[The characters, places, organizations, events, and the like that appear in this work have no relation whatsoever to reality and are entirely fictional, born of the author’s imagination.]
“No, why did you keep making liquor that, on average, didn’t even sell thirty percent of its stock? And if it didn’t sell, you should have thrown it aw... hm? 1934?”
Henry, who had been on the verge of saying to throw it away, stopped short. Theodore shrugged as if Henry had only now grasped the crux of the matter, then let out a deep sigh.
“Hoo... I know there’s nothing we can do because it was the Fourth Family Head’s dying wish, but the losses are enormous every year. If we expand the storage again this time, we’ll have thirty-four buildings in total. Including this year’s production, we have no less than 120,000 barrels of applejack in storage. One hundred and twenty thousand barrels!”
“You’re saying we’ve accumulated 120,000 barrels since 1934, when Prohibition was repealed?”
“Yes! After you took office as Family Head, I was organizing the reports, and the family accountants all but warned me that this year’s fire insurance premium alone is six hundred thousand dollars, and the inventory holding tax is two hundred thousand. I managed to cut the annual management costs down to a hundred thousand dollars, but everyone is making a fuss, saying it’s still far too much and must be reduced. We’re already working as frugally as we can, so there’s no way to cut any further from here.”
“First, let’s go take a look at that storage.”
With Theodore, who had treated this white elephant like a priceless treasure, leading the way, they headed to the site. Thirty-four large stone warehouses lined up near the distillery. Their overwhelming scale was beyond spectacular; it was almost awe-inspiring. Another family head might have clutched the back of his neck at the sight, but Henry’s eyes were different.
‘Wait, haven’t I just hit the jackpot? I saw something like this in a short in my past life. Was it whiskey or champagne salvaged from a ship that sank during World War I? They said a single bottle sold at auction for more than three hundred million won!’
A shrewd business model flashed through Henry’s mind like lightning.
‘Liquor doesn’t spoil anyway, does it? These days, drinkers are still in a primitive(?) era where they shake their heads at something aged five or ten years, saying it “tastes like water sucked out of wood,” but in my eyes, this is all blockbuster merchandise! Slap on a title like “1934 Prohibition Repeal Commemorative Vintage, Aged 46 Years,” bottle it in something sleek, and it’s guaranteed to explode. If I time it for Independence Day in July, lay out the George Washington storytelling, and bait people with “America’s Oldest Legal Vintage,” collectors from all over the world will line up with their wallets open, won’t they?’
Suppressing his surging joy, Henry stood before the oldest stone warehouse, marked with the plaques 1934 & 1935. When Theodore opened the massive door, the rich scent of apples and damp oak powerfully seized Henry’s senses. To Henry, it was the smell of dollars.
‘The number 46 is a bit awkward, so should I age it another four years and sell it under the title “Half-Century Aged, 50 Years”? Then just tossing it into an auction would guarantee front-page news. Legally speaking, this is the oldest produced in America.’
“Show me to the oldest oak barrel.”
Henry slowly walked through the treasure vault, taking it all in. At last, the oldest oak barrel he faced was shabby. Its iron bands had been patched over like rags, and the traces where apple sugars had seeped out were filthy. But in Henry’s eyes, it was the finest work of art on earth, crafted by time itself.
To Theodore, who was watching the Family Head anxiously, Henry casually asked,
“Theodore. If it were up to you, how do you think we should handle this?”
“...”
Theodore fidgeted, at a loss like a student waiting to be scolded. Henry clicked his tongue inwardly. ‘He might pass as a site manager, but as management material, he gets a zero.’ Instead of pressing him, Henry smiled lightly.
“It’s all right. I was only asking because I wondered if you had any ingenious ideas. On the way here, I saw a jeep next to the building. Take it and bring Benjamin here.”
“Yes, Family Head! I’ll be right back!”
