High Society, Inc. v. Dan Holcomb dba The Vault

Let’s cut right to the chase: a cannabis company is suing a dispensary for not buying enough weed at the prices they agreed to. That’s right—this isn’t about stolen product, violence, or black-market shakedowns. This is a full-blown, attorney-drafted, court-filed legal battle over a broken flower deal worth $75,000. In a state where pot is only technically legal under a medical license and a wink from the legislature, two businesses are duking it out in Oklahoma County District Court over who owes whom how many pounds of bud—and at what price per pound. It’s The Godfather meets Office Space, if the office sold sativa.

So who are these players in the great Oklahoma cannabis tango? On one side, we’ve got High Society, Inc., a licensed grower with the fancy name of a yacht party and the ambition of a vertically integrated empire. They cultivate cannabis—specifically, flower, the sticky, smokable kind that people actually want—and they’re ready to sell it by the pound. On the other side is Dan Holcomb, operating under the name The Vault, which sounds like a Bond villain’s panic room but is, in fact, a dispensary. Holcomb, allegedly acting both as investor and buyer, signed a contract with High Society back in January 2021 that was supposed to lock in a steady supply chain: 300 pounds of flower, spread across three harvest cycles, at escalating prices—$1,000, then $1,100, then $1,200 per pound. It was, on paper, a tidy little arrangement. Grower grows, buyer buys, everyone gets high—figuratively, of course. (We assume.)

But as we all know, deals made in the cannabis industry often come with more volatility than a THC-laced rollercoaster. And this one? It started to unravel faster than a cheap pre-roll.

According to the filing, High Society held up their end of the bargain. They grew the weed. They harvested it. They delivered it—quarter after quarter, pound after pound. The contract even specifies that the buyer, The Vault, was supposed to take all the flower harvested by High Society, roughly 10 pounds per strain each quarter. That’s not just a casual “we’ll buy some if we feel like it” handshake deal. That’s a commitment. A marriage of supply and demand, sealed not by rings, but by signature lines and OUI (Oklahoma Use ID) numbers.

But somewhere between harvest one and harvest three, Dan Holcomb apparently decided he didn’t like the price increases. The contract clearly laid out the pricing: $1,000/lb for the first 100 pounds, then $1,100, then $1,200. That’s not a surprise—it’s in the contract. But the petition claims Holcomb—or someone acting on his behalf—started trying to change the prices unilaterally. Invoices from late 2021 show payments made at lower rates than agreed upon. That’s like ordering 100 chicken sandwiches at $5 each, then paying $4 and saying, “Market prices changed, bro.” Except here, the “bro” is a law firm with letterhead and a paralegal named Brenda.

And it didn’t stop there. In January 2022—over a year into the agreement—Holcomb allegedly told Devin Usher, the CEO of High Society, that he was slashing prices without approval. Again, not a negotiation. Not a request. A declaration. Like he’d unilaterally declared martial law on the cannabis supply chain. Then, on February 14, 2023—Valentine’s Day, if you’re into romantic gestures involving breach of contract—Holcomb dropped the hammer. He informed High Society that he wouldn’t be buying any more of their product. Not one gram. Not even a sample pack. And get this: they had to meet in person at 2100 S. Broadway in Edmond, Oklahoma, to hear the news. Picture it: two grown adults, representatives of legal cannabis enterprises, standing in a parking lot or a back office, delivering a corporate breakup speech like it’s a high school relationship. “It’s not you, it’s me… no, actually, it is you, because your prices are too high.”

Except—plot twist—it was him. Because the contract wasn’t fulfilled. High Society claims they were ready, willing, and able to deliver the full 300 pounds. They grew the product. They incurred the costs. They expected the revenue. And now, they say, they’ve been stiffed on payments and ghosted on future deliveries. That’s not just bad business etiquette—that’s, allegedly, a breach of contract. Plain and simple.

So why are we in court? Let’s translate legalese into human: High Society is suing because The Vault didn’t honor the deal they signed. They didn’t pay the agreed-upon prices, and they stopped buying the product altogether, even though the contract wasn’t finished. That’s the core of the claim—breach of contract. No fraud. No theft. No conspiracy. Just one party saying, “We had a deal,” and the other saying, “Nah, I’m good.” And when you’re talking about 300 pounds of cannabis flower at an average of $1,100 a pound, “I’m good” costs about $75,000 in alleged damages.

Now, is $75,000 a lot in the world of cannabis commerce? Let’s do the math. That’s roughly the cost of a luxury SUV… or about 75 pounds of really good weed on the retail market. But for a grower who invested in lighting, labor, nutrients, security, and compliance—only to have a buyer back out and underpay? Yeah, that’s a gut punch. It’s not bankruptcy-level, but it’s not pocket change. It’s the difference between turning a profit and breaking even. Between expanding your operation and laying off staff. So no, $75,000 isn’t crazy money in the context of a multi-harvest supply deal—but it’s definitely lawsuit money.

And here’s the delicious irony: this whole dispute is happening in Oklahoma, a state with a medical marijuana program so loosely regulated it’s basically the Wild West with ID cards. Licensing is easy. Enforcement is spotty. And yet—yet—when money’s on the line, everyone suddenly wants to play by the rules. Contracts matter. Signatures matter. Invoices matter. You can’t just say “the market changed” and walk away, even if you’re selling weed out of a place called The Vault. Because as it turns out, in the legal cannabis world, you can be both technically illegal under federal law and very legally bound by contract at the same time. Schrödinger’s dispensary, anyone?

So what’s our take? Look, we’re not here to pick sides in the Great Oklahoma Weed War of 2023. But the most absurd part of this whole saga isn’t the money. It’s not even the fact that a dispensary owner thought he could renegotiate a contract by just doing it and hoping no one noticed. No, the real comedy gold is the meeting. The fact that on Valentine’s Day 2023, someone had to drive to a nondescript commercial strip in Edmond to be told, “We’re not buying your weed anymore,” like it was a breakup scene in a rom-com. “It’s not your product… it’s the price point.” Did they at least split a gummy on the way out?

We’re also low-key rooting for the invoices. For the paper trail. Because in an industry built on cash, discretion, and people saying “trust me, bro,” this case is a reminder that sometimes, the most powerful thing in a cannabis dispute isn’t a strain name or a THC percentage—it’s a PDF with a timestamp and a signature. High Society didn’t just grow flower. They grew evidence. And if the court agrees, The Vault might be paying for it—whether they want to or not.

So here’s to High Society, Inc.—not just for growing weed, but for growing a solid case. And to Dan Holcomb: maybe next time, if you want to change the terms, try negotiating instead of ghosting. Or at least send a text. We’re all adults here. Except when we’re in court. Then we need everything in writing.