Big Weed by Christian Hageseth Page A

warehouses—what people in the business simply call “grows”—it occurred to me that there had to be a betterway. But I was still too new to the business to try anything risky. I just needed to get into the business. I’d start small. I’d grow indoors. I’d learn the business from the ground up and then learn ways to innovate.
    I also needed some venture capital. I had little of my own that I could sink into the business. I would need more.
    My wife thought I was crazy. We had always been cut from a different cloth in that respect. She had an excellent job as a sports marketing executive. America’s professional sports teams were lucky to have her pulling for them, believe me. But despite everything she’d seen me accomplish in my previous companies, she still believed that a career was all about landing a killer job. Her resistance to my legal marijuana concept eventually went from gentle to aggressive.
    It didn’t help that one day one of my daughters innocently inquired, “Daddy, why do you smell like lemons all the time?”
    My first rule of parenting is never lie to your kids. So I sat all three of them down and told them all that I was thinking about entering the legal marijuana business. We talked about what marijuana was and why grown-ups would want to buy it. The different odors they smelled on my clothes—lemons, yes, but also pine, skunk, mango, blueberry, and so on—came from the plants I was spending so much time with. Basically, I patiently answered every single question they had until the questions dried up and they got bored of talking about how their daddy spent his day.
    My wife had a lot of fears.
    You have three daughters.
    What if you end up arrested?
    What if you end up bankrupt again?
    And on and on.
    Over the next four years, her worries only grew, even after the money started to flow.
    On the other end of the spectrum were people like my mom. She had some concerns about my new venture, but she always wanted toknow more, to understand. She was open to the possibility that if the state said marijuana was legal, maybe, just maybe, this could be a huge opportunity.
    When I wanted an open mind to bounce ideas off of, I went to talk to Mr. Pink. Most of the neighborhood congregated at his swimming pool during our off hours. His parties were some of my favorite memories, brimming with interesting people, camaraderie, and joy.
    He and I would also meet for drinks at the Tavern Lowry in Denver and kick ideas around.
    We saw eye to eye on a lot of things. You could tell by the questions he asked.
    How much money do you think a start-up would cost?
    What will you spend it on?
    What would be the return?
    How will you distribute?
    What were strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats of the business?
    From the beginning, both of us grasped that the key to success in this business was growing the marijuana. By law, we were not yet required to be vertically integrated—that would come soon. But I knew the business model would work better if we were vertically integrated. We would then control not only the supply and the quality of the marijuana but also the packaging, branding, and point-of-sale marketing.
    The biggest unknown, everyone thought, was that somehow the federal government would one day grow weary of the states legalizing marijuana, then descend on us all, seize our businesses and facilities, shut us down, arrest us, and hit us all with federal charges. That was definitely a worst-case scenario. It was a consideration, but it was extreme. I preferred to look on the bright side.
    Landlords aren’t going to be eager to have you rent from them, Mr. Pink said. You’re looking at higher rent to make up for their risk. And the insurance will be higher too, I surmised.
    The illegal drug business would not go away. Even in Denver I knew marijuana users who refused to get their legal red cards; they just didn’t trust the system. They