Having returned home, Warren Binyarski sat in his chair in the study, lost in thought after a shocking experience.
‘Good grapes? Hmm… sugar content, total acidity, pigments, seed maturity, skin maturity, berry size… If you dig into the specifics, there are far too many…?’
It was the first time he had heard such an answer.
“Had I not studied enough?”
The specifics of what was required to cultivate grapes for making good wine was something one could learn even in school. Especially at UC Davis, which he and most Napa Valley wineries had close ties with and learned from, as they provided various academic foundations.
But that young man’s answer went a step further. He had already established an ideal form of grape in his mind and was cultivating grapes to match it. This style of cultivation was something even Warren had not yet conceived of.
No, it was something no one would think of. A wine’s identity came from its terroir, and wine enthusiasts were people who drank while praising the special terroir unique to each wine.
Yet that young man seemed to be creating the terroir with an ideal grape in mind. It seemed absurd, but the conviction in the young man’s eyes convinced Warren that his thinking was right.
Whether proper grapes would come from artificially creating terroir like that was unknown. Most likely, the chances of failure were high.
But Warren’s heart was trembling.
“It reminds me of the old days.”
Warren was taken back to the 1970s, recalling when he had worked for the Mondavi family with a passion for wine.
“Damn it! What are you doing! Won’t you come to your senses? The grapes are losing their vitality!”
When Warren was much younger than now, whenever Robert Mondavi shouted with mud on his hands, Warren couldn’t have been more distraught.
“Look closely. Wine begins with color before aroma. No one reaches for wine with poor color. And the color of a fine wine is determined right at the threshold of autumn.”
“You think this is okay? Is there something wrong with your tongue? Can’t you feel this drooping sensation at all?”
Mr. Mondavi had taught him, sometimes with meticulous care, sometimes intensely. At the time it had been difficult, but Warren believed those memories had made him who he was today. No, to be honest, it hadn’t been all that difficult.
‘It was fun. Like crazy…’
It had been a time when studying grapes and wine was the most exciting thing in the world. So what if he got scolded a little? That passion never waned; rather, when he was scolded, he had gritted his teeth.
He had wanted to show him. He had wanted to prove before him that he was the winemaker who would lead the new generation.
The farm and winery he had gained after going independent, and the unforgettable memory of the Judgment of Paris… Looking back now, it all felt like a dream.
“Grandpa!”
A voice calling him suddenly—it was his beloved granddaughter, Jenny.
“Hmm? What is it?”
“Dad said he’d take me on a light aircraft tour this summer vacation!”
It seemed Jonathan had granted the wish she had so dearly wanted.
“Grandpa is worried.”
“Dad said he hired the best pilot. I’ll make sure to come back safely.”
“You do that.”
His granddaughter left after rousing him from his musings, and Jonathan entered behind her.
“Haha, this girl couldn’t hold it in and ran off to brag everywhere. Huh? Are you tired?”
“It’s not that I’m tired…”
“Didn’t you go somewhere earlier?”
“I did.”
“Where?”
Warren, who had been quietly staring at Jonathan, asked,
“What do you think about receiving the money not all at once, but split up over several payments?”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I… don’t like Michel Wine Estates, and that Italian family is the same.”
“Father… that’s all settled already.”
“Actually, I visited a winery earlier…”
Jonathan raised his voice before Warren could even finish.
“Father! What are you talking about! We already finished talking with Brad, and only the final decision remains. Is it because of the price? Sigh, I got it. I’ll push a little more on that front.”
“It’s not about the price. If money were the problem, I wouldn’t tell you to receive it in installments.”
Jonathan swept his hair back and suddenly thought of something.
“Are you trying to sell to the Mondavi family?”
“No.”
“Right? Isn’t it? I’m absolutely against it. Don’t get close to that family anymore.”
Warren closed his eyes at his son’s words. He knew why Jonathan disliked the Mondavi family. Their children were all striving to inherit the wine business, while he could not, so Jonathan hated being compared.
“It’s not Mondavi. And if it were Mondavi, there’d be no reason to split the payment.”
Jonathan thought there was some sense in that and asked,
“Then where is it? Ah! Don’t tell me. I don’t even want to hear it. Anyway, this was decided through a family meeting, so I hope you won’t decide on your own.”
Disappointed and angry, Jonathan closed the study door and left.
“Sigh…”
Warren let out a sigh, scratching his white hair in distress.
‘It’s a winery I’m going to sell anyway. Am I too unable to let go? It’s not going to be mine anymore. Do I think Stag’s Leap will remain mine forever? Am I the one who needs to come to his senses?’
He reflected on himself the whole time. Then, at some point, he made a decision and rose. After simply putting on some clothes, he slowly walked toward the winery not far from his home.
“Welcome, sir.”
The staff bowed respectfully as soon as they saw him, and he waved lightly as he headed toward the office.
“Sir, what brings you…?”
Hudson, who held the position of General Manager (GM), approached and asked. Having worked there for over ten years, he managed all the affairs of the winery.
“I… want to talk to one more place.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“A prospective buyer,”
At Warren’s curt reply, Hudson’s pupils shook as if struck by an earthquake.
“Do you have someone in mind?”
“No.”
“Then… Michel Wine Estates will be quite disappointed.”
“I don’t care.”
Realizing there was no room for persuasion from his boss’s firm answer, Hudson asked no more.
“What should I do?”
“Send an email. The recipient is Redwood Winery.”
Hudson opened his eyes wide and looked at the winery owner.
“Redwood, sir? The small winery… in southern Napa, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“The one famous for Aschlon and Sylphid…”
“That’s right too.”
