A week after Carlos resigned, on the day the deadline Woody had given him expired, he came into the office. Carlos looked gloomy, his shoulders drooping, but Woody only looked at him with pity and showed him no further mercy.
“Mr. Woody, I’ve finished talking with my relatives.”
“And the result?”
“Four of them have accepted the market-rate hourly wage and will stay. The rest refused and decided to leave.”
It seemed they did not want to remain here, even if it meant working at another farm. That did not matter.
“Understood.”
“The two who are leaving should wrap things up within this week. The four who are staying can come in starting next Monday at the new hourly wage.”
“Yes.”
“Our meeting ended on a bad note, but I don’t doubt your abilities. I believe you’ll be able to make a fresh start somewhere else.”
Carlos stared at him in disbelief, as if Woody were giving him the disease and the cure at the same time, but soon lowered his head and left the office. His departing steps looked endlessly heavy.
The next afternoon, Woody called the four laborers who were Carlos’s relatives and had decided to stay on at the farm into the office.
The four laborers sat awkwardly in their chairs, and one farm office worker joined them as a Spanish interpreter. Since Carlos had been dealt with and it had come to light that they had been part of the kickback line, the atmosphere was heavy.
Woody spoke with a grave expression.
“I know that you are Mr. Carlos’s relatives. I also know that, because of that, your previous hourly wage was higher than market rate. That’s in the past now. I don’t want to dig into the past. Let’s start anew at the market-rate hourly wage. If you do your work well, I’ll pay additional wages according to your performance.”
The interpreter translated it into Spanish, and the four, who had already made up their minds to work at the farm, nodded. The one who looked the oldest among them stepped forward and answered.
“Thank you, Mr. Woody. We’ll work hard.”
“Good. I’ll see you next Monday.”
They likely had their complaints inside, but they did not dare show them openly. For now, they had to be satisfied simply with being allowed to work.
The suppliers were sorted out quickly as well.
Attorney Harry Montis sent a notice of termination of business to Vasquez Agricultural Supplies. The additional claim for damages against Miguel Vasquez was treated as having already been partially included in the settlement with Carlos, and all future dealings with the Vasquez company were permanently terminated.
Woody personally looked into two new suppliers. They were two agricultural supply companies in nearby Ventura County, and after negotiating unit prices, he found they could provide a stable supply at prices lower than before.
As for fertilizers and pesticides, they kept the existing suppliers, Caliph Agriculture and Best Protect, but renegotiated the unit prices, and the contracts were renewed without issue. The same went for work tools and seed suppliers; all five suppliers were brought down to market-rate levels.
That alone reduced annual materials costs by about 8%. In dollar terms, it was around forty thousand dollars—money that had been leaking out through Carlos’s line now returning to the farm.
The new manager position would be filled temporarily by George Henderson.
The one-year advisory contract George had signed proved its worth in a situation like this. He agreed to come to the farm three days a week and serve as Woody’s interim manager and mentor. Woody felt a little sorry about an old man in his late seventies coming back to work at the farm, but George himself was even more enthusiastic.
“Mr. Woody, I’m sorry about Carlos. The root of the problem was that once I entered my seventies, I left too much to Carlos. I hadn’t even been checking receipts properly for the past five years.”
George apologized as soon as he saw Woody on his first day back.
“It isn’t your fault, Mr. George. It was Carlos’s own choice. And you grew this farm well for thirty years. That in itself is a great asset.”
They decided to take about six months and proceed carefully with hiring a permanent manager. It would also be a period for Woody himself to directly take on part of the manager’s role and learn the farm’s operations in depth.
Lastly, there was Linda Carter.
When Woody went over to her desk, Linda took her eyes off the monitor and straightened her posture. Her expression was stiff, and it was obvious she was anxious about what would happen to her position after the Carlos
incident.
“Linda. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes, Mr. Woody.”
Woody pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
“Linda. The way you hesitated at first to show me the materials order records was a great shock to me. Even though I am clearly the owner of this farm.”
She had nothing to say in her defense.
“I’m sorry. Until now, Carlos’s word was practically law here. With one word from him, I could be fired in an instant... I do think that part was clearly my fault.”
“Did you know there were problems with the order records?”
At that, she hurriedly waved her hands and denied it.
“No. That’s not it. It’s just... even before, Mr. Carlos had instructed me that matters like order records had to be reported to him first no matter what, and that was why. I’d been hearing that for nearly eight years. I thought that was normal, and I thought I mustn’t defy the manager. So when you requested the documents, Mr. Woody, I instinctively hesitated.”
“I’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”
Woody nodded. Her honest answer made him trust her somewhat, and rather than firing her from the start, he intended to persuade her properly and bring her along.
“From now on, report directly to the owner. Not through the manager. If you see anything strange in the accounting or ordering, tell me directly.”
“Yes, Mr. Woody. I’ll do that.”
Relief appeared on her face at the thought that she had avoided being fired.
In this way, Woody’s new daily life began.
He came to work at 4:30 every morning and personally made a round of the farm. At first, the laborers found it curious that the new owner himself was touring the farm, but after a week, it became a natural sight.
Woody began memorizing the names and faces of all thirty laborers. He made an effort to learn in his head who was in charge of which area, how many family members they had, and where each of them was from.
In the evenings, he returned to his temporary lodging and studied the operations manual. The overall picture of the farm system slowly began to take shape.
Because of that, the farm did not waver. Carlos’s position as one man was empty, but the system was alive, George was temporarily filling the gap, and Woody, the farm’s owner, was personally running around.
Only when nearly a month had passed since the farm acquisition did Father stop by the family home in Napa.
“Honey~! Your face has gotten so thin. Why are you so tanned?”
“This is what happened even though I kept wearing a hat.”
