Seeing him bet 2.5 million dollars in one go, I readily accepted the proposal.
“The advance?”
“Fifty percent.”
Just by having secured the base wine that would become the wine, I could get my hands on 1.25 million dollars. There was no reason to refuse. And I needed more money.
Aeschylon and Sylphid, both released this year, had already sold out, and more than two million dollars had flowed into Redwood Winery’s account. It was more money than what we had spent buying up part of the burned Silver Oak farm, but it still wasn’t enough.
If I wanted to think about further expanding the winery, I needed more money.
“Send me the contract.”
“You’ve made the right decision. Sylphid is a wine that’s a shame to have only in California.”
A deep smile lingered around his lips after making that difficult decision. The eastern United States, centered on New York, had considerable demand for wine, and that base was growing wider by the day. On top of that, high-salaried people working in law and finance around New York preferred wines that looked luxurious in order to show off their wealth.
This was the basis for Christopher being able to bet 2.5 million dollars on Sylphid. Demand for Pinot Noir was continuously rising, and there were few wines that could strike the tastes of young, high-income earners with discerning palates. He was convinced that Sylphid was a fitting choice for people who were always looking for new alternatives.
He let out a slight sigh and spoke in a regretful tone.
“At this point, I find myself regretting it too. If I hadn’t reviewed Aeschylon, I could have tried betting on that as well.”
“Ah, thank you for the Aeschylon review.”
“I didn’t deliberately praise it. I only reviewed it as it was. Since the objective evaluation came out at the San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition, my score of 90 could actually be called stingy.”
He had been a little embarrassed that he hadn’t given it 92 points back then. It felt as though he had come face to face with a prejudice of his own that he hadn’t even known existed.
“Everyone has different standards, so that’s not something you can call good or bad. But I guess you don’t handle wines you’ve reviewed?”
“People could talk. If I recommend it and then I sell it too, what kind of ridiculous look would that be?”
“Ah... You have a good principle.”
“More importantly, you’re doing custom crush for the Pinot Noir. How is the contract structured?”
“It’s fixed for three years, with an option for two more. This is the second year, and since Pinot Noir prices are rising, we’ll be exercising the two-year option and extending it.”
“Hmm... About how much volume is it?”
“Around forty-five tons.”
“Forty-five tons... So that’s why only 3,000 cases came out?”
“I want Pinot Noir from the Russian River Valley. Other regions are a bit... I do want to contract for more Pinot Noir there, but I’m worried it won’t be easy.”
It wasn’t that I was worried the price had risen so high that I wouldn’t be able to secure an additional contract. The price we had contracted with Hart Farm in the Russian River Valley for was 2,400 dollars per ton. Even forty-five tons only came to a little over 100,000 dollars, and we had sold the wine made from that for over a million dollars, so the profit was more than tenfold.
If I tried to contract Pinot Noir by the block now, I would have to pay at least 3,000 dollars a ton, but considering the price Redwood sold its wines for, it wasn’t an impossible price.
The problem was that most contracts were basically done by the block, so with Pinot Noir’s popularity having risen so high, it would be almost impossible to find a block that wasn’t already contracted to someone.
“If... I were to find such a place and connect you, would you be interested in a deal?”
I was slightly surprised. Just how far was he seeing Sylphid’s potential that he thought forty-five tons wasn’t enough and wanted to push even more Pinot Noir my way?
“Oh, you’ll look into it for me, Mr. Christopher?”
“Do you know this? Most wine distributors are in the eastern United States. New York, Boston, Washington D.C.... Large cities like these are clustered there, and historically, when wine entered America from Europe, the main ports were on the East Coast. Because of the geographical advantage in importing wine from traditional wine-producing countries like France and Italy, large wine distributors are mainly located in the East.”
“I see.”
“But distributors located here in western California have one advantage that eastern distributors do not. Because they are located in California, the heart of American wine production, they know the circumstances of the wineries very well.”
“So you’re saying you can look into it properly?”
“That’s right. I can’t give you a firm guarantee, but I think I can connect you to a decent block before spring. There are a few blocks whose contracts end this year and that will need new contracts next year. However, you’ll have to pay a good price.”
“How much...?”
“You’ll probably have to pay at least around 3,500 dollars.”
Compared to the block contracted last year, the price had jumped by more than a thousand dollars per ton.
“Wow, that’s gone up a lot.”
“Demand for Pinot Noir is rising explosively. This isn’t just anywhere—it’s Russian River Valley Pinot Noir. 3,500 dollars per ton probably won’t be that expensive. To be honest, I’m not even certain it can be found at that price. They might ask for 4,000 dollars.”
4,000 dollars per ton was a price that went beyond burdensome and made you wonder if it was even all right, but as long as Sylphid maintained a wholesale price of 33 dollars, it could still leave an enormous profit, so it wasn’t an issue. Until now, the reason I hadn’t contracted more was because I didn’t have the money and couldn’t find a suitable block. Otherwise, it was absolutely profitable to secure as many blocks as possible and make a large quantity of Sylphid.
“Sylphid’s price has risen that much too, so I’ll have to accept it.”
Since Christopher had proposed a cult-level price of 70 dollars a bottle, he probably thought I would accept even if it were 10,000 dollars per ton. That must be why he looked as if my consent was only natural.
“Understood. I’ll go and look into it.”
“Why don’t we eat now? It feels a bit strange to keep talking with food in front of us.”
“Hahaha, I suppose I was too impatient. Let’s eat.”
Since I wouldn’t be driving, I ate my fill of meat with wine, but he stopped at the half-glass I poured him.
After the meal had wrapped up at a suitable point, he glanced at me and asked.
