Chapter 121: Stag's Leap Wine Cellars (3)
TL: Hanguk
Back home after that shocking experience, Warren Winiarski sat in his usual spot in the study, lost in thought.
'Good grapes? Hmm... sugar content (Brix), titratable acidity (TA), anthocyanin, seed maturity, skin tannin maturity, berry size... if you really dig into the specifics, there's an awful lot of it...?'
He had never heard an answer like that before.
"Have I not studied enough?"
Which specific parameters to demand in order to grow grapes fit for making good wine, that much could be learned in school. UC Davis in particular, which he and most of the wineries in Napa Valley kept close to and learned from, provided a broad academic foundation.
But that young man's answer had gone a step further: he had defined an ideal form of the grape in advance and was cultivating his grapes to match it. That kind of cultivation was something even Warren hadn't yet dared to attempt.
No, nobody would have even conceived of it. A wine's identity came from its terroir, and wine lovers were the very people who drank while singing the praises of the unique terroir each wine carried.
And yet that young man appeared to be shaping the terroir itself around the ideal grape he envisioned. It sounded absurd, but the look in the young man's eyes had given Warren the conviction that he was right.
Whether artificially shaping terroir like that would actually produce proper grapes, no one could say. The odds were that it would fail.
But Warren's heart raced.
"Takes me back to the old days."
Warren's mind drifted back to the 1970s, to the days when he had worked for the Mondavi family, burning with passion for wine.
"Damn it! What are you doing! Are you going to pay attention or not? The grapes are losing their vitality!"
Back when he was far younger than he was now, whenever Robert Mondavi shouted at him with mud on his hands, nothing stung quite like it.
"Watch closely. Before aroma, wine begins with color. Nobody reaches for a wine with poor color. And a wine's fine hue is decided right at the threshold of autumn."
"You think this is fine? Is there something wrong with your tongue? You really can't feel how flabby this is?"
Mr. Mondavi taught him sometimes with meticulous care, sometimes with fierce intensity. It had been hard at the time, but Warren believed those memories had made him who he was today. No, to be honest, it hadn't even been that hard.
'It was fun. Insanely fun...'
Those were the days when studying grapes and wine was the most fascinating thing in the world. So a scolding or two never cooled that passion; if anything, getting chewed out only made him grit his teeth harder.
He had wanted to show him. He had wanted to prove, right before the man's eyes, that he was the winemaker who would lead the new generation.
The farm and winery he gained after striking out on his own, and that unforgettable memory of his life, the Judgment of Paris... Looking back now, all of it felt like a dream.
"Grandpa!"
A voice suddenly called out to him; it was his darling granddaughter, Jenny.
"Hm? What is it, dear?"
"Dad promised to take me on a light aircraft tour this summer vacation!"
It seemed Jonathan had finally granted the wish she had wanted so badly.
"Grandpa worries about that, you know."
"Dad says he booked the best pilot. I promise I'll come back safe and sound."
"All right, see that you do."
So went the granddaughter who had shaken him out of his reverie. And right on her heels, Jonathan came in.
"Haha, that kid couldn't even wait, she's been running around bragging to everyone. Hm? Are you tired?"
"Not tired, no..."
"I heard you went out somewhere earlier?"
"I did."
"Where to?"
Warren regarded Jonathan quietly for a moment, then asked,
"What would you think about receiving the money in several installments instead of all at once?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I... don't care for Ste. Michelle Wine Estates, and that Italian family is no different."
"Dad... that's all settled."
"The truth is, I visited a certain winery earlier..."
Before Warren could even finish, Jonathan raised his voice.
"Dad! What on earth are you saying! We've already wrapped everything up with Brad, all that's left is the final decision. Is this about the price? Haa, fine. I'll push them a little harder on that."
"It's not about the price. If money were the issue, I wouldn't be telling you to take it in installments."
Jonathan raked a hand through his hair, and then something suddenly occurred to him.
"Wait, are you trying to sell to the Mondavi family?"
