BRADY FLANIGAN
Editor
“It’s the wine that leads me on, the wild wine that sets the wisest man to sing at the top of his lungs, laugh like a fool…it even tempts him to blurt out stories better never told. —The Odyssey (trans. Fagles)
[Impatient readers may wish to begin with paragraph three.]
War and whiskey, blood and wine. It sounds like the words of an elegiac prohibitionist from a century yore, but it’s not. There’s a simple truth behind ethanol’s inextricable relationship with things turning ugly. It’s beautiful, wolfish, really. Of all the things nature has offered mankind for sacrament, the one nearly ubiquitous from the raising of the first ziggurat to this very moment, is alcohol. And it’s a vicious one. It destroys the spirit and the mind and the body. It drives crowds to violence and inspiration to dust. Love and life lost over this little molecule. And like a curse given to the first bipedal hominid to eat too many spoiled fruits, it has stalked our species.
That’s why it’s beautiful. A species that plays with fire, a species that tamed fire, is a species that has fire. It carries life inside it. And so the ghost is back, stalking another casualty. And with great dramatic irony, it’s Uncle Nearest Inc.
On July 28, 2025, Farm Credit Mid-America filed suit in the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Tennessee against Uncle Nearest Inc., Nearest Green Distillery, company owners Fawn and Keith Weaver, and their real estate arm, Nearest Real Estate Holdings LLC.
Farm Credit Mid-America alleges that the company defaulted on more than $100 million in loans, misused loan proceeds—including the purchase of a $2.2 million Martha’s Vineyard home through a non-borrowing entity—provided inflated inventory reports, sold off future revenue streams without disclosure, and repeatedly failed to meet financial reporting and liquidity requirements. Despite signing a forbearance agreement in April, Farm Credit claims the company continued to breach its obligations, prompting the lender to seek the appointment of a court-appointed receiver.
When Uncle Nearest was founded in 2016, it sought to make whiskey and sell restitution through memory and heritage. Built on the story of the formerly enslaved distiller who taught Jack Daniel how to make whiskey, it became a jewel of the spirits world and a symbol of healing.
But the thing about selling restitution is that you have to stay spotless. Not legally—mythically. You don’t just inherit a legacy. You inherit the burden of living up to it, especially when you’re making money from the past.
The Accusations
Filed in the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Tennessee, the lawsuit accuses Uncle Nearest, Inc., its related companies, and its co-founders, Fawn and Keith Weaver, of defaulting on over $100 million in loans. But more than missed payments, the lender paints a portrait of systemic managerial failures, cloudy finances, and strategically evasive behavior.
The case anchors to three loan instruments:
- A $67 million revolving line of credit
- A $22 million term loan
- A $15 million real estate line of credit
As of late July 2025, Farm Credit claims the company owed $108.2 million, including more than $5.9 million in unpaid interest. Alone that might sound like the kind of kicking and flailing expected of an impatient lender with huge sums of capital at stake. But Farm Credit contends it’s more than the accrued debt of a struggling whiskey brand—it’s the product of deception, obfuscated information, and the extra-contractual siphoning of assets outside the business. Farm Credit feels they’ve been hustled.
Among their sharpest accusations is that Uncle Nearest overstated its barrel inventory by $21 million, strategically inflating their “borrowing base” to acquire a larger loan by overvaluing assets designed to be used as collateral in the event of default. This discrepancy was discovered during a collateral inspection in October 2024, later confirming this in the company’s updated financials. According to the lender, this wasn’t a marginal rounding error; it was “apparently inaccurate” reporting designed to secure an over-advancement of funds, constituting a breach of contract.
Then there’s the purchase of the Martha’s Vineyard house. Perchance the curse of a whiskey brand buying property in a place with “Vineyard” in its name.
In March of 2023, Uncle Nearest requested $2.3 million in additional loans for the purchase of a property described as a brand-focused site to host events. Farm Credit claims these funds were never used by Uncle Nearest Inc. Instead, they were diverted through UN HOUSE MV LLV, a separate entity not agreed to in the contract. To make things worse, Farm Credit alleges the property was later mortgaged to a different lender, putting their own collateral at risk.
The lender accuses Nearest of using the home as a form of three-card Monte designed to violate section 6.11 of the credit agreement, which requires the loan be used only for approved purchases disclosed to the lender.
Farm Credit goes further than that, alleging that Uncle Nearest:
- Sold barrels earmarked for collateral to repay other obligations, without lender approval.
- Sold millions of dollars of future revenue to at least four separate entities on discount, reducing the security of the lender’s future position.
