'A final ice pick to my skull': MedMen founder Adam Bierman tells all about the day he lost control of the company

Editor’s note: Cultivated has an exclusive excerpt from MedMen founder Adam Bierman’s new book, Weed Empire, available for pre-order now. These are Bierman’s own words as published and we have not independently confirmed the account below.

We will be joined by Adam on Wednesday’s Cultivated Live at 10 AM Eastern to talk about the book, what happened at MedMen, and where things go from here. Find it on our Editor-in-Chief Jeremy’s X page, our LinkedIn profile, or our YouTube channel.

Exclusive excerpt from Weed Empire:

MedMen’s $250 million financing deal with Gotham Green is well known within the cannabis industry. Gotham Green and Jason Adler eventually took over control of MedMen along with other investors when the company was unable to meet its terms. It’s a lesson more poignant than ever as the industry faces a $3 billion tsunami of debt coming due in the next couple of years. Weed Empire takes you inside the deal and the fateful moment when Gotham Green decided to cut off its lifeline.

With the PharmaCann acquisition terminated, our bank accounts depleted, and Adler holding a gun to our head, we needed to cut as deep and fast as possible, restructuring the company faster than I had planned. One afternoon, I was in my office going over forecasts when Zeeshan Hyder stepped in with a concerned look on his face. Without uttering a word, his expression told me everything I needed to know.

Adler’s deadline was looming, and I felt like I was on the Titanic, with the water filling up in a room and two people trapped looking at each other before that last breath as the water reached the roof, closing off the last centimeter of air supply.

We were on the verge of losing everything we’d worked so hard to build to Jason Adler and Gotham Green. A domino effect of events had transpired that set us up to come crashing down. I had built us billions in value and they loaned us less than $60 million and were trying to take everything. This was like Bluestar Airlines from the movie Wall Street.

I knew I had to take action and I couldn’t be shy until I had found a resolution. Heading home one day, desperate for an angle, I shot Jason a text. Not having spoken since the Cardinals game, I figured there was nothing to lose in attempting some face-to-face communication. I was not expecting a response.

“Are you in Santa Monica?” I texted.

“Yes,” he texted right back. It was the first response from him in forever; but for whatever reason, he gave me a window.

“See you at your office in 15 minutes,” I texted back, and had Roy swing the car around to head straight for Adler’s office.

Sitting across from him, I remembered the day David Subotic introduced us at the steak house in New York, sealing the handshake that would eventually lead us here.

“You came to me, saying you wanted to be a partner,” I said. “This doesn’t feel like a partnership.”

Adler leaned back and shrugged.

“The numbers weren’t what we thought they were. You knew what you were getting into when you signed that contract.”

It was clear now — this was a trap. Jason had no intention of working corner until he could seize control of the company. My last-ditch effort at diplomacy had failed, and I was left scrambling to find the $20 million before we defaulted…

Walking into the office that I built, the office I was now barred from, felt like stepping into a ghost of my own past. There was no key card in my pocket, just a security guard who barely looked up as I approached the turnstile. I had to wait, a small indignity, and ask permission. 

“Hey, can you let me in?” I hollered. 

It was all a sharp reminder of how far I’d fallen. In the lobby, I noticed the media coverage and clippings that adorned the entry area walls had all been removed, my name and photo with them. I was now a phantom, haunting the corridors of my own legacy. 

As I took my seat, every eye in the room flicked my way, then just as quickly looked away. It was like stepping into a courtroom where your fate had already been sealed, but the jury couldn’t bear to meet your gaze. 

Ben Rose, my grand executioner, sat at the head of the table and next to Jason Adler, also in attendance. 

“Whatever it is you think about Gotham, whatever it is you think about Jason, I want us all to put that aside,” he said. “Jason and I have been working closely post – Adam’s departure as CEO. With a new outlook for the company, we’ve decided to partner to secure the future of this business.” 

“Hi, everybody. Thank you for this opportunity,” Jason said. “Believe it or not, I’m excited about the prospects for this company. This is the number one brand in cannabis, undisputedly, and we just need to organize its finances to withstand the current market environment and be positioned to come out the other side crushing it.” 

The jargon-filled speech was not a sales pitch to the board. It was a eulogy for the company I had poured my life and soul into. 

Jason laid out his proposal, a vision for MedMen completely devoid of its founding principles and mission statement, an exercise in financial engineering with the singular outcome of feeding his own greed and completing the last move in his long-term campaign. 

As he spoke, I could feel the narrative being rewritten. It was a surreal experience, like watching my wife and kids lauding their new husband and father, all pretending I never existed. 

But I couldn’t stay silent. 

“Guys, I need to get this on record,” I interjected. “This deal values the company at $70 million, giving them 30 to 40 percent control. It’s a stranglehold that will end with them owning everything.” 

I couldn’t take it anymore. 

“For the record, Jason Adler and Gotham Green have already made multiple loans to the business,” I said. “Every single loan has been staged out where they have given us the money in a way that puts a noose around the company’s neck, and then allows them to re-trade the deal at more favorable rates. This current deal…They are going to get the whole thing.” 

I looked at Ben. 

“I have no idea how Ben who, representing Wicklow, with over $100 million of equity investment in already, is okay with this. Other than he and Jason having some other behind-the-scenes relationship. But that notwithstanding, the board can’t proceed with this when it has a bona fide offer on the table that’s far superior.” 

Ben interrupted me. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Adam, I’ve let you speak. I’ve let you speak. That will be enough, okay? There’s enough Jason bashing,” he said. “We all know the reason that all the previous deals haven’t worked is because of you. That’s why you’re gone. We’ve let you say your piece. Jason is by far the only choice we have in the matter, and the truth is, he does very much believe in the business. I’ve reviewed the offer you have presented, and it’s not legitimate and we do not have time to waste.” 

“All we know about Gotham is that they will, at every opportunity, fuck us,” I said. 

“They could have supported the business from the beginning and saved the business months ago.” 

The meeting devolved quickly. My plea, my evidence of a better deal, was drowned out by the cacophony of greed and betrayal. 

“Adam, we’ve heard what you have to say,” Ben said, and moved to vote on the deal. “We are going to vote to move forward with the Gotham Green proposal. I’m going to be the first. Do we have a second?” 

One hand went up.

“I have a second.”

And soon it was over. The vote was a formality, a rubber stamp on the assassination of my dream, a final ice pick to my skull.

Adam Bierman is the founder of MedMen. He left the company in 2020.