A quiet residential neighborhood in Tokyo’s Setagaya Ward. In the living room of Mr. Tanaka’s small apartment, three or four friends who had gathered after work sat around a round dining table. Japanese society was mired in stagnation in the aftermath of the Lehman Brothers shock, and for ordinary salarymen, the glamorous bars of Ginza were a story from another world.
Instead, they had grown accustomed to home parties where they soothed their worries with convenience-store snacks and a bottle of alcohol each person had brought.
“Hey, Tanaka. You brought the wine from that manga today, right?”
Sato, a college friend, asked as he cracked open a can of beer. Tanaka carefully took a bottle of wine out of his bag and set it down. It was a stylish bottle with a black label and the word “ECHELON” written in gold.
“Well, you see... the Mont-Pérat and Grand Crus that appeared in the manga were just absurdly expensive, and all the reasonably priced wines were sold out. So I brought one that an Enoteca employee recommended. It’s a Napa Valley wine. You guys know Napa Valley appeared in The Drops of God, right?”
“Hmm...”
His friends looked slightly disappointed. They had wanted to directly experience the visions described by the protagonist in the manga The Drops of God—the dazzling stage of the rock band Queen or a field of flowers spreading out before their eyes.
“It’s not like it played that important a role...”
“Still, if French wine is that expensive, there’s nothing we can do.”
While expressing their regret, the friends accepted that it couldn’t be helped. They had realized that the wall before Bordeaux wine was far too high. When Tanaka resolutely pulled out the cork, the rich scents of blackcurrant, ripe plum, and subtle vanilla instantly spread through the cramped living room.
“Oh, the aroma’s pretty good?”
Tanaka poured the wine into the glasses. The deep ruby liquid ran down the walls of the glasses, leaving red traces behind. His friends lifted their glasses half in doubt, and the moment they took their first sip, their expressions changed at once.
“... What is this? It’s much better than I expected.”
The first to speak was Sato, who had a fussy palate.
“I thought a Napa wine would just smell like alcohol... but this is definitely different from the convenience-store wines I’ve had until now. The way it fills the mouth isn’t rough, it’s smooth. Is this what high-end wine is like? How much did you say this was?”
“It wasn’t exactly cheap. It was in the nine-thousand-yen range. Compared to Mont-Pérat selling for over 4,500 yen with the premium attached, it’s twice as expensive, but I bought it because there was no Mont-Pérat...”
At Tanaka’s explanation, his friends kept nodding and emptied their glasses.
“But at this level, isn’t nine thousand yen worth it? It’s really good.”
“Exactly... Honestly, I didn’t expect much from wine, but this is good enough that I’d buy one now and then when I feel like treating myself. Where did you say you bought it?”
“Enoteca. They said they carry all the wines from this winery there. This was the one the employee recommended.”
“Oh...”
“What’s the winery called?”
“It’s written here. Redwood... The employee said the person who made this wine was the foremost disciple of some legendary... who was it again? I heard the name but forgot. Anyway, they said this place is the hottest up-and-coming winery in Napa.”
“I’ll have to remember it. Redwood.”
That night, the two emptied bottles of Echelon in that small living room planted a new perception of Napa Valley in Tanaka and his friends.
The next day, at the Redwood Holdings office in Tokyo, Japan.
President Woody Choi had been reviewing documents since early morning. Having come to Tokyo alone to run the business, he felt less lonely than invigorated by finally doing the business he had wanted to do, and he worked with passion.
In particular, after the Lehman crisis, he had been on edge as the global premium wine market froze over, so when the indicators in the Asian market showed a curious movement, he did not miss it.
Knock, knock.
“President, here is the weekly report from Japan.”
The documents the secretary handed him were packed with changes in Napa wine’s market share in Japan. Woody Choi adjusted his magnifying glasses and read down through the figures.