- Failed to provide routine financial reports, certificates of its borrowing base, compliance reports, or cash flow projections, sometimes neglecting to do so for months at a time.
- Missed multiple interest and principal payments on all three loans.
- Breached covenants that obligated it to maintain a minimum net worth of $100 million, and maintain at least $1 in positive monthly income, alleging repeated violations between 2023 and 2025.
- Defaulted on its April 2025 forbearance agreement, missed internal deadlines, failed to appoint an independent director, and allowed its cash liquidity to fall considerably below the $1.5 million minimum requirement.
And perhaps the straw that broke the camel’s back: the lender contends these issues didn’t arrive spontaneously. Instead, they were continuous and systematic. The plaintiff claims several years of tenuous communication, intentional ignorance of information requests, and gaps in governance. It claims at one point Uncle Nearest failed to provide a basic organizational chart, raising questions regarding who precisely owns what assets within the firm’s growing structure.
All this culminated in Farm Credit’s request that the court appoint a receiver—an impartial manager appointed by the court with the authority to take control of Uncle Nearest’s operations and assets, essentially rendering Uncle Nearest’s owner Fawn Weaver’s position as commander-in-chief null. Farm Credit argues not doing so would put the brand at immediate risk of “concealment, dissipation, or diminution.” In its words, “the lender is left with no choice but to act.”
In the eyes of Farm Credit, the Weavers are not the captains of an ice-breaker ship paving a new path through the whiskey industry. They’re debtors in default, and the bank is ready for a mutiny.
The Defense
Uncle Nearest isn’t debating that something went awry. But it denies being the one who sailed the ship towards the iceberg.
In their August 3 legal response, the company claims if the ship is taking on water, if fraud occurred, it’s the fault of the navigator, not the captain. The defendants—Uncle Nearest, Inc., Nearest Green Distillery, Uncle Nearest Real Estate Holdings, and co-founders Fawn and Keith Weaver—say any mistakes made are not the product of systemic deception. They’re the faults of one bad seaman: former CFO Michael Senzaki.
According to their filing, Senzaki was the one who overestimated the company’s barrel inventory by $21 million between 2022 and 2023, inflating numbers by 77,000 barrels and using that lie to secure an extra $24 million in credit from Farm Credit Mid-America. According to the company, this was done without the knowledge or permission of executive management or the Weavers. The paperwork seems to support this. The CEO signed the loan amendments but not the inventory certificates. Senzaki was the one providing the borrowing base reports and approving of every draw request backed by the barrel inventory.
The defense argues this shipwreck wasn’t the product of a negligent crew, but the consequence of a rogue CFO. And it only became obvious in early 2024 when the company submitted updated reports with corrected numbers to the lender. Uncle Nearest contends that rather than hiding it, they wilfully disclosed this information to Farm Credit and launched an internal investigation, stating they’re considering legal action against Senzaki.
Rather than deflecting blame, they’re pointing it back at the bank.
The Martha’s Vineyard house, for example. Farm Credit claims the $2.3 million property was purchased through an undisclosed entity, UN HOUSE MV LLC, is a violation of the loan’s terms. Nearest isn’t disputing the purchase, but they are disputing the secrecy of the purchase. In fact, they claim Farm Credit executives were actually there, traveling to Martha’s Vineyard in 2023 and staying in a rental funded by the lender, and attending the company’s inaugural Gospel Brunch at the home. Emails submitted to the court detail an itinerary including hotel stays, bike rentals, and social gatherings.
“These were not covert maneuvers,” the document states. “Plaintiff’s employees and agents were actively involved in—and frankly acquiesced to—the exact circumstances that it is now claiming somehow support a receivership.”
Then there’s payments to discuss. Uncle Nearest claims they paid nearly $9 million to Farm Credit in 2024, followed by a $7.5 million lump sum in 2025. They admit to briefly halting payments, but they say that decision was made at the recommendation of a third-party advisory firm that was hired with Farm Credit’s approval. The firm advised temporarily halting payments as the company underwent restructuring negotiations, which they say is a regular procedure during conversations regarding distressed loans. The company even says it exhibited apprehension at the idea and preferred to keep paying, but ultimately followed the advice of restructuring experts.
This leads to the inevitable question, if all of this doesn’t constitute fraud, then what is it?
In Uncle Nearest’s eyes, this is a technical default, a kind of default that emerges when a business’ internal control mechanisms fail, not the product of deception or malice. The company believes a request for emergency receivership is gratuitous overreach, a kind that discards cooperation, potential for future payment, and involvement with the lender.
