Let me just get this straight: Elliott and I offered to pay for your treatment, no strings attached–an offer which still stands, by the way–and you turn us down out of pride, whatever. And then you tell your wife that in fact we are paying for your treatment. Without our knowledge, against our will, you involve us in your lie, and you sit here and tell me that that is none of my business?
[long pause] Yeah. That's pretty much the size of it.
What happened to you? Really, Walt? What happened? Because this isn't you.
What would you know about me, Gretchen? What would your presumption about me be, exactly? That I should go begging for your charity, and you waving your checkbook around like some magic wand is going to make me forget how you and Elliott–how you and Elliott–cut me out?
What? That can't be how you see it.
It was my hard work. My research. And you and Elliott made millions off it.
That cannot be how you see it.
Oh God, that's beautifully done.
You left.
You are always the picture of innocence.
You left me.
The picture of innocence. Just sweetness and light.
You left me. Fourth of July weekend, you and my father and my brothers. And I go up to our room and you are packing your bags. Barely talking. What, did I dream all that?
That's your excuse? To build your little empire on my work?
How could you say that to me? You walked away, you abandoned us. Me, Elliott...
Little rich girl, just adding to your millions.
I don't even know what to say to you. I don't even know where to begin. I feel so sorry for you, Walt.
Fuck you.
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