“… That winery is nowhere near two hundred million dollars—it probably doesn’t even have twenty million, does it?”
“I’m considering installment payments as well.”
It seemed the decision was already made, so Hudson quickly returned to his seat and began typing away.
“But with them… you said you hadn’t spoken with them, right?”
“That’s right. They don’t know yet.”
“Then what about the price or conditions…?”
“It’s not like that. Ask if they’re interested in our winery being for sale. Present a price range approximate to what another winery has currently offered, and tell them installment payments are possible. Say that if they’re interested, let’s have a meeting.”
The email itself was absurdly submissive.
“Just out of curiosity, is there a reason you chose Redwood?”
Warren stroked the cane in his hand once and formed a faint smile on his lips.
“Because I think it’ll be interesting.”
“Interesting… sir?”
“I’m curious—heart-flutteringly curious—to see how that friend will develop our winery if he runs it.”
It was an incomprehensible answer, but having seen some kind of exhilaration in his boss’s eyes, Hudson diligently wrote the email and sent it.
“It’s sent.”
“They might think it’s a prank or spam, so if there’s no reply after two days, print out the email exactly as is and deliver it directly to the winery.”
“Understood.”
Hudson’s lips went dry. Since it was sent from the company account, the staff might learn of it soon, and above all, Warren’s sons were checking the company email every day regarding the acquisition.
If they found out this content had been sent externally, there would surely be a huge uproar.
---
“What is all this? Andrew! Did you see this?”
Andrew, Warren’s eldest son who had just returned from a trip, frowned at his younger brother bursting into the room.
“What are you doing? What if my wife was in here changing?”
Jonathan raised his hands at his older brother’s stiff face.
“Sorry… I was just so surprised.”
“What is it?”
“Look at this.”
What his younger brother Jonathan held out was a document. Wondering what it was, Andrew saw it was an email sent from the company account to another winery. But its contents were shocking enough to instantly blow away the fatigue of his travels.
“What is this?”
“Right?! That’s what I’m saying!”
“Where’s Father?”
The two brothers ran at full speed to their father’s study. But their father was not there. They asked Andrew’s wife and the housekeeper, but no one knew.
Then Jenny came down from playing in her room.
“Looking for Grandpa? He went out earlier.”
“He went out? Where?”
“I asked where he was going, and he said he was going to Mondavi Winery.”
In that instant, the two brothers looked at each other and ran outside.
“He’s planning to sign the contract at Mondavi!”
“We have to stop him!”
The two brothers hurriedly got in their car and headed to Mondavi. Arriving at the winery, they asked the staff,
“Our father is inside, right? We’ll go in and see him for a moment.”
Since they were already well-known in the area and very close to the family, no staff stopped the two brothers. Then,
“Father!”
The two pushed the door open with a bang and stopped short at the sight of two old men sitting opposite each other on the sofa.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Warren’s annoyed face contrasted with Mondavi’s strange expression, as if he were about to smile but holding back.
“No… I’m sorry. We rushed over because we were so surprised.”
However urgent it was, the two brothers knew propriety and first apologized to Mondavi. Mondavi, who had guessed the situation, waved his hand to indicate it was fine.
The faint smile on his face made it clear Mondavi simply found the situation amusing.
“Father, what is this? The sale was all decided.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk… You didn’t even read the email fully. Why? Did you rush here thinking I was secretly signing a contract with Mondavi?”
Their faces flushed red at their father’s rebuke.
“And I said at the family meeting that unless there were special circumstances, I would sell the winery to them.”
Jonathan raised his voice at Warren’s answer.
“Ha, then what are the special circumstances? There’s no such—”
“I’ve found something I want to learn.”
The two sons couldn’t believe their ears at the unexpected answer.
“What?”
“What do you mean?”
To his sons who couldn’t understand, Warren answered calmly with his legs crossed.
“There’s something I want to learn about grapes, but they won’t teach me. So I’m selling my winery to learn it.”
The two sons understood none of their father’s calm explanation.
“What are you going to learn? No… and are you saying you can only learn it by selling?”
“I’m not certain, but I suspect that’s the case.”
“Father!”
“You want money, right? Say we sell the winery for a price close to two hundred million dollars. I don’t have to receive it all at once; I can receive it in installments. What’s wrong with receiving it over ten years?”
“You can’t!”
Warren’s eyes grew fierce at Jonathan’s strong outburst.
“Because you need to buy that building in San Jose?”
“Yes! We can only buy it now!”
“Heh heh…”
Warren looked at the ceiling and let out a hollow laugh with a frustrated expression. Mondavi watched him pityingly and then spoke to his two sons.
“Go back now. Moreover, I haven’t even broached the subject of the sale with Redwood. Don’t make a needless fuss.”
Realizing that nothing had actually happened yet, the two sons breathed a sigh of relief, bowed their heads, and withdrew.
Once Andrew and Jonathan were gone, Mondavi spoke with a pitying expression.
“You seem more conflicted than I am, even though I’m the one closer to death?”
“Isn’t that life?”
“But what was that earlier? That you have something to learn?”
“…… It’s a secret.”
Mondavi was bewildered by Warren’s appearance, turning his head away and clamping his mouth shut as if it were truly a secret.
“What? What’s the secret?”
“There is such a thing.”
“Ha, well I’ll be… But do you think that friend at Redwood will take it?”
Warren scratched his white hair and spoke with a gaze even more troubled than when he had looked at his two sons earlier.
“Sss… that’s the problem… I don’t think he’ll take it. That seems even harder than dealing with those fellows.”