Anthony Gould’s Adam’s apple moved just once, very slowly.
Even after sending the wine down his throat, he did not immediately speak. With his eyes closed, he simply savored and resavored the lingering aroma and texture left in his mouth. Expectant gazes gathered on him, and silence settled over the room.
After a moment, he slowly opened his eyes. Confusion and awe were intricately tangled in his gaze.
“...Impossible.”
He held his glass up to the light once more and continued in a trembling voice.
“I can’t believe this is the texture of a first-year wine. It feels as though perfectly refined steel has been draped in silk and is gliding over my tongue.”
One of the Northern European diplomats standing beside him asked with interest.
“Is it that extraordinary, Anthony? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you react this strongly.”
Instead of answering, Anthony extended his glass toward him.
“See for yourself. It is utterly impossible to believe this is a first-year wine. Is this what a perfect work tastes like? If Joseph’s Emperor, which I tasted recently, felt like a massive boulder overwhelming my tongue, this Aether feels as though thousands of microscopic needles are awakening every sensory cell on my tongue one by one. Truly astonishing.”
The diplomat and the Nobel Committee officials took up their glasses in turn. Soon, brief groans and exclamations burst out here and there.
“My God, what is this transparent acidity?”
“Didn’t they say it was ninety-five percent Cabernet Sauvignon? Then how is such an elegant floral aroma holding the center?”
Their reactions were immediate and instinctive. They knew nothing of complicated discussions about vinification techniques. But as people who stood at the pinnacle of their respective fields, they intuitively recognized the overwhelming degree of completion possessed by the wine before them.
One Nobel Committee official emptied his glass and spoke in a tone mixed with admiration.
“Usually Napa cult wines are dazzling, but they become tiresome quickly. This wine, however, makes me wonder more and more about what comes after with every sip. It has a weighty power, yet the finish is as refreshing as air in a forest. To think such contradictory sensations could be contained in a single glass...”
Then he looked at Viktor and added.
“Mr. Karlov, now I understand why you were so confident. This stands shoulder to shoulder with the old Bordeaux vintages we always drink at banquets. No, in terms of vitality, it actually surpasses them.”
Viktor Karlov, who in truth must have been the most anxious of all in secret, showed none of it and laughed heartily as he slapped my shoulder.
“Did you hear that, Brian? Those picky gentlemen are talking about vitality. It seems that Aether of yours has pierced straight through their tongues.”
I smiled silently and held Chloe’s hand tightly.
At that moment, Anthony Gould stared once more at the decanter and threw out a sharp question.
“Mr. Brian, let me ask you one thing. I’ve been watching this wine for a while, and as time passes, its aroma grows clearer and its layers come alive. Is this a difference in technique, or a difference in vineyard?”
At his question, the surrounding gazes focused on me again. I answered calmly.
“Both. In truth, I don’t believe that the innate difference of a vineyard can ever be an absolute barrier. I always find myself pondering. In what kind of environment must the finest grapes be grown? And do the finest grapes necessarily create the finest wine? What is the finest terroir desired by the finest wine? I believe Aether today is the result of these questions and efforts continuing over time.”
“Technique and effort for the finest grapes...”
Anthony chewed over my words, then nodded as though he had no choice but to acknowledge them.
“I suppose you won’t tell me what that technique and effort are. I am truly curious, but I’ll have to endure it. Whatever the reason may be, I believe the result has proven itself. Your wine truly... feels as though it was made from the finest grapes.”
“I’m glad you felt that way.”
By the time the heat of the party had ripened deeply, Viktor Karlov approached the Nobel Committee officials with his characteristic relaxed gait. Beside him was the Aether decanter, still emitting a faint light.
Viktor personally filled the glass of Gustav, the committee’s working-level director, and gestured with his chin toward the night view of Manhattan outside the window.
“Gustav, as you know, the Nobel Prize is meant to honor innovation and progress that contribute to humanity, is it not? And yet I sometimes find it ironic that the banquet table itself has remained trapped for decades in the same Bordeaux customs.”
Gustav gazed at the violet liquid in his glass and nodded. The aftertaste of the Aether he had just sampled still lingered at the tip of his tongue, tracing precise ripples.
“Tradition deserves respect, but inertia sometimes blocks the new. Viktor, I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”
He was appropriately saving Viktor’s face, but in truth, Gustav understood Viktor’s intentions. Since Viktor’s Bordeaux estate, Belle Époque, was being managed by Redwood, he knew that a rise in Redwood’s reputation would ultimately be good for Viktor as well.
“At times, I believe the emergence of a new competitor may have a positive influence on Bordeaux. I would very much like you to convey that point to the royal household.”
Viktor’s deep, weighty voice pierced through the noise of the party and lodged in Gustav’s ear. Normally, he might have dismissed it as lobbying from a powerful businessman, but this time it was not so easy. Not because Viktor’s request was difficult to refuse, but because the actual quality of the wine lent weight to his words.
“Certainly... I do think there is merit to that. This wine maintains Bordeaux’s dignity, while the energy contained within it is extremely modern and progressive. It would be hard to find a wine better suited to the Nobel Prize’s value of innovation.”
Gustav raised his glass in a light gesture of respect toward Viktor.
“Even if we step forward, we cannot move the royal household’s decision as we please. Still, we will bring it up.”
“That will be enough.”
Viktor smiled in satisfaction and lightly patted Gustav on the shoulder. It was not mere lip service—Viktor was genuinely satisfied with just this much. Even if it was not selected as the Nobel banquet wine, he knew that simply having a winery called Redwood recognized by people with this level of influence would build tremendous prestige.