"No."
"It is, isn't it? Right? I'm absolutely against it. Stop keeping so close to that family."
At his son's words, Warren closed his eyes. He knew why Jonathan hated the Mondavi family. All the children of that house worked hard to carry on the wine legacy while he did not, and he couldn't stand being compared.
"It's not Mondavi. And if it were Mondavi, there'd be no reason to take the payment in installments."
Conceding that the point made sense, Jonathan asked,
"Then where is it? Ah, no, don't tell me. I don't even want to hear it. Either way, this was decided through a family meeting, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't make decisions on your own."
Disappointed and angry, Jonathan shut the study door behind him and left.
"Haa..."
Letting out a sigh, Warren scratched his snow-white hair and brooded.
'The winery's getting sold either way, so am I the one who can't let go? It won't be mine anymore, will it? Do I still think Stag's Leap will go on being mine? Maybe I'm the one who needs to come to his senses?'
He kept turning the question over on himself. And then, at some point, he made his decision and rose to his feet. After throwing on some simple clothes, he walked at an unhurried pace toward the winery, not far from the house.
"Good to see you, sir."
The staff greeted him with deep respect the moment they saw him, and he gave a light wave of his hand as he headed for the office.
"Sir, what brings you here...?"
Hudson, who served as General Manager (GM), came over and asked. Having worked there for more than ten years already, he managed the entire day-to-day running of the winery.
"I'd like... to bring one more party into the conversation."
"Sir? One more what?"
"An acquisition negotiator,"
At Warren's curt reply, Hudson's pupils shook as if an earthquake had hit them.
"Is there a party you've already spoken with?"
"No."
"Then... Ste. Michelle Wine Estates is going to be quite disappointed."
"Doesn't matter."
At his boss's resolute answer, Hudson realized there wasn't the slightest room for persuasion and asked no further.
"What would you like me to do?"
"Send an email. The recipient: Redwood Winery."
Hudson's eyes went wide in an instant as he stared at the winery's owner.
"Redwood, sir? The small... winery down in southern Napa, you mean?"
"That's the one."
"The one... famous for Ashlon and Sylphide..."
"Right again."
"... That winery wouldn't have twenty million dollars, let alone two hundred million?"
"I'm also considering installment payments."
Since his boss's mind already seemed made up, Hudson hurried to his desk and began typing away in earnest.
"But with them... you said no discussions have actually taken place, correct?"
"Correct. They don't know yet."
"Then the price, the terms, all of that...?"
"It's not like that. Ask whether they might be interested in the sale of our winery. Quote a price range close to what the other buyers have currently offered, mention that the sale price can also be paid in installments, and say that if they're interested, we should meet."
The very contents of the email were absurdly, almost unbelievably deferential.
"Just out of curiosity, is there a particular reason you chose Redwood?"
Warren stroked the cane in his hand once, and a faint smile rose to his lips.
"Because it seems like it'd be fun."
"Fun...? How so?"
"How that young man would develop our winery if he ran it... I'm curious in a way that makes my heart pound."
It was an answer Hudson couldn't understand, but having at least glimpsed a certain exhilaration in his boss's eyes, he carefully finished drafting the email and sent it off.
"It's sent."
"They might think it's a prank or spam, so if there's no reply even after two days, print out the email exactly as written and deliver it to the winery in person."
"Understood."
Hudson's lips went bone dry. The email had been sent from the company account, so the staff might learn of its contents before long, and above all, Warren's sons checked the company email account every day because of the acquisition.
If they found out this had been sent out, all hell would surely break loose.
"What is all this? Andrew! Did you see this?"
Andrew, Warren's eldest son, had only just returned from a trip, and his face crumpled at the sight of his younger brother bursting into the room.
"What are you doing? What if my wife had been in the middle of changing?"
At his older brother's hardened expression, Jonathan raised his hands first.
"Sorry... I was just so shocked."
"What is it?"
"Take a look at this."
