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When Frank first heard of the board's decision to file for bankruptcy on behalf of the still-unconscious David Sarif, he's not proud to admit that he locked himself in his office and near-sobbed in panic for a solid thirty minutes. Possibly longer.
Sarif Industries was the only legal job he'd ever had. It might well be the only one he ever will have - Frank is very aware that his personality is what might be politely called abrasive. Sarif tolerated it for the sake of Frank's skills - of course he did, he'd done much worse to get Frank working for him. Pulling him out of prison, for one. But that didn't mean anyone else would. Frank was good, of course he was - he was the fucking best, a genius at what he did.
But most companies didn't want a genius with personality issues. Most companies were perfectly happy to hire someone who was just good at what they did, and kept their head down and got on with things.
And that was before you even considered the augments. Frank didn't have many, not like Jensen did - had. But the ones he had were cranial, and not easily removed, even if he had wanted to. He didn't need large doses of neuropozyne, but he did need it.
That was his first port of call, once he uncurled from under his desk, swiped away lingering tears, and got to work. Sourcing neuropozyne. He had a stash - Sarif had turned a blind eye to him acquiring a little more than he technically needed every month. But it would only last six months or so, and that was only if Frank managed to keep hold of it. In the aftermath of the Aug Incident, as the papers had begun to call it... Well. Augmentation companies were collapsing and being bought out by Tai Yong left, right, and centre. Augmented people were being fired. Frank knew that it probably wouldn't be long until neuropozyne's street value shot up, and anyone with a stash would be at risk if people found out.
Frank had connections, though, and he leveraged them until he was certain that no matter where he went, no matter what happened, he would have a steady supply of neuropozyne as long as anyone on the planet could get hold of it. Then he turned to work - sending out feelers amongst his contacts, spreading the word that he was about to go freelance, that he'd consider a reduced introductory rate. He wasn't quite as notorious as he had been, back before prison, but his screenname still carried some weight.
Sarif Industries might be going down. But like fuck was Frank going down with it.