Risks
Jesse sat on his balcony, the city lights stretching out beneath him. The night air was cool, crisp. It should have been peaceful.
But his mind was racing.
Victor Martinez had offered him something huge—expansion into new markets, access to high-end clientele, and more importantly, legitimacy. If Jesse played this right, he wouldn't just be a meth kingpin.
He'd be a businessman.
But trusting someone like Martinez? That was the gamble.
He had no illusions. Guys like Victor didn't make offers out of generosity. They saw potential, and they used it.
Jesse just had to make sure he was the one using him.
The DEA Closes In
Hank was in his garage, the familiar weight of cold beer in his hand. His corkboard was covered in notes, pinned-up photos, and lines connecting them all.
Blue meth.
No signs of Walt.
But Jesse Pinkman? The bastard had gone dark—too dark. No arrests, no traffic stops, no sightings.
People like Jesse didn't just disappear.
Not unless they had money.
A lot of money.
Hank frowned, taking another swig of beer. If Jesse was still cooking, he wasn't doing it out of some trailer in the desert.
No. This was something bigger.
Something smarter.
And if he was right?
Then Jesse Pinkman wasn't just running from the law.
He was building something.
The First Deal with Martinez
The warehouse was spotless—almost too clean. Jesse could smell fresh paint, industrial cleaners. Martinez had picked a location that wouldn't leave a trace.
Smart.
Jesse arrived alone, dressed sharp but casual. He had to show confidence, not desperation.
Martinez was already waiting, leaning against a desk, his men flanking him.
"You came." Martinez smiled.
Jesse shrugged. "I don't like wasting time."
Martinez nodded. "Good. Then let's talk business."
He gestured to a table where a small metal briefcase sat. One of his men opened it, revealing a row of neatly stacked bills.
"Half a million," Martinez said. "A sample run. You supply, we distribute."
Jesse didn't even blink. "That's not how I do business."
Martinez's smile faltered. "Excuse me?"
Jesse stepped forward, lowering his voice. "I don't front product. You pay for what you get, no credit. And if we're doing this, I set the terms."
Martinez studied him for a moment, then chuckled. "You've got balls, Pinkman."
Jesse met his gaze. "And product you can't get anywhere else."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Martinez nodded. "Alright. You name your price."
And just like that, Jesse set the deal in motion.
NZT and Control
Jesse walked into his penthouse after the meeting, his heart still steady, his mind clear.
He hadn't taken NZT.
And he hadn't needed it.
That meant something.
It meant he was still in control.
He placed the case of NZT in his safe, locking it up.
Three days off. That was the new rule. He would take the drug strategically, not habitually.
Because if he let himself become dependent, he'd never know if his success was his own…
Or just the drug's.