At Mother’s warm welcome, a smile spread across Father’s face as well. As Mother said, his skin did seem a little tanned and he seemed to have lost some weight, but his face was full of vitality.
“Wooseok, you know, at the farm...”
With the braised short ribs Mother had made in front of him, Father excitedly poured out everything that had happened at the farm. He must have been itching to talk all this time because he had had no one to tell.
Seeing Father, who had been away, return, and seeing Mother happy too, put me in a good mood as well.
So now, if only I get married, will everything be perfect?
Father stayed for about two days, then left again for Ventura County. He said he would come once a week from now on.
There was no time to feel disappointed. It was now September, and September was the most sensitive period for grape growers.
When I headed to the Castello estate, Marcus reported to me with the final GC-MS measurement data he had prepared.
“Veraison is one hundred percent complete, and we have entered the precursor concentration stabilization stage. We can set the first harvest around September 15.”
“Good. What about the fermentation tanks and the yeast preparations?”
“We’ve finished cleaning six fermentation tanks, and the yeast is scheduled to arrive next week. We’ve already received the B-glucosidase enzyme from a domestic supplier as well. Everything is set for the end of September. Of course, we’ll only know the exact harvest timing once we get there.”
Marcus’s tone was full of confidence. It was likely the result of devoting nearly a month to Castello.
After that, we checked the veraison progress for Ironwood, Silver Oak, and Lapis Lazuli, and confirmed the harvest schedules. All of it was decided together with Warren.
By the time I finished inspecting the estates and returned to the main office, it was around eleven in the morning. When I got back, my secretary stood up from her seat and gave me a brief report.
“Sir, you have a guest. He didn’t have an appointment, but he said he absolutely had to meet you, so I showed him to the reception room.”
“Who is it?”
“He’s from the Middle East. He said Saudi Arabia. There are three people in his party. I took his business card.”
Catherine handed me a business card. Printed in English and Arabic, the card had a name and title written in English on one side.
Hassan Al-Rashid
Senior Advisor, Royal Asset Management
“An asset management advisor?”
“He came with an interpreter and an attorney. He said he’s someone who loves wine.”
My afternoon schedule was open, but accepting a guest without an appointment on the spot was not a good look. However, if he had flown all the way from Saudi Arabia, there was no reason not to meet him.
“All right.”
When I entered the reception room, a man in his late fifties wearing a suit rose from his seat. Dressed in a white shirt and dark navy suit, with neatly groomed salt-and-pepper hair, he greeted me in English with a British accent.
“Mr. Brian, I apologize for taking your time. I am Hassan Al-Rashid.”
“Brian Choi. Please, have a seat.”
As Hassan sat down, he briefly introduced the interpreter and attorney beside him. The two only gave short greetings and took seats to one side.
When the secretary brought in coffee, Hassan wrapped both hands around his cup and gazed for a moment at the winery photograph hanging on the wall of the reception room. It was a photo taken during last year’s Cabernet Sauvignon harvest.
“Mr. Brian, before we get into the main topic, there is one thing I’d like to say. I came here out of pure interest in this winery. More than in the business itself.”
When I nodded, he continued.
“The person I serve is a wine collector. He has been collecting for nearly thirty years, and he keeps around forty thousand bottles in his cellar. He has all the Bordeaux First Growths, and dozens of bottles by vintage of Burgundy’s Domaine Leroy and Domaine de la Romanée-Conti. Aside from that, he has almost all the California cult wines as well. Screaming Eagle, Harlan, Opus One, Dominus, Colgin, Bryant... He has them all.”
I wondered what he wanted me to do about that, but for now, I listened quietly. A forty-thousand-bottle cellar, Bordeaux First Growths, Burgundy grand crus, California cult wines, and so on—if this was true, that person’s cellar was among the finest in the world.
I found myself thinking, so this was the level of the Middle East.
Hassan took a moment to steady his breath, then continued.
“But there is one thing. The wines of Redwood Winery are not in his cellar. The person I serve drank Astra Vale last year and was deeply moved, but he regretted not being able to obtain a large quantity.”
“......”
Just from hearing that much, I could roughly tell what the other party wanted. He wanted me to set aside stock for him before release, didn’t he? As expected...
“I understand Astra Vale has not yet been officially released. So that is why... I came directly to the winery like this. Would it be possible?”
There was no way it would be possible.
“Mr. Hassan, once Astra Vale is released, if you apply through the normal procedure, we will handle it the same way we do for other collectors. The release schedule will be announced soon.”
But Hassan did not look troubled in the slightest. Rather, he smiled lightly and said,
“Mr. Brian, the person I serve does not want a few bottles.”
“Yes?”
“He wants one-third of the vintage.”
For a moment, I thought I had misheard. As I sat there dumbfounded, Hassan smiled as if amused and slowly continued.
“I understand that the first vintage release of Astra Vale is three thousand cases. We will purchase one-third of that in full. We’ll value it at six hundred dollars per bottle. That comes to roughly 7.2 million dollars, does it not?”
“......”
“And one more thing. For the next ten years, he wants exclusive purchase rights to thirty percent of the annual release.”
My mind went blank for a moment. It was a kind of proposal I had never received in my entire winemaking life. Usually, the most excessive request was along the lines of, “Could you allocate just one case—twelve bottles—to me first?” Yet the fact that an offer had actually come in for one-third of the first vintage and thirty percent exclusively every year felt strangely unreal.
“What do you think?”
To the man with the charming crescent-eyed smile, I answered as though bewitched.
“I’m sorry, but I’ll decline.”
“Yes? You decline?”
“Yes. I almost said yes for a moment.”
I meant it. If I had liked money even a little more, I would have snapped up his poisoned proposal.