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Summer was in full effect. The country boys were deep in their next harvest, and I was stacking money like never before. I was 20 years old, turning 21, and for the first time in my life, I felt ahead. No more struggling to eat. No more counting dollars at the gas pump. No more holding my breath every time my busted car hit a pothole, praying it wouldn’t break down. For the first time, money …

The drive had become second nature. Country roads. Cell service dropping off. White knuckles on the steering wheel. A silence between songs that hung in the car like fog. Just me, my thoughts, and the low hum of tires eating miles on the backroads of Kentucky. I was a regular by this point. Like a milkman or the trash guy—always showing up at the same place, same time, without question. Exce …