Even though the loan agreement allows for the appointment of a receiver in the event of default, they argue that the court should treat that as last ditch, as an abandon ship sort of situation. Receivership, the company notes, “is an extraordinary equitable remedy reserved for extraordinary circumstances.” This circumstance, they argue, doesn’t meet the standards of meriting a hostile takeover—especially when the lender knew about inventory errors for months, joined the festivities at Martha’s Vineyard, and participated in the advisory process. From the defense’s perspective, Farm Credit’s complaints are protecting assets and more about villainizing the Weavers and shifting business leverage in favor of the lender.
“We feel like Uncle Nearest is something that should live beyond our lifetime,” Keith Weaver told the Lynchburg Times. “And we feel like it’s something worth protecting.”
The court will decide whether it needs protecting—from them.
The Numbers
The core of this $100 millions squabble is a simple question: Is Uncle Nearest a financially healthy company? The answer is buried in spreadsheets and footnotes, and the reality is that it’s hard to say. The winds are always shifting through the sails, and when you don’t know the direction of the rudder, charting a course is nearly impossible. Uncle Nearest is a privately owned business. There are no quarterly 10-Qs to analyze. Farm Credit Mid-America brings data aboard as does Uncle Nearest, but neither presents a clear ledger. It’s a battle of narratives foremost. One is a talk of default, and the other of disruption.
So begin with the debt. Farm Credit’s complaints center around Nearest’s outstanding balance of $108.2 million, including nearly $6 million in unpaid interest. This sum spans $67 million in revolving credit, $22 million in term loans, and a $15 million real estate credit line. Both sides acknowledge these numbers.
But both sides acknowledge payments were made too. Uncle Nearest is said to have paid $9 million in loan payments in 2024, followed by $7.5 million in early 2025. They admit to a brief pause in payments, but say it was at the recommendation of a restructuring firm approved by Farm Credit. Neither party denies this. Strictly speaking, this means this is not a story of one firm absconding with another’s money. It’s a story of not enough being paid, not quickly enough, and not in the way the lender demanded—the way they agreed upon.
Then there’s the matter of the barrels. Uncle Nearest concedes to having over estimated their “borrowing case” by 77,000 barrels, to the tune of $21 million in inventory, which justified larger credit draws. The defense blames the former CFO. Farm Credit calls it deception. Regardless of intent, it’s a discrepancy that now defines the dispute. In this agreement, whiskey operates less as a product and more as collateral standing-in for cash. If you claim to have more than you have, it’s not a production error; it’s collateral fraud.
Stand further back though, and a foggier picture comes into view: a company without public financial statements, a web of subsidiaries and no independent audit to analyze. Still, some numbers have made it out. According to Farm Credit, internal reporting showed 13 consecutive weeks of negative operating income leading into 2025, which alone is enough to violate the loan covenants requiring Nearest to maintain at least one dollar in net monthly income.
Whereas the lender may consider this a pattern, Nearest depicts this as growth restrained by predatory lending, not weak performance.
Fawn Weaver has stated as much publicly. In a post-lawsuit Instagram video, she cited double-digit growth in revenue, volume, and velocity, claiming year-over-year growth of 44% in the DMV, 38% in Ohio, 33% in Texas, and 49% in Georgia. But as it stands, as strong as they sound, they’re unsubstantiated. And growth in revenue, volume, and velocity does not ensure profitability or cash liquidity. If costs exceed revenue, increases in volume or rising velocity only speak to faster decline.
And if the brand is doing so well, why the fire sale? According to the lender, Uncle Nearest sold millions of dollars in future revenue at a discount on at least four separate occasions—without disclosure. This alone violates the terms of agreement, but it also suggests a company that is prioritizing cash-in-hand over long-term returns.
None of this proves insolvency, but it does suggest a business running on tight margins with an ambitious expansion model—vodka, cognac, international holdings—who’s outpacing their internal infrastructure.
Uncle Nearest says it’s navigating hardship with honesty. Farm Credit says it’s being dragged behind a brand story with no receipts. And the numbers—partial, dated, and unverified—aren’t choosing a side. They’re just sitting there, aging in the barrel.
The Cost of Belief
It’s hard, maybe even impossible, to distinguish between a sincere narrative act—remembering, honoring, repairing—and the machinery of corporate myth-making, especially when both are producing returns. Once the myth becomes embedded in a growth model, it’s not just a story anymore. It’s a liability stream. And once things go south—when the CFO overstates inventory, or when a lender demands clarity—what’s being audited isn’t just capital. It’s belief. And the worst part is, belief doesn’t amortize well.
