Hindsight makes everyone a genius. But when I look back at the deal that became this website — a six-figure loan to Doug Mulford for his Beach Drinks canned cocktail business, a default, and eventually a court judgement — the warning signs weren't hidden. I just had reasons not to see them. Here are the seven I'd never miss again.

1. I borrowed someone else's trust instead of building my own

I met Doug through a business mastermind group. The introduction came with implied credibility — surely everyone in this room has been vetted. Nobody had vetted anyone. The group's trust was an atmosphere, not a process.

What I'd do now: treat a warm introduction as the beginning of diligence, not a substitute for it. The person who introduced you assumes you're doing your own homework.

2. I let the physical tour stand in for financial diligence

I flew to Atlanta, walked the production facility, and tasted the product. It all checked out — because it was all real. What I never verified was the part I was actually funding: the co-packer deal, the order, where my money would go, and how repayment would be generated.

What I'd do now: verify the specific transaction, not the general business. Call the co-packer. See the purchase order. Confirm the pricing deal exists.

3. A high interest rate was a comfort when it should have been a question

The loan carried a 25% interest rate, and I read that as a great deal for me. The better question: why is this borrower agreeing to 25%? Because nobody cheaper would say yes. The rate was the market telling me the risk, and I heard it as a reward.

What I'd do now: when the return looks too generous, price in the reason it's available to me.

4. He asked for more money mid-loan

Halfway through the loan period — before a single dollar had come back — Doug asked for additional cash. I said no, but I treated it as an annoyance instead of what it was: evidence the first money was gone.

What I'd do now: a mid-loan request for more capital is a fire alarm. Stop, audit, and assume nothing until you see where the first funds went.

5. He was fuzzy about the repayment date

When I sent wiring instructions on what I understood to be the due date, he claimed he thought he had another month. People who intend to pay you know the date. Confusion about the single most important term of the agreement isn't confusion.

What I'd do now: put every date in writing, confirm it in writing, and treat any "misunderstanding" about it as a default in progress.

6. The banking stories couldn't be verified — and he steered me away from verifying them

A wire that was "sent." Then it was actually an ACH. Then the bank needed to "pull the money back." Every story had one feature in common: I couldn't check it. And when I proposed meeting at the actual bank in Gulf Breeze that supposedly handled the transfer, he tried to redirect me to a different bank in Pensacola.

What I'd do now: any payment claim gets verified at the source, same day. A borrower who resists verification has answered your question.

7. He wouldn't talk with a recorder on

When we finally met face to face, I set out a recorder. He threatened to end the conversation unless I turned it off. Then, off the record, he confessed to the lies. Honest people occasionally dislike being recorded. People who demand it as a condition of speaking are telling you the words won't survive daylight.

What I'd do now: document everything, and weigh heavily what someone will only say undocumented.

The pattern under all seven

Every flag has the same shape: I accepted a story where I could have demanded a verification. Charm survives stories. It does not survive verification. Doug was excellent at the first and allergic to the second — and a court judgement now documents how that ended.