What his younger brother Jonathan held out was a single sheet of paper. Wondering what it was, Andrew looked: an email sent from the company account to another winery. And its contents were shocking enough to blow away every trace of his travel fatigue in one stroke.
"What is this?"
"Exactly! That's what I'm saying."
"Dad, where's Dad?"
The two brothers all but sprinted to their father's study. But their father wasn't there. They asked Andrew's wife, they even asked the housekeeper, but no one knew.
Just then, Jenny, who had been playing in her room, came downstairs.
"You're looking for Grandpa? He went out a while ago?"
"He went out? Where?"
"When I asked where he was going, he said he was going to the Mondavi winery?"
In an instant the two brothers looked at each other, then bolted outside.
"He means to sign with Mondavi!"
"We have to stop him!"
The two brothers jumped into the car and raced to Mondavi. Arriving at the winery, they found an employee and asked,
"Our father's inside, right? We'll just step in to see him for a moment."
The brothers were already well known around these parts, and the families were so close that none of the staff stopped them. And then,
"Dad!"
The two of them flung the door open with a bang, only to freeze at the sight of the two old men sitting face to face on the sofas.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Warren's irritated face stood in stark contrast to Mondavi's odd expression, hovering on the edge of a smile.
"We... we're sorry. We were so alarmed we rushed straight over."
However urgent things were, the brothers knew what came first, so they apologized to Mondavi before anything else. Mondavi, who had a good guess as to what was going on, waved a hand to show it was fine.
Judging by the subtle smile on his face, Mondavi was clearly just finding the whole situation entertaining.
"Dad, what is this? The sale was already decided."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... You didn't even read the whole email, did you. What, did you come running because you thought I'd sign a contract here at Mondavi behind your backs?"
At their father's rebuke, both sons' faces flushed red.
"And what I said was that we'd sell the winery to them barring any special circumstances, back at the family meeting."
At Warren's answer, Jonathan raised his voice.
"Ha, then what exactly are these special circumstances? There's no such..."
"Something's come up that I want to learn."
At the unexpected answer, the two sons doubted their own ears.
"What?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
To his uncomprehending sons, Warren replied calmly, legs crossed.
"There's something about grapes I want to learn, and they won't teach me. So I intend to sell my winery and learn it."
Even with their father's calm explanation, the two sons couldn't make sense of any of it.
"Learn what? No, hold on... and you're saying selling is the only way you can learn it?"
"I can't be certain, but I suspect that's probably the case."
"Dad!"
"You want the money, don't you? Say we sell the winery for close to two hundred million dollars. We can take it in installments instead of all at once. What's the problem with spreading it over ten years?"
"I said no!"
At Jonathan's vehement shout, Warren's eyes turned fierce.
"Because you need to buy that building in San Jose?"
"Yes! If we don't buy it now, we never can!"
"Hah..."
Warren stared up at the ceiling with a stifled expression and let out a hollow laugh, while Mondavi watched the scene with pity before speaking to the two sons.
"Go on home. And with Redwood, the subject of a sale hasn't even been brought up. Don't kick up a fuss over nothing."
At those words, the two sons realized nothing had actually come of it yet; they breathed a sigh of relief, bowed their heads, and withdrew.
Once Andrew and Jonathan had disappeared, Mondavi spoke with a rueful look.
"Your heart sounds noisier than mine, and I'm the one with one foot in the grave?"
"Isn't that just life?"
"By the way, what was that earlier? Something you want to learn?"
"...... It's a secret."
Mondavi was dumbfounded at the sight of Warren turning his head away and pressing his lips shut, as if it truly were a secret.
"What? What's the secret?"
"Let's just say there is one."
"Ha, would you look at that... But that Redwood fellow, do you think he'll even take the offer?"
Warren scratched his white hair, and with a look even more troubled than when he had faced his two sons, he said,
"Tsss... That's the problem... I don't think he will. That looks harder to manage than those boys of mine."
*****
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