Once past the gate, the papers are torn into strips by inmates and smoked, triggering overdoses, seizures and violent confusion.
In Lorain County, Ohio, deputies say they’ve turned to a new weapon against the devious smuggling tactic: a German Shorthaired Pointer dog named “Chewey,” trained to sniff out the synthetic cannabis on paper.
What makes the trend alarming is that the ruse exploits legal protections for attorney-client correspondence, turning an avenue for justice into a loophole for narcotics.
Alameda County’s Santa Rita Jail seizes mail coated with synthetic cannabis up to three times a week.
Prison officials, health researchers and prosecutors say that the practice isn’t isolated but part of a nationwide, high-stakes underground trade—one that courts, corrections systems and forensic labs are only just beginning to confront.
Recent medical studies underscore the hazards. In 2022–2023, 18 intoxication cases in an Atlanta jail were linked to “drug-soaked paper strips.” Of those, 94 percent of patients experienced central nervous system depression, 61 percent had dangerously slow heart rates (median 57 beats per minute), 22 percent had seizures and one person died.
The threat has already precipitated criminal cases. In March 2025, Maya McIntosh, 33, pleaded guilty to manufacturing and distributing the synthetic cannabinoid MDMB-4en-PINACA by spraying it on sheets of paper and shipping them—hidden inside what looked like attorney correspondence—to inmates in New York State correctional facilities. In July 2025, McIntosh was sentenced to over eight years behind bars, leading New York City Correction Commissioner Lynelle Maginley-Liddie to remark that the sentencing was “a warning to anyone seeking to introduce contraband into prisons and jails: We will find you and you will be punished.”
In eastern Texas, two sweeping indictments against 10 individuals from California and Florida alleged that three websites had been selling synthetic cannabinoid-laced legal mail to prisons across the country—shipping tens of thousands of parcels yearly and raking in millions, according to Acting US Attorney Abe McGlothin Jr. The March 2025 announcement about the indictments noted that a single sheet of drug-soaked paper, once inside the prison, could be sold to fellow inmates for as much as $1,000.
In Ohio, deputies say that online operations advertise to “send fake legal mail” to prisoners, charging up to $100 per letter. An investigator in Lorain County said he traced one such site’s IP address to a retirement community in Southern California.
California facilities have seen similar tactics. Alameda County’s Santa Rita Jail seizes mail coated with synthetic cannabis up to three times a week. Envelopes often carry the names of attorneys whose firms have no connection to the inmates being sent the parcels.
One court filing described how a single Stamps.com account generated over 100 labels addressed to jails and prisons.
In Florida, a 2024 investigation dubbed “Operation Stamp Collection” uncovered a ring that had led to 23 inmate overdoses the previous year. Authorities arrested 21 people, including a defense lawyer accused of smuggling K2-soaked legal docs into Duval County Jail. After the arrests, overdose numbers in the county dropped 61 percent.
In Harris County, Texas, court documents have exposed a 12-member smuggling ring—involving both inmates and a “paper maker” on the outside—whose operation consisted of spraying synthetic cannabis on forged legal envelopes. One of the defendants accused of sending the tainted mail was an attorney.
Even correctional employees can be at risk. At Fishkill Correctional Facility in New York, 13 staff, along with six inmates, fell ill from exposure to synthetic cannabinoids and other substances, according to state officials. Authorities launched a hazmat investigation and recovered synthetic cannabis at the site.
The combination of legal privilege, chemical stealth, extreme potency and online anonymity explains why the practice has spread so quickly.
The appeal of the paper-based smuggling tactic lies in its ability to exploit multiple vulnerabilities at once. Chief among them is the legal protection extended to attorney-client mail, which is often shielded from inspection. By forging law firm names and producing documents that look legitimate, smugglers can slip papers through mailrooms with less scrutiny than ordinary correspondence. Synthetic cannabinoids themselves add another advantage: They are colorless, odorless and notoriously difficult to detect—even for trained K-9 units that excel at finding traditional drugs.
Worse, lab-made cannabinoids can be dozens of times stronger than natural THC—the key active ingredient in cannabis—and when paper is unevenly saturated, so-called “hot spots” can deliver a sudden, overwhelming dose. That chemical strength turns a single letter into a highly valuable commodity: One page worth of drug-soaked strips can yield up to $10,000 worth of contraband inside prisons.
The infrastructure of online commerce fuels the trade further. Vendors accept cryptocurrency or PayPal, advertise openly on the internet, and ship from untraceable or falsified addresses. In some cases, they rely on complicit visitors, corrupt staff or even licensed attorneys to carry the mail across the final threshold.
The combination of legal privilege, chemical stealth, extreme potency and online anonymity explains why the practice has spread so quickly—and why correctional systems are struggling to contain it.
In response, some facilities in Ohio have moved to digitize mail: Legal documents are scanned and made available via monitored kiosks or inmate tablets. But full implementation is still pending, and the digital shift itself invites privacy concerns and constitutional friction.
Some jurisdictions now require all mail except authenticated legal correspondence to be photocopied or preprocessed outside the facility before delivery. Kansas, for its part, recently canceled outside newspaper subscriptions to curb tainted paper shipments.
In federal courts, prosecutions are rising. A Massachusetts case alleges a former state employee passed K2-laced documents on a prison visit. That defendant faces up to 10 years and $250,000 in fines.
In DC, an inmate was sentenced to additional time for smuggling synthetic-impregnated paper as part of a broader contraband case.
In Pittsburgh, Omari Patton was convicted of attempting to obtain or provide synthetic cannabinoids via fraudulent legal envelopes. He faces up to 50 years in prison and $1.25 million in fines.
Still, many earlier arrests—such as in Harris County—have resulted in dropped or unresolved charges, due largely to evidentiary challenges and legal protection of certain forms of correspondence.
Which leaves the frontline exactly where smugglers aim it: legal mail.
Across the country—from Ohio’s K-9 “Chewey” and the mail-digitizing push to prosecutions in New York and Harris County—the response is catching up, but the blind spot remains, ripe for exploitation. Until systems can verify legal correspondence without gutting attorney-client privilege, and until online vendors and postage pipelines are choked off, the next ordinary-looking letter could ignite the next fatal overdose.