Perhaps afraid a heavier question might fall on him, Theodore hurried away. Henry watched his receding back, let out a small sigh, then took a notebook from the inner pocket of his jacket and wrote,
‘Need to reexamine Theodore’s work reports. Do not promote him above managerial level.’
If he had raised the problem himself, he should at least have thought of a basic alternative. In Henry’s view, Theodore might pass as a site manager, but as an executive, he was a complete failure. Henry turned to the next page and began writing down the names that came to mind.
‘1934 Nostalgia, Legend 45, 1934 Legend, 1934 History, 1934 Reserve.’
He rolled them around in his mouth, but none of them really came alive. The lifeblood of luxury goods was storytelling. He needed an elegant word that stimulated people’s emotions while also conveying the authority of the family.
‘Liberation? Too tacky for a liquor name. Origin? Oh, that’s not bad. [Devenger 1934: Origin]. Or...’
[Founding Fathers 1934] had better symbolism, but if he sold the ancestors in the name of liquor, it was obvious that, never mind the opposition from the family retainers, the media would beat him to death. And [Devenger 1934: The Conviction] sounded excessively arrogant.
‘In the end, it’s either Nostalgia or Origin. I’ll put this on the agenda at the family meeting. The nuance locals feel will be the most accurate.’
Lastly, Henry added a bold note at the bottom of the notebook.
‘Formulate plan to relocate the entire applejack distillery separately from the brandy. Essential agenda item for family meeting.’
They said it was a problem if something failed, and a problem if it succeeded too well—this was exactly that. The moment these treasures were revealed to the world, high-nosed New Yorkers and tourists would surely swarm the estate like clouds, saying they wanted a tasting.
For Henry, who placed safety above all, a breach in the estate’s security would be a disaster. But if he blocked the experience course entirely, the media would talk about fabrication, and if he expanded the facilities within the estate without limit, then if he indulged all of Benjamin’s dreams, the entire apple orchard would turn into a factory.
Of course, Henry was currently under a major misconception. In the twenty-first century, it was common to decorate distilleries like museums or tourist attractions and run experience courses, but in 1979, entry into distilleries by ordinary people was itself legally prohibited. It was only very recently that small wineries had barely been permitted to allow entry. In other words, the tourist invasion Henry was worried about was a risk that could never occur in the first place.
But Henry, having come from the future, agonized without knowing that fact.
‘Even a business whose success is guaranteed has this much to consider and this many risks. How much worse will everything else be?’
From the first day of his inspection of the estate, this massive golden inventory had rolled into his lap, and Henry’s cunning brain circuits were spinning nonstop over how best to cook it.
‘Or should I just make Benjamin’s brandy independent? Hoo... There are too few reliable talents near me. Is there such a thing as headhunting in this era too? I feel like it existed in novels. There’s definitely no one around me capable of handling this treasure pot. Even I’m a complete outsider when it comes to liquor, so I can’t point to someone specific and bring them in.’
‘Ah, and patriotic marketing! The liquor of America, bearing America’s history and enduring America’s time! Are you an American? Something like that could work well if it tugs on the heartstrings, right? America must have its own nationalistic pride too, doesn’t it?’
Henry took out his notebook again and wrote down the words that had just come to him: “headhunting” and “patriotic marketing.” As he looked over the oak barrels in the warehouse one by one, ideas sprang up like a fountain.
‘Even if the undiluted spirit is drinkable, I absolutely can’t just sell only the original cask strength. I saw somewhere that once it goes over fifty years, the tannins or whatever ruin the taste, so I’ll have to ask Benjamin about that too. Anyway, releasing it as-is should be limited to a “Limited Edition,” exactly a hundred bottles a year.’
‘The ones that feel slightly lacking to sell as original spirit can be diluted or blended with other years and made into a premium line. That should also be limited to under ten thousand bottles a year. No, even fewer is fine. Scarcity increases value and sustains curiosity. Was this called hunger marketing?’
