Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Fortunately, the lodge isn’t that close geographically, and it’s nowhere near completion either. Hell, Grace might not even be aware of it, and in that moment, I make a choice to keep mum. I don’t want her to know that there’s a billionaire next door with every resource at my disposal. I don’t want her to suspect that while she might be doing her dishes by hand in cold water, I plan on hiring a full staff to oversee my home. I don’t want her to know that I have no need to grow my own vegetables to eat, and that I haven’t tinkered with the engine of a car in twenty years. There are mechanics to take care of that shit, and my house manager makes sure it gets done.
Instead, I take a deep breath and put a smile on my face.
“Cool, cool. So the greenhouse is where you grow the weed right? Is that the extent of your operations? It looks pretty small scale.”
Grace appears conflicted for a moment, and I wonder if she’s going to lie because there’s no way she could grow more than twenty or thirty plants in the small space. That’s certainly not enough for any kind of retail operation, but then, she shakes her head and leads me to walk about a hundred feet to the right. The cabin and greenhouse overlook a small clearing which slopes slightly downwards, and that’s when I see it. There are what appear to be a couple acres of plant growth, shaggy and green beneath the afternoon sunlight.
“We do grow some cannabis in the greenhouse, but we also grow outdoors,” Grace explains, gesturing with one arm. “Most folks in this area do. We have access to free sunshine and temperate weather, so why not? Northern California is known for conditions hospitable to cultivating cannabis.”
That’s true because Northern California, especially Humboldt County, is famed for its mild climate and rich, loamy soil.
“And how many cultivars do you produce?” I ask thoughtfully, rubbing my square jaw. Honestly, this is still a tiny operation, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she said only one or two.
But Grace brightens.
“We’re working with five or six. Okay, maybe only three or four, but I like to play around with my plants and experiment. You know how the industry is these days. Most pot is purchased by regular users, and the thing with MJ is that people build up tolerance. So they want stuff that’s super-potent, and I’m working on developing a strain that’s especially strong just to satisfy market demands.”
“I see,” I comment in a low voice. “None of that low potency shit.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Grace says with a shrug. “It just doesn’t sell as well. In fact, I know some folks have started growing their own plants in small apartments with grow lights because they can’t actually buy low potency stuff. But yeah, most customers are daily users, so our stuff is pretty strong.”
“And growing outdoors must help build potency too,” I muse.
“It does,” Grace agrees. “Natural sunlight helps cannabis plants produce more terpenes, which are the aromatic compounds that give weed its unique scent and flavor. Outdoor cannabis plants typically have a richer and more complex terpene profile than their indoor counterparts, although I have to say the plants from my greenhouse are incredibly aromatic and flavorful nonetheless. But terpenes don’t just make for a richer aroma. They also make the weed more potent by enhancing its psychoactive effects.”
I nod because Grace is young and obviously something fucked up is going on with her family. But she’s no dummy when it comes to her job, and I respect her for that. It can’t be easy to fend for yourself halfway up a mountain with no guidance and little input. I’m about to make an offhand remark, but then the curvy girl turns to me with an inquisitive look.
“So do you still think we’re trespassing on your property? You’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you around these parts before, and I grew up in Fairview. How are you so familiar with where our land stops, and yours begins?”
I think on my feet, my mind whirling. Again, I don’t want to give away that I’m a billionaire building a massive compound a couple miles from where we’re standing. I don’t want Grace to realize that I had my property scoped within an inch of its life, even before I purchased it. I also don’t want her to know that I have the County Assessor on speed dial, as well as the Mayor of Fairview, and even the Governor of California himself. If I want this patch of land to be mine, then it will be.
But there’s no reason to bring down the hammer because the curvy girl is young, innocent, and still naïve in certain ways. It would be cruel joke to alert her to the realities of gentrification, not to mention the encroachment of a billionaire who can take whatever he wants. Don’t get me wrong because Grace is also incredibly astute, and has demonstrated an ability to manage a cash crop on her own, which entails deep understanding of seasonal weather patterns, soil productivity, and plant life cycles. But still, something in my gut makes me pause because I don’t want to pop her bubble. There’s an endearing quality about the young woman, and I’m not ready to aim and fire quite yet.