Gregory
Keely returns to Boston empty-handed. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help, but you’ve got one hell of a wife,” she says before she goes.
“I appreciate your help.”
The house feels quiet once she’s gone. Allison promises not to leave the premises and doesn’t try to test her boundaries. Instead, she’s depressed, staying in our room for long stretches at a time. I try to lure her out with good meals, but she’s not interested in anything. Watching her spiral like this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
But there’s one way to fix this. At least there’s a path, and I have to take the steps myself, because I’m afraid Allison can’t do it herself.
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, Callahan.”
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. “Paul Debarcio’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. Callahan. 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 Freya Debarcio, Paul’s late wife. I came across them in her father’s study. He attempted to bury this information in order to curry favor with Paul.”
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. Paul’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 Paul 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 Debarcio 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 Paul. 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 Callahan family has been doing business for longer than the Debarcio 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 Debarcio 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 Paul owns this town,” Tess points out. “Even if we wanted to get rid of him-”
“You let me worry about that. I’ll ask for one favor, and one favor only. The rest will be for me to handle.”
She looks uncertain. “We could just stop Paul from stealing.”
“True, you could. But I can give you access to the East Coast markets. Marijuana will be legalized throughout the northeast, it’s only a matter of time, and you all will be uniquely positioned to move in with your mature product. I can ensure a smooth, even prioritized transition.”
“All we gotta do is grant you one favor?” Mac asks. There’s more murmuring among the assembled.
“Only the one,” I say, giving them my most charming smile. Waiting for someone to ask. The silence is filling up the room, the suspense thick and tightening.
“Which is?” Tess finally prompts.
And I know I have them.