‘The ones aged for a long time but impossible to use as original spirit should be blended and released as a mass-market line. A star blender or bartender selects the original spirits from hundreds of oak barrels to maintain a consistent taste... There are lots of liquors like that in the future market. But the price should be the most expensive. People only think something is good if it’s expensive.’
‘Still, if it becomes too much of a “league of their own,” we won’t make money. We need to widen the target. A price range far more expensive than ordinary liquor, so you have to tighten your belt a little to buy it, but low enough that an ordinary salaried worker could buy it if he made up his mind. Hold sales a few days before holidays, too. I don’t know if Black Friday exists yet, but if we discount it sharply then, wouldn’t everyone buy at least one bottle? Of course, the quality has to support it, so if it tastes bad after sampling, just drop it only at auction. It could pointlessly erode brand value.’
‘There may be fifty-year-aged whiskies or cognacs, but there’s no brand in the world right now with this much quantity of standalone original spirit. Even if there were, they’d have used it all for blending. I even have the authenticity of it being the applejack George Washington drank! This is a monopolized market. If I maintain the brand power well, it’s a market I can milk for ten or twenty years at the very least!’
‘But why is that Theodore taking so long? It feels like it’s already been more than twenty minutes.’
From far off, the sound of a jeep engine gradually drew closer. Henry, who had been lost in thought, put his notebook in order and tucked it into his inner pocket, then once again rearranged his facial muscles into the expression of an anguished Family Head.
‘This is all necessary to make the cause and effect line up, right? Ah, but what kind of cause and effect do I really need to create for [Orange] and [Uracle] for it to be reasonable... If I suddenly say, let’s invest in Watson’s [Orange]! Let’s invest in [Uracle]! they’ll just ask, what is that? Sigh... Once I quickly finish sorting out the family, I need to go to [The Time] and steer its direction, check on the British side too, and enter the silver and gold futures markets even if I have to take out loans. Ah, that 24-hour news broadcast cable TV station I mentioned last time, [CNC (Cable News Center)], I need to move now to acquire or invest in it. And [ESTN (Every Sports TV Network)] should have started around this time too—wasn’t this the period when it almost went under because it had no money and was running deficits?’
What shattered Henry’s imagination, which had been drawing a future map worth trillions of dollars in his head, was the sound of the jeep braking hard.
“Henry! Why did you suddenly call me? I was already on my way to look at land in the Hudson Valley. My beeper was going off so loudly it startled me.”
“Didn’t we just part ways? You already left in that short time?”
“Of course! I’m building a large distillery, the dream of my life! I’ve already picked out all the still models.”
“The reason I called you is nothing else, Ben. This stock of forty-six-year-old applejack filling these thirty-four storage buildings. Have you ever thought about how to handle it?”
When Henry asked, gesturing at the overwhelming warehouses around them, Benjamin instead showed a hurt look with a sullen expression.
“Oh, Henry. Did you really forget everything? The precious memory of us drinking 1922 applejack together when we were young?”
“What?”
“Sigh, well, back then you were just a brat who passed out after one glass. I snuck out a forty-three-year-aged one and had you drink it, remember? I said, ‘This is really delicious.’ And it really does taste excellent. From my grandfather to my father, and then to me and Theodore, we’ve managed the inventory thoroughly, staking the fate of the family on it.”
Benjamin pointed to the rail system inside the warehouse and continued speaking, mixing in hand gestures as if explaining that they had periodically moved the positions of the oak barrels up and down.
“We put our hearts into everything from barrel rotation to cooperage, the repair of oak barrels. It’s just... applejack’s status itself is at rock bottom, so it doesn’t sell. When you were in college, I once released the very best batch I had personally selected to the family’s hotels and liquor stores. But there was no response at all. No, if anything, all I heard was, ‘You aged cheap applejack for forty years? Isn’t it spoiled?’ No matter how much the clerks explained, customers wouldn’t believe them. As far as I know, exactly one bottle sold, and that night I saw that bottle in our living room. My father had felt sorry for me and secretly bought it... Reality was cruel, Henry.”
