How NDAs Are Keeping AI Data Center Plans Hidden From the Public

On a March afternoon in Mason County, Kentucky, Dr. Timothy Grosser sat at a table on the same land he had worked for nearly four decades and listened as three unfamiliar men laid out an offer most people would never refuse. They were willing to pay millions of dollars for his 250-acre farm, a stretch of rolling land that had been home to cattle, hay fields, and family memories since he bought it in 1988. The number alone was staggering, far beyond anything neighboring landowners had received and more than 35 times what Grosser originally paid. Yet almost immediately, something about the deal felt wrong. The men would not say who they represented, what kind of project they planned to build, or even disclose their own identities clearly. Instead of transparency, they offered paperwork.

That paperwork was a non-disclosure agreement. Signing it, Grosser was told, would grant him limited insight into the project’s size and timeline but would prohibit him from discussing any details with neighbors, public officials, or even the broader community. The company’s name would remain secret until it chose to reveal itself publicly. Grosser refused. “We refused to sign it,” he said. “I’m not selling my farm for any amount of money.” In that moment, what could have been a simple real estate transaction became something far larger, a personal stand that now sits at the center of a growing national debate over artificial intelligence, data centers, and how much secrecy communities are expected to tolerate in exchange for economic promises.

A Life Built on Land, Not Numbers

Dr. Grosser’s connection to his farm is rooted in routine rather than rhetoric. When he is not treating patients as a family medicine doctor in downtown Maysville, he spends his time hunting deer, harvesting hay, and tending to beef cattle. The land is not an investment vehicle or a speculative asset. It is a working farm and a family anchor that has shaped daily life for decades. For Grosser and his son Andy, the idea of selling was not just about price but about what would replace the fields and tree lines they had known for most of their lives.

The offer itself arrived without context. The men described their client only as a “Fortune 100 company” seeking land for an industrial development. No blueprints were shared. No environmental studies were discussed. Even the nature of the project was left intentionally vague. The NDA, however, was very clear about what Grosser would lose. By signing it, he would give up the ability to speak freely about what was happening on his own property.

For Grosser, that silence was unacceptable. He said the agreement would have prevented him from even asking basic questions in public or seeking advice from neighbors who would be directly affected by the development. The money on the table did not outweigh the cost of secrecy. His refusal effectively ended negotiations, but it did not end the story.

The Project No One Would Name

Five months after Grosser turned down the offer, local officials acknowledged during a public meeting that Mason County was being scouted as a potential site for a large data center development. The announcement confirmed what many residents had begun to suspect, that the mysterious land purchases and unusually high offers were tied to the rapidly expanding infrastructure behind artificial intelligence and cloud computing.

Across the United States, hyperscale data centers have become one of the fastest-growing forms of industrial development. These massive facilities house the servers that power AI systems, online platforms, and cloud storage. Their growth has been accelerated by rising demand for artificial intelligence services and federal policies aimed at speeding up approvals by loosening certain environmental regulations.

While developers and some local leaders promote data centers as economic lifelines, the secrecy surrounding many projects has created tension. Residents often learn about developments only after land deals are already in motion, leaving communities scrambling to understand what the changes will mean for their water, power, and quality of life.

NDAs and the Cost of Silence

An NBC News review of more than 30 data center proposals across 14 states found that non-disclosure agreements are now common in these deals. In many cases, local officials signed NDAs that limited what they could share with constituents, even when those officials were elected to represent public interests. Some proposals were routed through shell companies, making it difficult to identify who was ultimately behind the projects.

Pat Garofalo, director of state and local policy at the American Economic Liberties Project, criticized this approach, saying, “That violates a very fundamental norm of democracy, which is that they are answerable first to the voters and to their constituents, not to some secret corporation that they’re cutting deals with in the back room.” His concern reflects a growing unease about how much power private companies wield in shaping local development decisions.

Major technology companies including Amazon, Microsoft, Google, Meta, xAI, and Vantage Data Centers declined or did not respond to questions about their use of NDAs in data center projects. For residents, that lack of accountability only deepens the sense that decisions are being made without their input.

Neighbors Caught Off Guard

In Mason County, Grosser was not the only landowner approached. According to county officials, roughly 20 residents were offered contracts at prices well above market value, amounting to thousands of acres. Eighteen landowners signed agreements to sell their properties if the project moves forward, often without knowing exactly what would be built.

The Huddleston family, whose relatives have lived on the same land for more than 150 years, signed a contract for $60,000 per acre. Later, after learning from neighbors that the project involved a data center, they asked for a legal release. “The neighbors didn’t want to be sold out, and my mom and I agree with them,” Delsia Huddleston Bare said. “If it’s artificial intelligence, I don’t want it anywhere near me at all.”

Concerns among residents range from noise pollution and air quality to groundwater contamination and increased strain on utilities. In other regions, similar developments have been linked to rising power bills and constant background noise from cooling systems and generators, issues that rural communities worry could permanently alter their way of life.

When Trust Breaks Down

As information remained scarce, frustration in Mason County grew. A Facebook group called “We Are Mason County, KY” attracted more than 1,500 members and gathered over 500 signatures opposing the project. Residents described feeling shut out of decisions that would affect them for generations.

Max Moran, who started the group, said, “It’s just destroying trust in the government. People just feel let down and kind of betrayed, because if you can’t ask what’s going on, then how can you trust anything they say?” His words capture a broader sense of disillusionment that has surfaced in communities facing similar developments nationwide.

Public records requests filed by residents and journalists seeking contracts and impact studies were denied under Kentucky’s public records exemptions. For many locals, the legal justifications did little to ease fears that critical decisions were being made behind closed doors.

A Pattern Playing Out Nationwide

Mason County’s experience mirrors battles unfolding across the country. In Saint Charles, Missouri, secrecy surrounding a 440-acre data center proposal known as Project Cumulus fueled public backlash so intense that residents ultimately voted to block the project and enacted a yearlong ban on new data centers.

In Pima County, Arizona, residents learned through a leak that a proposed $3.6 billion Amazon Web Services data center would consume enormous amounts of water and energy. Local officials later rejected the project, with one supervisor saying, “I just have a lot of trouble with the general idea that I, as an elected official representing 200,000-plus people, can be held to the parameters of a non-disclosure agreement with a for-profit, private entity.”

These cases have prompted dozens of towns and counties to consider or enact moratoriums on data center construction, reflecting a growing push for transparency and community involvement before projects move forward.

The Promise and the Pushback

Mason County officials argue that the proposed data center could bring roughly 400 high-paying jobs to a region that has seen its population and workforce decline over the past five years. From their perspective, turning away such an opportunity could mean continued economic stagnation.

Others, however, see the framing as a false choice. Mason County Schools Superintendent Rick Ross said, “We don’t have to give up our way of life and bow down to the data center in order to attract other business and industry. Saying we must cede hundreds of acres of farmland without regard for those who will be stuck looking at and hearing this thing is just a weak scare tactic.”

For Grosser, the issue remains deeply personal. His refusal was not intended as a political statement, yet it has become one. By saying no, he forced attention onto questions many communities are now asking about who benefits from development and who bears the cost.

More Than One Farm

Dr. Timothy Grosser’s decision did not stop Mason County from being considered for a data center, but it did highlight the stakes involved when secrecy meets rural life. His stand underscores the growing tension between rapid technological expansion and the slower rhythms of communities built around land, trust, and shared decision-making.

As artificial intelligence continues to reshape industries and economies, the infrastructure behind it will keep expanding. Whether that expansion happens with transparency and public consent remains an open question. For one farmer and doctor in Kentucky, the answer was clear. Some things, he decided, were not for sale at any price.