42

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 ro