Today, Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars was wrapped in considerable tension as it welcomed some very important guests. Brad Cooper, vice president of Michelle Wine Estates (MW Estates), and Alessandro Bellini, president of Marchesi Antinori—key parties in the sale—had come.
On the sofa set up behind the negotiating table, his two sons and Hudson sat with tense expressions, watching the negotiations unfold.
They were people who had left the previous meeting having made significant progress, so judging by their now markedly stiff faces, it was clear they were not at all pleased with how things were going.
Warren placed his wrinkled hands on the table and spoke in a low voice.
“You must have heard the story already... and I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m suddenly acting like this, but I hope you’ll understand. I don’t know how much longer I’ll live, and the thought of living with my hands completely off wine is daunting.”
Brad Cooper, who already had a considerable friendship with the family, spoke with a troubled expression.
“But if you try to remove the non-compete clause, sir, the risk becomes far too great for us as the buyers.”
“It’s not that I don’t know that. That’s why I said I’d accept a condition that I can’t acquire a company or start a new one.”
“The problem is the very fact that you might go to any winery as a winemaker. Because whichever winery you go to will be called Stag’s Leap from then on.”
“You’re describing the situation in extreme terms. Taste, and the foods one likes, don’t change easily. The same goes for the wines people enjoy drinking. Even a restaurant people praise and frequent will lose customers the moment its flavors change. People have a clear standard for the taste they want. They might try a wine once or twice after hearing of the winemaker’s fame, but if it doesn’t meet the standard they want, they’ll go back to drinking what they originally drank.”
“That may be true, but...”
“I think I’ve compromised enough. If your side finds even the slightest concession difficult, then I, too, will have no choice but to accept it, regretful as it may be. What can we do? Our standards are different.”
From the position of the buyers, it was hard to call that a concession, but knowing that a major wine-world asset like Stag’s Leap was not likely to come onto the market again, the two men looked at each other and sighed.
This time, Alessandro Bellini from Antinori spoke with a grave expression.
“I understand your intentions, sir. Then we will insert a clause prohibiting any copying, so that no wine may be made using the blending of the SLV you created as is.”
“Good.”
“The same logo is also out of the question.”
“Of course.”
“Even if the blending is not used exactly as is... it would be troublesome if the style came out similar. We would like a supplementary clause preventing even ‘minimal similarity’...”
“I’ll accept that as well.”
Alessandro Bellini nodded and let out a quiet sigh.
“Whew... Very well. I will accept it.”
He turned his head to the side and asked for Brad’s opinion. Brad, too, shrugged and said,
“It can’t be helped. I’ll accept it as well.”
It looked as if the decision had been made right here and now, but in truth, to some extent, it was likely something each company had decided through internal meetings. Both companies must have concluded that they could not afford to miss out on Stag’s Leap, which had come up for sale this time.
At the two men’s decision, the two sons, who had been watching the negotiations, celebrated with a high-five.
After finishing the adjustments down to the details, Warren excused himself, saying he was tired. The ones left behind were his two sons and the representatives from the two wineries who had come to negotiate.
“Do you have any idea what’s gotten into him?”
Brad, puzzled because he had thought Warren had lost his passion over the past few years—to the point that he had only been showing up at the winery sporadically—asked.
“We don’t know either. It’s just... we were startled because he somehow picked Redwood Winery...”
“Redwood?”
“Turns out Redwood Winery has nothing to do with us at all. We have no idea what Father is thinking. And well, what good would knowing do? Hahaha.”
“Well, now it’s all over.”
Andrew and Jonathan smiled with satisfaction, pleased that once the revised contract was drawn up, all that would be left was for their father to sign it. They had no particular desire to know what their father was thinking. They were only excited at the thought of the money coming in quickly so they could purchase that building in San Jose.
But Brad and Alessandro remained bothered by what Warren’s true intentions might be.
---
“Brian! Did you see the announcement? They say Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars was sold for 180 million dollars.”
As soon as I arrived at the winery, Dad raised his voice while checking an article on the internet.
“Yes...”
It was a fact I had already known even before my regression, so it wasn’t surprising. Rather, my attention had been stolen by something else. Namely, the golf membership catalog sitting on Dad’s desk.
“Dad, Chloe’s father sent you this, didn’t he?”
“Huh? Uh... No... He just said we should go for a round together sometime.”
“It’s fine to go, but don’t let Uncle Frederick talk you into signing up for a Deer Ridge Country Club membership.”
The housing market was already getting so unstable that I could feel the danger on my skin. Several companies had begun going bankrupt, and interest rates were fluctuating wildly.
“Hm? Is it because real estate seems a little unstable these days?”
“That’s right. It might plunge at this rate.”
“You’re right. I’ll just go and enjoy myself. By the way, apparently Chloe knows how to play golf too.”
“Chloe too? Hmm... Did she learn when she was young?”
“She did, apparently. They say she’s gooood. Just looking at Chloe, with those long arms and legs, doesn’t she look like she’d be good at golf?”
Objectively speaking, Chloe was tall and slender, and she had the kind of figure that wouldn’t be bad for modeling.
“Well, I’m not interested in golf.”
“Learn when you have time later. Chloe will teach you well.”
“Oh, come on...”
I shook my head as I watched Dad subtly avert his gaze. Then, just as I was about to head to the aging room, someone called from outside.
“Mr. Brian, someone’s here to see you outside.”
“Who is it?”
“An elderly gentleman. He’s asking for you, Mr. Brian.”
Wondering who had suddenly come looking for me, I went outside and saw an old man I had seen somewhere before, wearing a red checked shirt and comfortable brown pants as he looked around the farm.
