Trust is Hard to Come By
Posted by Eric Welch on Mar 7th 2025
I kept making those drives to the country boys through the Kentucky backroads—trip after trip—until August hit, and the quality began to drop.
That’s the nature of outdoor. Outdoor, my favorite bud. Nothing like an organic outdoor grow. Mother Nature at her best, but at this time the harvest was coming to a close.
Even the best plugs run dry eventually. The flower starts to feel a little tired. The trim gets a little sloppier. The nose just isn’t there anymore. The harvest is done but I made sure to always buy if they had something.
Why?
Rule of Three:
1️⃣ Loyalty. They helped me grow. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you.
2️⃣ Positioning. I wanted to stay the go-to guy—the rep they trusted.
3️⃣ Consistency. Drought or not, you can’t sell something you don’t have. If you don’t have something long enough you lose your customer.
The problem was Mark.
Mark was the guy who first introduced me to that whole Western Kentucky crew. I always cut him in fair—same $300 markup I gave my cousin. No games. No greed.
But that wasn’t good enough for him.
Mark wanted more. But Mark didn’t have hustle in him. He had ego. He had envy. He was someone who never had to grind for anything, and when he realized he couldn’t get the respect I had from the Country Boy’s, resentment crept in. Quiet. Ugly.
And that’s when he came to me with “an opportunity.”
“Got a new plug,” he said. “Fire bud. Exotics. Five pounds for $15K.”
The country boys were running low. The weed was slipping in quality. I needed to keep my menu tight. It made sense on paper. I knew Mark. I trusted him.
That was my mistake.
August. Louisville. Humid as hell.
That thick, sticky Ohio Valley heat. The kind that slows your steps and makes your shirt cling to your back like regret. I was in my basement studio—blunt lit, game controller in hand, half-distracted by the smoke curling in the lamplight and the quiet hum of my TV.
"Where's your guy?" I asked Mark, lounging nearby.
“Oh, uh… he’s on the way. Said soon.”
Even now, I can hear that hesitation in his voice. That twitchy tell.
I should’ve known. Should’ve felt the shift in the air.
But I didn’t. Or maybe I did and ignored it.
Another flick. Another spark. Blunt reignited.
Then—rustling.
Outside.
I paused.
Listened.
Silence.
Probably the lady upstairs and her dog, I thought. Nothing.
Then—
BOOM.
The door explodes inward.
Three men. All black masks. Gloves. Guns.
My body froze. Shock hit first—then instinct.
Hands up.
One of them grabs me, presses the cold muzzle of a pistol into my ribs, and shoves me into the bathroom.
“Get in the tub,” he says.
I step in. Curtain pulled. Door slammed shut.
Darkness.
Silence.
My heartbeat in my ears.
Minutes crawl by. I don’t know how long I sat there. But when I stepped out, the place looked tossed.
And Mark?
He was still sitting there. Hands tied.
Like he never moved.
The perfect act.
They didn’t touch the two pounds I had tucked in the closet.
Didn’t touch the little personal grow I had bubbling in the kitchen closet.
Didn’t touch the extra few G’s in my jacket pocket.
They took one thing—the $15,000 in cash, in a shoebox, sitting right on the counter.
All of it.
Mark picked up his phone, like he was still playing his role.
“They just robbed us, man!” he shouted into the receiver. “You still coming?”
Bullshit.
No one else was coming.
The whole thing had been a setup.
And I knew it.
I didn’t flip out. Didn’t scream. Didn’t throw hands.
I just told him, “Go home.”
It wasn’t the first time I lost money in this game. Not even close.
But it was the first time I’d looked down the barrel of a gun.
And no, I didn’t have some come-to-Jesus moment. Didn’t swear off the hustle or hit my knees in the dark.
I took the hit, felt the sting, and kept it moving.
But over time, the truth started creeping in.
Mark stopped coming around. Started ducking me. Moved different.
He thought I wouldn’t find out.
I wasn’t a gangster. I wasn’t some hard-ass trying to make a name in the streets. I was just a kid who loved cannabis, who saw the hustle as a path out of nowhere. A chance at building something real. Something that would get me to L.A., to the life I knew was waiting.
And in that world?
Loyalty is everything.
I never lifted a finger. Didn’t need to.
One night at a bar in the Highlands, a mutual friend—someone who knew the game, who respected me—made sure Mark understood the consequences of his decisions.
Without me ever saying a word.
I’ve had a lot of people screw me over in this life.
But looking at where I am now?
I’m still here.
Still rising.
Still creating.
Still free.
And more blessed than ever.
See you next week