[Notable Points: After the airing of the drama The Drops of God, wine beginners among young people in their twenties and thirties have increased sharply. Due to the reflective benefits from the soaring prices of French Grand Crus, demand has expanded for Napa Valley premium-grade wines such as Echelon and Sylphid. The rate at which stock is being depleted at Enoteca and major department stores is exceeding projections.]
A faint smile spread across Woody Choi’s lips. He picked up the phone on his desk and placed an international call. The person on the other end was his son, Brian, in Napa Valley, America.
“Hey, Brian? It’s me.”
“Father, what’s going on at this hour? Isn’t it about the time you just got to work?”
“Yes. I called because the indicators on the Japanese side are unusual. Even with the economy in this state, people keep coming for Napa wines. In particular, the Echelon and Sylphid you made have really gotten good word of mouth. Do you think you could pull in a bit more volume?”
But Brian’s voice was cautious.
“It’s not that there’s no stock at all, but there are already quantities tied up with distribution rights. First, I’ll have to ask White & Company, which handles North America and Europe. I don’t know if they’ll release any, but...”
“I suppose so. They’ll probably be negative about sending their goods this way, but you never know. Christopher might be worried about stock piling up too, or he might need cash right away. Try talking to him.”
“All right, Father. I’ll contact Christopher right away. Please take care of your health.”
“You take good care of your mother too.”
“Yes!”
---
After hanging up, Woody Choi rose from his seat with a faint smile. He had checked the documents, so now he intended to go out to the field himself and see the atmosphere.
I looked back and forth between the inventory status board on my desk and the Japanese market report my father had sent. It was definitely an opportunity. But I could not break the trust I had with my partner, Christopher White.
After pursing my lips and organizing my thoughts, I called Christopher.
“Hello, Mr. Christopher White. How’s the market? Is New York still frozen over?”
“Haha, we’re always passing the days as calmly as the surface of a lake. Not completely bad, and not completely good either.”
The words “not completely bad” told me that the market was not good right now. The wines Christopher handled were quite popular, and before the financial crisis, I knew his company had to regulate stock. But things had changed a lot now. It was a worldwide recession, after all.
After the Lehman crisis, news that high-end restaurants in New York and London were closing one after another or canceling orders was no longer particularly special. His warehouses were probably filling up with premium wines that could not be sold.
“Actually, that’s why I called, Christopher. The situation in North America and Europe has been pretty tough lately, hasn’t it?”
“Don’t even get me started. Wine is practically a luxury good, so once consumers close their wallets, well.”
“So I’d like to make a proposal. How about diverting part of the 2008 vintage volume allocated to you toward Asia? Demand for wine in Japan and Korea is stronger than expected right now, and they want stock. If it’s difficult, I’ll understand, so please feel free to say so.”
For a moment, silence flowed between us. From Christopher’s point of view, it could look like he was giving up distribution rights, which might wound his pride, and above all, letting something go at wholesale price when it could yield a large profit if he held onto it could leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
Since I wanted my father’s business to do well, it would be good for me to receive stock from him, but I had no intention of forcing him. So I spoke as objectively as possible.
“Mm...”
“I think liquidating stock that’s sleeping in the warehouse right now might be good for you too, Christopher, but I’m absolutely not trying to pressure you.”
“Of course. I know.”
“What would you like to do?”
It would be a lie to say it wasn’t a difficult decision. The volume allocated to North America and Europe made up the majority of Redwood’s shipments, and now that he couldn’t move it, how frustrated must he be? On top of that, even if the economy recovered right away, whether wine consumption would increase was another matter, so there was no way to be certain when sales would rise.
Setting aside simple storage costs, if one considered operating funds, clearing out part of the wine in the warehouse and securing cash would be the way to reduce risk. But put another way, it was the same as giving up that much profit.
“... How much can you take?”
“About five hundred cases each at the Echelon level.”
At last, as if he had made up his mind, Christopher said,
“Very well. I’ll send five hundred cases each of Echelon, Sylphid, and Quiet Hill.”
