Dear IDFPR
Dear IDFPR…
There is an old saying:
“How dare you challenge me to a duel of wits and show up unarmed?”
For the over a year, I have had the distinct pleasure of participating in what can only be described as a long-running bureaucratic improv performance starring the Illinois Department of Financial and Professional Regulation.
Most regulators regulate.
Most agencies answer questions.
Most FOIA offices either hand over records or tell you why they cannot.
IDFPR, however, has elevated the process into something much more artistic.
A kind of interpretive dance.
A regulatory escape room.
A magic trick where the rabbit, the hat, the magician, and occasionally the audience all disappear at different points in the performance.
The journey began innocently enough.
A FOIA request.
A denial.
A PAC filing.
Another denial.
A refinement.
Another denial.
Anyone who has dealt with government agencies knows this rhythm.
Request.
Delay.
Deny.
Repeat.
What makes this story different is not the denials.
It is the evolution of the explanations.
The timeline reads less like a records log and more like a mystery novel written by a committee.
In October 2025, records were requested concerning nuEra cannabis products at a Prairie Cannabis tent marketing at an all-ages event near schools and a library directly to children. Photo evidence exists…
The response?
No records exist.
Simple.
Direct.
Elegant.
The bureaucratic equivalent of “nothing to see here.”
Except there was something to see.
Because after PAC filings and follow-up requests, the explanation evolved.
The records had not vanished.
They had not been misplaced.
They had not been destroyed.
Now they were confidential because of an active investigation.
Which is a fascinating transformation.
Like watching a unicorn evolve into a horse midway through a PowerPoint presentation.
One minute there are no records.
The next minute there are records that cannot be released.
A lesser observer might call this a contradiction.
A more charitable observer might call it a regulatory metamorphosis.
Then came the mandatory reporting questions.
And this is where things become truly entertaining.
Not entertaining in the normal sense.
More like watching someone attempt to explain why their smoke detector is ringing while insisting there is absolutely no fire.
Questions were asked regarding reporting obligations.
Questions were asked regarding enforcement duties.
Questions were asked regarding referrals.
The requests sat.
Deadlines passed.
The Public Access Counselor became involved.
An Assistant Attorney General eventually called personally asking whether IDFPR had responded.
That alone is worth pausing on.
When the referee starts calling to ask whether one team has shown up to the game, the scoreboard is already interesting.
Hours later the agency acknowledged the request had been overlooked during a staffing transition.
Overlooked.
Not denied.
Not exempt.
Not under review.
Overlooked.
Like a set of car keys.
Or an umbrella.
Or perhaps a statutory obligation.
Then came December 18, 2025.
The date that sits in the middle of this timeline like a blinking neon sign.
IDFPR informed the Public Access Counselor that no mandatory referrals or external reports had been made.
That statement triggered a chain reaction.
OEIG complaints.
Additional filings.
Further inquiries.
Not because the statement proved wrongdoing, it was an admission of it.
But mainly because it raised questions.
The most dangerous thing in government oversight is often not an answer.
It is the question that answer creates.
Because once you say no referrals occurred, people naturally begin asking whether referrals should have occurred.
And once people begin asking that question, the timeline takes on a life of its own.
Then came 2026.
The year of the magical expanding email universe.
Questions were asked about whistleblower disclosures.
No records.
Questions were asked about exemptions.
No records.
Questions were asked about approvals.
No records.
Questions were asked about policy.
No records.
Then someone asked whether reporting obligations had been followed for admission of money laundering by a cannabis company owner and executive.
Suddenly the universe expanded.
On May 21, IDFPR explained that keyword searches returned approximately 9,047 emails.
The request was refined.
Narrowed.
Focused.
Exactly as requested.
The agency searched again.
This time the number became approximately 9,543 emails.
The request had become smaller.
The email pile had become larger.
At this point even the laws of physics were beginning to file objections.
No records.
No records.
No records.
Nine thousand records.
Refine.
Nine thousand five hundred records.
Still too burdensome.
Somewhere in Springfield a spreadsheet is apparently reproducing by mitosis.
The beauty of this timeline is that it no longer requires interpretation.
It simply requires reading.
The explanations tell their own story.
When questions concern policy, records often do not exist.
When questions concern investigations, records become confidential.
When questions concern reporting duties, requests become overlooked and crimes are committed to cover up the crimes committed.
When questions concern enforcement, thousands of records suddenly emerge from the regulatory mist.
And every time one explanation collapses, another arrives to take its place.
Like a government-funded hydra.
Cut off one response and two more grow back.
Now for a second let’s pretend we live in fantasy land.
Now perhaps every action taken by the agency was proper(it wasn’t crimes have been admitted to now).
Perhaps every exemption was correctly applied.
Perhaps every denial was justified.
Perhaps every overlooked request was merely an administrative hiccup.
Perhaps every contradiction has a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Perhaps.
But we don’t live in fantasy land..
Because the timeline itself has become impossible to ignore.
Because institutions rarely reveal themselves through press releases.
They reveal themselves through patterns.
Through timestamps.
Through extensions.
Through denials.
Through forgotten requests.
Through conflicting explanations.
Through 9,047 emails.
Then 9,543 emails.
Then another extension.
Then another refinement.
Then another chapter.
And that may be the most valuable lesson of all.
The longer a story goes on, the less important any single response becomes.
Eventually the timeline becomes the evidence.
The pattern becomes the witness.
And the institution begins testifying against itself.
Then you see it in black and white… an institution through the pattern and prior responses showed they are covering up money laundering just like they covered up an owner convicted of money laundering that the attorney general top-drawed…
This is Illinois.
This is their dance.
This is business as usual.
And this is why we keep F’nAround and getting academic credentials for writing about it.
