August of 2015. The Charlotte Douglas International Airport. We needed more weed.

Our prior method of getting marijuana across the country had been detected, and we needed to find a new way. We had started losing packages in the mail, and a mattress with $100,000 worth of cannabis had been confiscated. The only solution we could come up with was to use a driver. I’d thought at the time that I’d found the perfect solution to our problem, one that utilized the perfect candidate: a middle-aged white man with a couple of kids and a string of bad luck. My partner and I agreed that this was the man for the job.

We’d stayed the night in a hotel before our early morning flight. I decided to split the money between my bag and his. At this point I had flown nearly every week with tens of thousands of dollars in my bag and never a second glance. As we went through security, we went in different lines. I made it through with no issues, as was usual. He, however, got stopped by security. They went through his bag, and though they found the forty grand, they seemingly allowed him to keep going. Close call, right? Wrong.

We went to the terminal’s Starbucks to grab some coffee before the flight. Next thing we know, there is a lady asking to see him. She had a Homeland Security jacket on, and I knew this was going to be a problem. As I watched them talk, I knew things weren’t going well. I could tell by her expression that she wasn’t believing anything he was telling her. Eventually she called me over and started asking me questions. The story we had gone over was simple to remember, but he had gone into too much detail, and she was catching him in lies. From this point on I knew we weren’t leaving with that money.

The whole time we were talking, I knew I had to protect the other forty-five grand in my bag. She informed us that they would be confiscating the money, and we needed to go to the Homeland Security office to fill out some paperwork. We were taken into what seemed like an endless maze under the airport. We finally arrived at a room filled with federal agents. They asked us if we would empty our bags to make sure we didn’t have anything else to hide. I simply asked, “Am I under arrest?” They answered, “No,” so I responded, “So I am free to go?” And they nodded that I was, so I told them I was exercising my right and left the office.

As I wound down the long hallways, I felt so much fear. Heart racing and pulse hammering, but somehow it felt like there wasn’t any oxygen in the air I was breathing. I was trying not to panic, but I had no idea where I was or what awaited me. All I knew was that I absolutely could not lose that money.

I made it outside and waited on a ride. Soon after, an officer came up to me and asked me what was in my bag. I once again asked if I was under arrest. Upon hearing that I wasn’t, I politely refused to allow him to search me. He informed me that I had left my ID in the Homeland Security office, and only I could retrieve it. At this moment the guy I was with came outside the terminal. I told him to watch my stuff while I went back to get my ID. When I walked back into the office, there was a dog waiting for me. They saw that I didn’t have my bag, so they quickly took the dog towards the exit. I got on my phone and told the guy to get in a cab immediately. He later told me that the dog walked right passed him as he was putting my bag into the cab. I got my ID back and my ride picked me up. The guy and I were supposed to meet back at the hotel we had stayed at the night before, but his cab driver took him to the wrong one. We finally met up and drove back to Greenville. We lost the forty grand but had saved the other forty-five.

Even writing about this day gives me chills. This was the moment that I felt what I was doing was real.