“Thank you. Redwood Holdings will pay the amount.”
“No need to thank me. I’d been worrying a lot about operating the company anyway, and with cash coming in right away, that’s one burden off my shoulders. If anything, I should be thanking you.”
In truth, he was right, but someone obsessed with their own profit would see even a situation like this as having their future profit taken away.
“In any case, when you come to Napa soon, let’s open a good bottle of wine.”
“By any chance... is there a reason I need to go to Napa?”
“Haha, that’s right. Mm... Around October, I’m planning to unveil a new wine.”
At those words, Christopher’s voice rang out cheerfully, as if it had never been subdued in the first place.
“Hahaha! Brian, you really don’t rest for even a moment. What kind of wine is it this time?”
“It’s a Cabernet Sauvignon-centered blend, but in effect it’s ninety-five percent Cab, so it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it a single-varietal wine.”
“Ninety-five percent Cab? No... it could end up too heavy if you aren’t careful... Ah, that isn’t me worrying. I know your skill well, and since Mr. Warren Winiarski is beside you, it only makes me more curious. Just what kind of wine will come out...”
“You can probably look forward to it.”
“Haha, I was already looking forward to it, but now that you put it that way, my heart is pounding. Hahaha! Understood. Then I’ll wait until I hear from you.”
Fortunately, I was able to send a considerable volume to my father. In terms of sales alone, it was a sum of over six hundred thousand dollars, so it would be a significant help to Redwood Holdings’ operations.
Thinking of how happy my father would be to hear this news put me in a good mood for no reason.
---
Time passed quickly again. While the wine market across Japan was still stirred up by The Drops of God effect, it was already August.
Steven Levin loosened his tie and turned the rental car’s air conditioner down to the lowest temperature. But the California August sun pierced through the window and heated his arm until it burned.
By contrast, the scenery of Chloe Farm outside the window was peaceful. Shingo pears, which would grow larger than two adult fists combined when fully ripe, hung heavily from each branch, wrapped in paper bags. Whether those things would fetch more than forty-five dollars again this year was impossible to know, but there was no room for disagreement that, at the very least, they deserved to be called golden eggs in the fresh distribution industry.
“Damn it, Chloe. At least answer your phone.”
Steven drummed his fingers irritably on the steering wheel. Last year, through good fortune, he had managed to secure Shingo pear supply after Bristol Farms, and as the West Coast general buyer for Whole Foods Market, he had at least saved face.
Thanks to promotions by Bristol Farms and Whole Foods Market, Shingo pears had risen to become a must-try fruit among the wealthy across America, and because of that achievement, he had even been able to pocket quite a decent bonus last year.
But there was no guarantee it would be the same this year. From the time they signed the contract last year, the farm owner, Chloe, had refused advance contract offers, and it was obvious as day that this year’s Shingo pear shipments would become a competition among markets.
“Levin, haven’t you heard the rumors that our competitors are moving? If that pear isn’t on our shelves this year too, last year’s success will be regarded as mere luck. That means your position won’t be guaranteed.”
The cold voice of the managing director at headquarters lingered around his ears like an auditory hallucination. Steven swallowed dryly and stared at the farm entrance. In the distance, he could see a black sedan parked in front of the farm warehouse. It was the car of Bristol Farms’ purchasing team leader. And that wasn’t all. Yesterday, he had even heard that a buyer from Dean & DeLuca with New York plates had checked into a hotel in downtown Napa.
Steven got out of the car and walked into the farm. Dry Napa dust crunched between the heels of his dress shoes. Normally, the farmhands would have greeted him warmly, but now, as if they had all made a pact, they kept their mouths firmly shut and turned away from him.
“Steven... I see you here.”
“Hah, looks like everyone had the same idea.”
The three market representatives exchanged awkward smiles, then all turned their heads toward the farm entrance at the same time.
And there, in front of the [No Entry] sign standing in place, all three wore troubled expressions.