“Huh? You came again?”
The old man saw me, grinned broadly, and said,
“So you were here today. Last time, you were over there.”
“Last time, did you come knowing I’d be there?”
“I did then.”
“Why?”
“I had something to ask.”
I frowned.
“What you asked me about the land back then wasn’t just something you got curious about on the spot?”
“No, it wasn’t. I went intending to ask something else, but I ended up forgetting everything. The situation back then was too intense.”
I couldn’t understand what he meant and simply stared at him, and he said casually,
“By any chance, are you hiring?”
“Here?”
“Then would I be asking somewhere other than here?”
“No... What kind of work do you know how to do?”
“I know a little about making wine.”
Come to think of it, I remembered that this old man had known quite a lot about grapes at the time. If he knew that much at his age, he was probably someone with long experience making wine somewhere else.
“You must have experience. Where did you work?”
“That’s why I made something, you see...”
He pulled a piece of paper that had been folded several times from his back pocket and held it out to me. I looked to see what it was and found that it was a résumé.
“I thought quite a bit while writing that down, you see...”
The old man’s words no longer reached my ears. The contents of the résumé were strange in many ways. I stared hard at it and asked,
“This is... a joke, right?”
“No.”
“So... you’re... no, sir, you’re Warren Winiarski?”
“That’s right. I’m that man.”
I blinked and looked back and forth between his face and the résumé.
The experience written on the résumé was splendid in itself.
- Founded and operated Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars for over 50 years.
- Achieved first place with the 1973 S.L.V Cabernet Sauvignon at the 1976 Judgment of Paris.
- Developed representative labels such as SLV, FAY, and Cask 23.
- Established micro-vinification and blending structures by soil and block.
- Personally supervised the entire process for over 40 years, including vineyard management, irrigation, pruning, and harvest timing decisions.
- Conducted various research collaborations with world-class wineries and universities, including U.C. Davis.
His advisory and educational activities were also dazzling, and the Technical Skills he had additionally written down were textbook things I had learned over and over before my regression. And finally, the reason for applying was written at the end.
[I was particularly impressed by the precise soil composition and target-based grape production (Target Viticulture) methods your company pursues, and I wish to learn them firsthand and experiment together.]
“Could you wait just a moment? Just here for a moment...”
“Go ahead.”
He smiled benevolently, and I hurried inside and sat down in front of the computer.
“Who came to make you act like that?”
“Just a second.”
Brushing off Dad’s question, I immediately searched his name. Most of what came up were text articles, and after clicking around for quite a while, I finally found the face of an elderly man with white hair, glasses, and a benevolent expression.
“It’s really him?”
“What is?”
“The person in this picture is outside.”
“This person? Warren... Wini...arski? The man with 180 million dollars?”
“Yes...”
“Why?”
“He says he wants to work at our winery.”
“...Could he be a con artist?”
Leaving Dad for the moment, I went back outside. He was still looking around our grape farm, touching the soil and examining the vines. When I approached, he pointed at the ground and said,
“There’s something different about this soil. What component is it?”
“You haven’t joined the company yet, so I can’t tell you.”
“Oh... Right. Then hurry up and hire me.”
He looked at me with a face full of anticipation. I really couldn’t understand it, so I asked,
“You could just make wine at the winery you already have.”
“Haven’t you seen the article about the sale of my winery? Everyone should have seen it by now.”
“I saw it... Then couldn’t you have just not sold it and done your research there?”
“What are you talking about? It’s written there in my reason for applying.”
“Yes, I saw it. You want to learn the precise soil composition and target-based grape production we pursue. Are you really saying you’re applying because of that?”
“I told you, that’s right. And the sale of the winery couldn’t be helped. None of my children wanted to inherit it.”
The reason he had no choice but to sell his winery was exactly the same as the feelings of Chloe’s father, Mr. Frederick. If Chloe or Brandon hadn’t changed their minds, he probably would have sold everything off too, just like Mr. Warren.
“But... you’re an incredibly experienced person, so meeting your salary conditions might be a bit...”
“I’ll take 100,000 dollars. How’s that? Honestly, if I went to another winery, I could get one more zero after that. I do have my dignity, so you need to give me at least this much.”
An annual salary of 100,000 dollars was high, but if they could hire Warren Winiarski for 100,000 dollars, wineries not just in Napa but all over the world would come rushing in foaming at the mouth. Honestly, even 1 million dollars wouldn’t be expensive.
“Let’s set that aside for now. If you join my winery, you’ll have to follow what I say. Can you do that?”
Perhaps this part bothered him, because he paused for a moment, scratched his nose, and made a reluctant expression.
“All instructions?”
“Of course.”
“Hmm... I’m a bit direct, so if something’s wrong, I point it out right away.”
“You may point things out. If something is wrong, it should be corrected.”
“Right? Then, well...”
“But I’m similar, so if I point out something wrong, you’ll have to correct it too.”
At those unexpected words, he pointed at himself with his index finger.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“How fresh. Very fresh...”
His eyes widened in surprise, and then the corners of his mouth rose.
“So? Did I pass?”
“Yes, well... Let’s do our best together.”
When I held out my hand, Warren grinned and spoke playfully.
“You made a good decision. By the way, what’s my position?”
“Associate Winemaker. It’s an assistant position helping me. You’re not dissatisfied, are you?”
“No. It’s truly a good position. It’s exactly what I wanted.”
He smiled brightly and looked with satisfaction at the farm, which, compared to the farm he had once owned, could be described as being the size of a booger.