“To be honest, I do have some concerns... I’m a little uneasy about whether there will be any issue with Mr. Brian carrying out all the contracts with me.”
It sounded like he was asking whether it was all right for me, the son, to make all these decisions without Dad here, but in truth, he was implicitly asking what exactly my position was in the winery.
“Don’t worry. Everything discussed in today’s meeting will proceed without a hitch.”
Christopher, who had been tug-of-warring with me until now while vaguely assuming that might be the case, looked slightly surprised by my answer even though he had guessed as much. In effect, it meant I was no different from the owner of the winery, and that implied there was no gap in technical skill between father and son.
“... I see. That’s surprising. It’s not easy at your age...”
“I’ve always been interested in this field, ever since I was young.”
It was probably an answer he couldn’t understand, but Christopher nodded as though he understood and let it pass. Even if he didn’t understand, it wasn’t as if he could argue.
After dinner, when it was growing dark, Christopher left Brian’s house and turned his head once before starting the car.
“Unfathomable...”
Thinking carefully, he realized that up until now, he had discussed most business matters with Brian rather than Woody Choi, the winery owner. It even occurred to him that perhaps the true core of the winery might not be Woody Choi, but Brian.
“Surely not...”
He tilted his head, then left the farm.
---
At sunset, the streets of Sacramento were cast in red. Beneath the orange sky, signs lit up one by one between old brick buildings.
Jacob Miller walked down the street carrying an icebox in both hands. Inside was the first liquor he had distilled a few days ago, Gold Grain Vodka.
“I’m going to face it head-on.”
He hadn’t built a distillery with the naive expectation that if he simply sat still and produced liquor, someone would sell it all for him. Jacob remembered everything his mother had said when she stood as guarantor at the bank while he was setting up this distillery.
In order not to be ashamed of himself, Jacob had gone out into the market today for the first time, carrying the liquor he had made.
His gaze stopped in front of a sign.
The Copper Glass.
The old copper-colored sign glowed softly. Beyond the window, he could see a long bar counter. Walls that showed the grain of the wood, dim lighting, and the hands of a woman polishing a glass.
He steadied his breath and pushed open the door. As a small bell rang and the door opened, the rich scent of whiskey mingled with citrus brushed the tip of his nose.
“Welcome. You’re an unfamiliar face at this hour.”
The bar owner looked to be in her early forties. Her hair was neatly tied back, and perhaps because of her experience dealing with countless customers, her eyes looked very seasoned.
Jacob took off his hat and spoke politely.
“Hello. My name is Jacob Miller, and I run a small distillery north of Sacramento. If you don’t mind... could I have a moment of your time?”
The woman set down the glass, smiled, and gave a nod.
“Come in.”
Jacob opened the icebox and took out a bottle. The liquid inside the clear bottle sparkled brightly. Around the neck was a label he had attached by hand.
Gold Grain Soju House – Grain Vodka.
“It’s liquor made from rice I harvested myself. It’s refined like vodka, but I left the texture of the grain in it. The name and brand haven’t been decided yet, but I’m going around because I want to get some market feedback.”
“You brought it for tasting, so I can try it, right?”
“Of course.”
She took out a crystal shot glass and carefully poured. As the transparent liquid filled the glass, a faint aroma spread out. It was a slightly sweet grain scent, one difficult to find in ordinary vodka.
“The aroma is smooth.”
“Existing vodka is too odorless and tasteless, so I brought out the grain aroma to give our distillery its own character. If you try it, you’ll definitely feel the difference.”
She raised the glass and took a sip. After rolling it in her mouth for a moment, she raised her eyebrows slightly.
“Wow... This is interesting. It’s clean like vodka, but the finish is sweet. Is that the sweetness of rice?”
“That’s right. Some of the grain components remain during the refining process, so a slight sweetness lingers at the end. You could say it’s a liquor somewhere between Korean-style soju and European-style vodka.”
The bar owner set down the glass and smiled.
“This would be good as a cocktail base. Especially if mixed with citrus or herbal liqueurs, I think it would give off a unique aroma.”
She looked at Jacob with serious eyes.
“How much are you thinking of selling this for?”
Jacob brought out the words he had prepared in advance.
“I’m thinking of a wholesale price of 11 dollars per bottle. If distribution takes 5 or 6 dollars, I think it would come into the shop at around 16 or 17 dollars?”
“Sixteen dollars?”
She held the glass up to the light, looked at it, and smiled brightly.
“That’s not bad. A 750ml bottle of Absolut goes out at 21 dollars. This... 23 dollars? I think it could sell for about that. These days, the vodka market is already saturated with completely odorless and tasteless products. But this... has character. Don’t you think customers would be curious?”
“Ah, that’s good to hear.”
“I’d like to tell you to leave a bottle or two... but you can’t sell it, can you?”
Jacob looked regretful.
“I’m sorry. Because of liquor laws, I can’t sell it directly. If I could, I’d like to just leave it here and see the customers’ reactions, but I can’t do that either.”
“It can’t be helped. But I like it. If it’s formally put on sale, I think I’d buy a few bottles.”
“Thank you.”
When he left the bar carrying that one hope, darkness had already settled. The streetlights along the road switched on one by one, tinting the streets of Sacramento yellow.
Jacob walked slowly with the icebox, one bottle now emptied. It was quite heavy, filled as it was with liquor, but Jacob didn’t mind. His father had told him to become a strong man, so this much was nothing.
“I’ll make the rounds and go home.”
His goal was to have all the liquor inside tasted by the end of the day. If he endured just one month like this... then he intended to make his move in earnest.