The auction shot up like flames the moment it began. The instant the auctioneer called the name of the first barrel, paddles gleamed as they rose here and there. The breathless silence lasted mere seconds, and soon the hall was filled with murmurs and the sound of numbers flying forth.
“Eight hundred dollars per case!”
“One thousand dollars!”
“Twelve hundred!”
In an instant, the price doubled, and the auctioneer’s voice spilled out faster and faster. Those around raised the numbered paddles in their hands high, waging a battle of momentum, while importers seated in the front row and collectors in the back eyed one another and nodded their heads.
“A bid of five thousand dollars per case!”
“Six thousand!”
For a moment, the hall buzzed. Someone whistled in surprise, while another tapped rapidly on a calculator and whispered to a colleague.
“Eight thousand, any more! Very well. It is won by the gentleman in red over there!”
As time passed, the heat intensified.
“This time, it is a barrel from the dark horse Glory Vineyards in Oakville. Lot number 17...”
And when the next barrel was introduced, applause and cheers erupted. A winery representing the prestige of Napa Valley. Before the auctioneer could even state the opening price, paddles rose simultaneously, and that moment was like fireworks exploding.
“Seven thousand dollars!”
“Eight thousand!”
“Ten thousand!”
People glanced at one another and smiled, and someone half rose from their seat to wave a paddle. The heat of competition reddened their cheeks. Wine and money, prestige and pride mixed together, heating the air.
The more renowned the winery, the more relentlessly the price soared, and the faces of participants who had yet to obtain what they sought began to reveal growing impatience.
And finally, it was Kenaz Vineyards’ turn. The auctioneer cried out with a smile.
“Kenaz Vineyards, 2004 Merlot Barrel. Lot number 27. The starting price is three hundred dollars per case.”
A momentary silence settled over the hall. No one raised their hand. Most who had tasted the barrel sample had shaken their heads. The auctioneer called out the price a few more times, but the response was still absent.
“Three hundred dollars per case, anyone?”
Impatience seeped into the auctioneer’s voice. After one or two more repetitions, it seemed the word “pass” would soon follow.
I steadied my breath and raised my paddle.
“Right here.”
In an instant, gazes converged from all around. Everyone wore puzzled faces. Someone whispered to the person beside them.
“What’s that Asian kid doing?”
“Leave him alone. He must be a beginner.”
Dad looked at me with a flicker of tension, but I nodded. I was certain.
The Total Polyphenol Index (TPI), representing the total amount of phenolic compounds in the wine—tannins, anthocyanins, and so forth—was over 70, and the color density, the value indicating the wine’s color concentration, reached 18. With these figures, though it was rough now, it would soften after aging, and as time passed, its color and aroma would develop beautifully, making it favorable for long-term blending.
In short, this barrel might look like an unwanted mongrel that no one desired now, but next year it would combine with Redwood’s Cabernet Sauvignon and produce an astonishing synergy.
The auctioneer confirmed once more.
“Three hundred dollars per case, no one else? ...None. Sold!”
The moment the gavel rang out, people’s interest immediately turned toward another barrel. But my heart was beating hotly.
“It’s done.”
“Good work.”
I was certain. That this barrel, which no one had given a second glance today, would become the key to elevating tomorrow’s Redwood one step further.
Having gained even better returns than I had anticipated, I left the auction house with Dad.
---
The UC Davis student in attendance at the Napa Harvest Gala & Barrel Auction was not Brian alone. Many wineries were present, and among them were Harrington’s Sienna and Castello’s Matthew. Both had come with family, but during the auction they sat right next to each other.
Both had clearly watched Brian, seated ahead of them, happily win the bid on an unbearably astringent, unpopular Merlot.
“You think that makes sense?”
Matthew asked, unable to understand.
“There must be a reason.”
Sienna had her arms crossed and was looking at the auction underway, but Matthew knew. That the auction right now was not registering in her eyes.
“If you thought there was a reason, why didn’t you jump in?”
“Me? Why?”
“It’s hard to just watch someone buy it too cheaply.”
At Matthew’s somewhat dissatisfied tone, Sienna turned her head to look at him.
“Then why didn’t you jump in?”
“Well, I...”
“You probably couldn’t because you don’t know how to use it. Even at three hundred dollars per case, buying the whole barrel costs quite a bit, and if you took it without knowing where or how to blend it, you’d only get scolded, right? It’s not like you came alone.”
In truth, the biggest reason Matthew hadn’t jumped in was, as she said, not because he had come alone but because he had come with family. If that hadn’t been the case, he would have participated in the auction and driven the price up to at least a thousand dollars before backing out.
“That’s not it. I didn’t jump in because I’m going to get something better.”
“I’ll see just how good of a thing you get.”
“...But aren’t you really curious? Why on earth he took that Merlot?”
She didn’t answer, but the person most curious about the reason right now was precisely her. She wanted to run out after Brian that instant and demand an answer.
Why on earth he bought that. Whether he had tasted it. What he planned to do with that flat aroma. But she couldn’t. Brian was neither a professor nor a winemaker worthy of anyone’s respect, so asking him like that would feel too humiliating.
“Don’t if you don’t want to. But it does seem interesting.”
“What is?”
“Here in California, and Napa wineries at that—they look like they’re all doing well and wealthy on the outside, but that’s not the case. It’s hard to break into, and wine is even harder. People enter with empty dreams and keep failing, yet rising stars like Redwood are born.”
Sienna snorted.
“Ha, you’re treating Redwood as a rising star?”
“Of course. Did you think I lacked the discernment for that? Those who cannot acknowledge skill are inevitably weeded out.”
“The more I see you, the less I understand you.”
“That’s probably because you’re prejudiced against me. I’m an objective and logical person. And magnanimous.”