Henry listened to Benjamin’s tale of abject failure with growing bewilderment. In the twenty-first century, a maturation age of 12 years, 21 years, 30 years, and so on was a rank and a medal in itself, so even if this was the past, it was hard to accept that a spirit of this caliber had been ignored. Henry asked the fundamental question.
“Hmm... Let me ask a few things. What was the liquor called back then? What kind of bottle did you use? Did you advertise at all?”
“We wrote it honestly as it was. For the bottle, we used existing empties worth a few cents that were rolling around in the warehouse. The previous head of the family did give permission, but even he was terribly skeptical, looking at me as if to say, ‘Will that really sell?’ Forget advertising—even the family’s office staff and advisers were all negative about it, so I had to argue just to get it placed in the hotels owned by the family. There was no budget, so I couldn’t even hand out a single leaflet.”
“Ha... Ben, aside from brewing liquor, you really are a damn fool. You slapped the number 1945 on it and shoved it into some corner of a liquor store? You should have named it ‘a legacy containing the joy of victory’ and displayed it in a department store in the middle of Manhattan! You put that precious spirit in a brown medicine bottle and sold it, so of course people thought it had gone bad and didn’t buy it!”
Henry sharply scolded the bewildered Benjamin in frustration, then swept a fierce gaze over the surrounding oak barrels.
“Now, here’s what I have in mind. Listen carefully, Ben. From now on, we’re not selling liquor. We’re selling time and authority.”
Henry lightly tapped one of the dust-covered oak barrels and continued. First, a complete overhaul of the labeling and packaging.
“Brown medicine bottles? Get rid of them immediately. Find out who the most expensive crystal bottle manufacturer in France is. For example, the 1945 vintage will be named the ‘Victory Edition.’ On the label, stamp the anniversary of victory and our family crest in gold foil. It needs to give off such an imposing presence that anyone who sees it thinks, ‘Ah, this looks seriously expensive!’”
Second, exclusivity in distribution channels.
“Neighborhood liquor stores? Absolutely not. Those are no places for our family name to set foot. We allocate only a tiny quantity to five-star hotel bars in Manhattan and members-only social clubs. We make it so that it’s not something you can buy just because you have money; only those who are lucky or have a connection to the Devenzer family can have it poured into their glass. The more people can’t have something, the more insane they become for it.”
Third, the magic of storytelling.
“Ben, this Victory Edition we’ve made isn’t just liquor. It’s time, history, and art! When others went off to the battlefield carrying guns, the women left behind brewed it with all their hearts, praying for their families to return safely—the liquor of victory! That’s exactly what this fellow is. From now on, strip away the cheap name of applejack. People aren’t curious about that sort of thing. Just like you look first to see whether a woman is pretty, the people buying this ultimately care about one thing: ‘How expensive is it, and can I show it off in front of others?’ We’re dressing it up with a story to satisfy that vanity. ‘The pride of America’ that our family protected through the darkness of Prohibition and the flames of war. You’re drinking American history!”
Henry patted the dazed Benjamin on the shoulder and smiled.
“So take good care of this. Later, we’re going to sell it for more than any other liquor. I’ll have them look into French crystal bottles at the family meeting. Anyway, if there’s still any of that unsold 1945 vintage left, bring me two bottles. No matter how well we package it, the foundation is the taste. I need to confirm for myself whether we can sell it at a high price.”
“Oh... Henry, you really are a genius! How do you come up with ideas like that? Theodore! Don’t just stand there in a daze—didn’t you hear what the family head said? If you go to the ’45 storage room next door, there should still be a few wooden crates left as they are! Hurry up and bring two bottles!”
‘In my past life, I was an assistant manager at a marketing company. This much is basic.’