---
As the party reached its height, Anthony Gould accepted the dedicated black case Andrei politely handed him. Inside lay, neatly nestled, a bottle of Aether—the wine that had sent a shiver through him that night.
“Eight hundred dollars. For a first-year Napa wine, that’s a terrifying price.”
Anthony spoke with a peculiar smile. Even the very top Napa cult wines rarely had a release price exceeding five hundred dollars. Yet he wrote and handed over a personal check without hesitation. He had judged that the precision compressing the experience he had had tonight was well worth that much.
“It will be worth the price, Mr. Gould.”
At Brian’s confident reply, Anthony nodded and left the residence on 57th Street.
In the car on the way home, Anthony stroked the case and sank into thought. The almost alien smoothness of the tannins and the vivid resolution of the fruit still lingered at the tip of his tongue. This was too great an event to keep to himself. In the end, he took out his phone and dialed a familiar number.
It was his mentor, Robert Parker—the man at the summit of global wine authority, called the king of wine. The Wine Advocate he had founded was like a bible to the wine world, and Anthony’s respect for Robert Parker was immense.
“Master, forgive me for calling at such a late hour. There is something I must tell you. ... Yes, I attended Karlov’s party today. I encountered an unbelievable wine.”
In an excited voice, Anthony began pouring out everything about Redwood Winery’s Aether, which he had drunk that night. He also added his impressions of the Emperor he had tasted at Joseph Haggins’s tasting a few days earlier.
“If Emperor was an overwhelmingly muscular emperor, this Aether is like a diamond blade carved with absolute precision. I have a feeling these two wines may completely change the future of Napa... no, of American wine. I contacted you because I hoped you would see for yourself.”
After a moment of silence, Parker’s voice came through the receiver.
“Anthony, for you to be this excited, I’m getting curious. I’ll come to your house tomorrow. Do you have a bottle of Emperor as well?”
“Of course. Fortunately, I was able to get a bottle that day too.”
The next evening, in the dining room of Anthony Gould’s home.
Anthony Gould’s residence was an old-fashioned townhouse on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. On bookshelves that reached up to the high ceiling, thousands of wine books and faded issues of The Wine Advocate were packed tightly together, showing that this was the home of a giant in the world of criticism.
And the one person invited inside.
Robert Parker.
With his sleeves rolled up and his glasses adjusted on his face, he looked at first glance like an ordinary elderly gentleman. Yet in the thick fingers that held the glass and the sharp gleam in his eyes dwelled the absolute authority that had plunged wineries around the world into terror and ecstasy.
A top-grade medium-rare steak, dripping with juices, was placed at the center of the table. Beside it, Napa’s two monsters had been decanted side by side. With his characteristic cautious gaze, Robert Parker first poured Aether into his glass.
“So this is the one that’s so extraordinary?”
“Experience it for yourself...”
He smelled the aroma, swirled the glass, then held a very small amount of liquid in his mouth and rolled it around. Even the sound of air mixing with it was careful. At last, Parker’s eyes trembled faintly.
“Ha, astonishing. How could such a completed balance come from a Cabernet Sauvignon aged for only one year? It is perfectly ordered, as if the harvest year had been falsified. Anthony, I understand why you called me unable to sleep. At least... at least ninety-nine points...? No, honestly, I cannot find a flaw that would justify taking away even one point.”
At Parker’s praise, Anthony let out a sigh of relief. Then Parker filled his glass with Joseph Haggins’s Emperor. Its intense color and concentration filled the glass. After taking a sip, admiration once again appeared at the corners of Parker’s mouth.
“Oh, this is another shock! What on earth is this energy? This texture that fills the mouth without a single gap... Joseph Haggins pulled off his gamble perfectly. This is the pinnacle of the power American wine ought to aim for.”
“As expected... your thoughts are similar to mine.”
“To think two masterpieces like this were born in Napa... This is nothing less than a blessing for America.”
The two giant critics continued their conversation as they cut their steaks and placed bites in their mouths. They nodded to one another, calling it a historic moment when the landscape of the world wine market would change. Aether’s elegance and Emperor’s destructive power. The two wines seemed to show the finest marriage as they harmonized with the rich flavor of the steak.
“If Aether is refined reason, then Emperor is instinctive desire. Drinking these two bottles at the same time today is a blessing as a critic.”
Parker laughed pleasantly and lifted the glass containing Emperor once again. After swallowing a piece of steak, he took a large mouthful of wine as if rinsing his palate.
At that instant, Robert Parker’s brow furrowed deeply.
He did not swallow the wine, instead rolling it in his mouth for a long while. As time passed, his expression changed from wonder to doubt, and then to an indescribable displeasure.
“Master? What is it?”
Even at Anthony’s question, Parker did not answer. He held the glass of Emperor close to the light, looked through it, then carefully tasted the wine inside once more before murmuring in a low but chilling voice.
“...Strange. The wine is dying.”
“Pardon? What do you mean?”
“It tastes completely different from before. The tannins... are separating. As though something that had been forced together is falling apart.”
What Robert Parker’s sensitive tongue had detected was collapse. Had the steak’s fat and salt acted as a catalyst? Or had the time exposed to air after decanting crossed a critical threshold?
The aroma of Emperor, which until moments ago had displayed an emperor’s majesty, now began to mix with an extremely faint, fishy metallic scent.
“Very slowly... and very subtly, it is twisting out of shape. An ordinary person would likely not have noticed. Only after quite some time would they think something was off.”
Anthony Gould’s face hardened. Before the world’s greatest critic, the emperor’s crown was slowly cracking apart.