“Ugh...!”
“If you don’t believe me, so be it.”
A slight twist lingered at the corner of Matthew’s mouth as he chuckled and looked toward the auction house. He too knew well about Aesylon, which was currently the talk of the town, and had even tasted it. That was why he was insanely curious about how that Merlot would be used, but he held himself back.
‘At an auction house, you only believe what you see.’
It was something his father, Joseph Hagins, had told him time and again. The reason being that one might be led by wishful thinking rather than prediction and make the wrong choice. The only drawback was that following the visible reality came at quite a cost, but the Castello Winery was a family that could easily afford such a price.
“Ten thousand dollars again!”
Matthew smiled brightly at the high-priced wine he had won. He was confident that this wine would become a hidden card worthy of receiving better evaluations than last year’s.
---
September and October are my busiest times. Not only our farm, but because I had to determine the harvest time for the contracted Pinot Noir farm, I had to go check on it at least once a week. Moreover, unlike last year, the release date for this year’s Pinot Noir wine was right around the corner, making things even busier.
That alone was busy enough, but there were other farms I had to keep an eye on. I had to check whether Laguna Creek Farm, which Armando had acquired this year, was doing well, and the same went for Chloe’s place.
At least Jacob’s place was now entering the harvest season, so it was fortunate that I could worry about it a little less.
“Busy, so busy...”
I stopped by Hart Farm in the Russian River Valley, where I had contracted for Pinot Noir, said I would come again next week, and had just arrived at Brentwood Farm.
I had to check whether the cover crops planted between the rows had room to sprout in preparation for the approaching winter, and I also had to confirm that the drainage ditches were properly maintained.
Because if I let my guard down at this time, winter rain could collapse the soil and affect even the setting of fruit for the following year.
Weeing! The sound of a tractor came from one side of the farm. When the workers clearing the drainage ditches turned off the engine, the smell of earth spread thickly in the silence. I touched the leaves of several trees with my fingertips to gauge the irrigation status. The leaf veins were not withered, and the leaf color was uniform.
I spotted Frederick and Chloe approaching from afar and spoke with a smile.
“This year, pest management went well. I think the pheromone traps definitely worked.”
“It’s all thanks to you. Let’s walk and see for now.”
I checked the farm’s condition meticulously, but Frederick’s face was not very good for some reason. I tilted my head, recalling that Chloe had said her father was pleased because they had made quite a hefty profit this year.
He called us over to the shade beside the warehouse and let out a heavy sigh.
“Thanks to you, the cherries were excellent this year. But the tomatoes are a problem.”
“Tomatoes?”
I had heard that Frederick cultivated not only cherry orchards but also walnut farms, tomatoes, and olives. I hadn’t particularly asked about the farm’s location or size, but judging by his worried expression, it didn’t seem to be garden-sized.
“The high temperatures lasted a long time this summer. No matter how much we watered, the balance was off. The yield dropped drastically. On top of that, the cannery cut the unit price saying the quality had fallen. So we suffered through the work but have little to show for it.”
California’s tomatoes are a mass industrial crop that, as of 2005, account for over 90% of the world’s processed tomato production. Looking at it that way, one might think growing tomatoes is profitable, but the unit price is not very high, as is the case with American agricultural products.
“How low was it?”
The answer came from Chloe, who had her arms crossed at his side.
“This time, he couldn’t even get forty-five dollars per ton.”
Even knowing that tomato prices were not high, I opened my mouth in shock at forty-five dollars per ton.
“Forty-five dollars...”
As of 2005, forty-five dollars was not even fifty thousand won. Even if they were not fresh salad tomatoes but tomatoes destined for mass industrial ingredients like ketchup, pizza sauce, pasta sauce, and canned tomatoes, it was still a shocking price.
“So I’m troubled. Normally we could get around fifty to sixty dollars, but this year there’s nothing left. No, we’re practically in the red.”
“I see. That is indeed worrisome.”
“Anyway, thanks to you, we made quite a hefty profit from cherries this year, so that’s a relief. And this isn’t the end, is it? If we add another 30% profit from Serasia releasing at year-end, I’d be very satisfied. Even though quite a few trees couldn’t be used this year due to grafting, profits actually increased compared to last year. It should be fine next year too, right?”
“The farm condition looks excellent at a glance. You’ve worked hard, sir.”
Chloe butted in, clenching both fists.
“I’m the one who worked hard!”
“I know, I know... you worked hard. Good job.”
When I patted her arm, Chloe smiled bashfully.
“You should have said that from the start.”
Then Frederick sighed and spoke.
“I’m actually considering converting that place to cherries. What do you think?”
“To cherries? Hmm...”
It would certainly be far better than tomatoes.
“It would be good. But there must have been a reason you chose tomatoes over cherries, right?”
“It was for risk diversification. If I concentrate too much on cherries, the losses would be too severe if a crisis hit.”
“That is true.”
“What do you think? Should I switch to cherries?”
He asked with a serious face. Judging by how well he had followed my advice so far, it seemed he was prepared to change the land use immediately if I recommended cherries.
“Where is the tomato farm located? And the acreage?”
“It’s in Lodi. Seventy acres, on the smaller side.”
“Ah... about forty to fifty minutes by car? Hmm... By any chance, is it okay if it’s not necessarily cherries?”
“Hm? Well, I don’t mind... but what do you mean...?”
I furrowed my brow and cautiously tested the waters.
“There is a fruit in Korea called the pear.”
“Pear?”
“Yes. Among them, there is a USDA-registered variety called Singo, but... you could just do cherries, but since it is a fruit not common in America, if it becomes known, the profits could be much better than cherries.”
At my words, Frederick put on a puzzled expression.
“Singo pear...”