What you can buy and what you can do aren't the same. This Vault exposes the legal sleight-of-hand buried in retail freedom. In Nevada, optics are the armor—but this is your x-ray.

The legislative history reveals a pattern: each reform has expanded market opportunities while maintaining gatekeeping mechanisms. Equity licenses were introduced but remain limited—most licenses are held by early industry insiders with deep capital reserves. Meanwhile, zoning restrictions and local control provisions effectively block expansion in smaller towns, concentrating wealth in established markets.

Equity applicants must meet specific demographic, income, or conviction criteria, but even with priority review, the capital requirements remain prohibitive without strategic partnership structures.

Jules K.
“Vegas sells freedom by the ounce, but behind the neon is a market that boxed out the very people who built the movement.”

Tariq M.
“Legal doesn’t mean fair. In Nevada, you can buy weed on the Strip, but try growing it in your neighborhood—suddenly it’s a crime.”

Alana W.
“They made it legal, taxed it like gold, and gave the licenses to insiders. Legalization should’ve meant liberation, not limitation.”

Devon S.
“We normalized the sale, but not the stories of those punished before. Nevada cashed in without clearing the record.”

Nevada sold the image of freedom. But behind the Strip, the desert is littered with locked doors. Access exists—but only in curated corridors designed to extract maximum profit while minimizing authentic liberation.

You weren't born to follow pathways. You're here to dig new ones—Vault in hand. This movement isn't just about cannabis access—it's about reclaiming the power to define freedom on your own terms and building systems that serve communities rather than extracting from them.