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It takes a week to set up the meeting. Orin, Sean, and I work tirelessly, making phone calls, begging, threatening, cajoling. I offer promises of safety, cash bonuses, whatever I need to say to get everyone to agree.
But come Monday, the ten owners of the ten largest marijuana-producing farms in the state are seated around a conference room table in my lawyer’s office. It’s a solid, neutral third-party, and there are maybe two dozen unaffiliated lawyers and interns in the cubicles beyond all but guaranteeing everyone’s safety. Even I’m not stupid enough to break the law in front of a bunch of litigious dickheads.
“Thank you all for coming,” I say, standing at the head of the table.
The people before me aren’t what I first imagined. Some are grizzled, older farmers, but most are relatively young and see themselves more as entrepreneurs and businessmen.
The owner of the largest farm in the region goes by Mac McElvay. He’s in his fifties, thick gray beard, currently wearing a sleek black suit. “I’m only here to demand reparations for the crop you ruined,” he says, glaring daggers. “Don’t think we don’t know that shit was you, Crowley.”
I don’t bother to deny it. “We’ll get to that shortly.”
“You really did it?” Another farmer speaks up. This one’s a younger woman in her thirties named Tess Shame. Sleek black hair, severe straight nose. “You do realize I’m recording this?”
“I haven’t admitted to anything,” I say and hold up my hands before the others can break in. “Please, this is about more than your grievances.”
“You burned millions worth of weed that night,” Mac says, sounding pissed. Not that I can blame him. His fields took a heavy hit, and he might’ve lost out the most. “You’re gonna call that a fucking grievance?”
“He’s right,” another farmer calls out. “We want to make this right.”
I feel the room slipping. Their anger’s feeding off each other. “Rustik Aslan’s been stealing from you all for years. What I may or may not have done isn’t important right now.”
That gets their attention. The calls for my head quiet down at least.
Tess leans forward. “That seems pretty convenient for you, Mr. Crowley. Do you have any proof?”
I gesture at Sean and he hands out the files we prepared. “In each of those folders are pages which were found by Liliya Aslan, Rustik’s late wife. I came across them in her father’s study. He attempted to bury this information in order to curry favor with Rustik.”
I watch as the group pages through the files. Some don’t know what they’re looking at. Others, like Mac and Tess, are smart enough to figure it out right away.
“How do we know this is real?” Mac asks. He sounds thoughtful now. At least he’s not actively trying to cut off my head.
“Check your records. You’ll find proof in your own files. Rustik’s been skimming money for a long time now, hiding his theft as fees, taxes, and various business expenses. But all that money tumbles into a black hole of shell corporations, all of which lead directly into his personal pockets. You all have trusted Rustik for a long time now, and I understand this will be hard to swallow, but he’s been more interested in making himself rich than in running a legitimate business, and you’re all victims of his greed.”
The room’s silent. They’re all staring at me with varying expressions. Tess breaks the tension. “No kidding,” she says. “Nobody in this room thought the Aslan family gave a damn about any of us.”
“I only work with them because I have no other choice,” Mac grumbles.
“Same with me,” Tess agrees, and a few voices rise up to echo that sentiment. “I can handle doing business with Rustik. I may not like him or his methods, but we’ve all been fairly successful. I can pay tribute. However, what I can’t abide, is outright theft.”
More grumbling. I let them rile each other up for a moment, skimming the documents again. Getting really outraged.
Then I speak.
“The Crowley family has been doing business for longer than the Aslan family’s been in this country. We know how to treat our partners fairly. We know how to have a mutually beneficial relationship. We don’t steal from the people we work with. If any of you doubt that, ask around. I suspect some of you already have.”
“You’ve got a good reputation,” Mac concedes. “Well, maybe not you, but your organization.”
“That’s who you’d be working with,” I tell him, which is mostly true. The second I can hand this fiasco off to Carson, I’ll throw it in his lap like a burning hot coal. “My family will do everything the Aslan family currently does, but we won’t steal from you. We don’t need to. We want long-term, prosperous relationships.”
I notice a few dubious looks. “We get it, you’ve got reach, but Rustik owns this town,” Tess points out. “Even if we wanted to get rid of him—”
