Chapter 122: Stag's Leap Wine Cellars (4)
TL: Hanguk
"Brian, get over here, quick."
I had been talking with the workers about the redo at the Silveroak site, and Dad's call put a troubled look on my face.
"I'm in the middle of talking with the construction crew right now... I'll come over once this is done. It's not super urgent, is it? Did something happen with the tanks?"
"No, nothing like that... It's just, an email came in..."
"So it's not urgent, then?"
"Right. It's surprising, but not urgent."
"Okay. Then I'll head over once I'm done here."
"R-right..."
After hanging up, I raised my voice toward the workers.
"If you'd done it the way I told you before, it wouldn't have come out like this."
When I said this, pointing at the infiltrometer test results and the soil dug out from the subsoil, the workers looked flustered.
"We did the work exactly as you told us."
"Look. There's far too little gravel here compared to the other sections. The water's draining at less than five centimeters an hour; at this rate the roots will branch out way too finely."
"......"
"On top of that, the sugar, acid, and tannin balance will suffer too... In any case, you're going to have to redo this work."
The contractor's foreman, who had handled the job, looked displeased, but he had nothing to counter my firm point with.
"From where to where do we need to redo it?"
"From waaay over there at the red line I marked, up to here. It should be roughly thirty yards. Please get it right this time."
"Haah, understood."
Since all the vines had to be moved before the work could begin, even a mere thirty yards was no easy job. Besides, this was a redo of botched work, and since last year's subsoil contract had promised a redo if anything came up short, there would be no additional construction costs.
Part of the reason we'd been able to get a contract like that was that I'd paid generously for the work in the first place.
"Please do it properly this time."
I had a rough idea of why they'd made this mistake. It was probably because the work had used more gravel than they'd expected.
To create soil resembling To Kalon, just any gravel wouldn't do; it had to be round, smooth river gravel. Only then would the drainage be good and the roots be able to spread between the stones without injury.
If crushed construction stone or gravel that was too large, over 40mm, got used instead, the roots could be wounded or the pore structure would turn irregular and water retention would drop sharply; and if alkaline stones like limestone were mixed in, they could raise the pH and cause problems too.
That was why, before the work began, I had meticulously checked even the gravel myself, and back then I had culled out quite a lot from what the contractor had prepared; most likely, as the work neared completion, they'd run short on gravel and finished the job like this.
Afterward, I called over one of the workers and instructed him to keep a close eye on the construction as it progressed, then headed for Redwood Winery. It wasn't far, so the ride took less than twenty minutes by bicycle.
"So what's this all about?"
When I walked into the winery office, Dad immediately pointed at the computer monitor.
"Just go take a look. We got an email."
"What kind of email could it possibly be..."
I went over to Dad's seat, sat down, and started reading...
"Huh?"
When I tilted my head, Dad raised his voice as if to say, see, told you.
"Right? Do you think this is for real?"
"But Dad, are you this worked up because you actually want it?"
"Come on, of course not. But look. It's Stag's Leap, of all places. Having them recognize us like this, that's what's got me so excited."
Sure enough, Dad wasn't the type to chase greed blindly.
"Send them a 'no thanks.' Ten-year installments or whatever, I'm not interested."
I wanted to be recognized for what I'd built with my own hands and grow my wealth from that; if I'd simply wanted to get rich, I would have started with stocks using my pre-regression knowledge. Getting rich by buying up assets someone else had built wasn't part of my plan, and above all, it wasn't any fun.
"Really? I figured you'd at least be interested. Why? You think paying off the acquisition over ten years of installments would be tough?"
"No. Stag's Leap generates its own revenue to begin with, so how would that be hard? If anything, it'd be even better."
It hadn't crossed my mind before, but now I recalled that several large wineries had been sold around this time. One was Stag's Leap Wine Cellars, and another was Duckhorn Wine Company; I distinctly remembered Stag's Leap selling for a little under 200 million dollars.
The reason I remembered this was that Stag's Leap's path had been quite different from other wineries'.
Usually, when wineries grew, they went the way of Duckhorn: investment for expansion combined with an exit making up the other half, pursuing wealth-building and the securing of capital at the same time. Stag's Leap, however, was a case where the founder sold his entire stake in the winery purely to outsiders, not to family.
Nothing was ever made public about the reason, but in any case, I knew all this thanks to having read an article about how not a single family member inherited Stag's Leap's wine, and finding that fact intriguing.
"But why would they offer us terms this good?"
I shrugged.
"Who knows. I'm a bit curious about that myself. Wouldn't they rather close with whoever they're negotiating with now? The founder should be holding nearly all the shares anyway..."
"Still, it really is something. It says they're negotiating at 180 million dollars right now. Could we ever get there?"
"Of course we can. That's exactly why I've been out there working the ground so hard..."
"Hahaha, right, right. The wines my son makes... When you put out a cult wine that surpasses Echelon this time, everyone's going to be floored."
"That's what I'm saying. Well, it does feel nice, but tell them I hope the sale goes well."
I got up from my seat and headed for the aging cellar. Then, realizing something odd, I muttered to myself.
"But if they go poking around everywhere like this, the sale price will drop... Why are they fishing by email like this? Weird..."
It never even occurred to me that a winery of that size would have sent an email to one place only: little Redwood Winery in Napa.
"They refused?"
"Yes..."
Unsure whether to be pleased or offended, Hudson, the General Manager, was making his report to Warren with a strange feeling of his own. Warren, however, seemed to have expected it to some degree; aside from a slight furrowing of his brow, he showed no particular reaction.
"And the reason?"
"Well... it does say they hope this sale brings a good outcome, but the gist of it was a refusal."
"A refusal without even mentioning any particular reason, you mean?"
"In case you were curious, I printed out the email here."
The reason Hudson hadn't offered it right away was that the reply was, quite literally, all of two lines. Warren took the sheet his employee held out, mostly blank white space, and read it.
"'We thank you for your proposal and wish to inform you that we have no plans to involve ourselves in this matter; however, we sincerely hope your sale process concludes smoothly'... Brief."
"Yes."
"Damn it..."
"Sir?"
"Nothing. You may go..."
Just then, the study door opened and his two sons walked in.
"Father, you saw the email, right?"
Andrew and Jonathan came in beaming, both shouting at almost the same instant.
"You saw the rejection email, right?"
"We haven't changed the contract schedule. We'll proceed as planned."
Warren, who had been quietly watching his two sons, spoke.
"Watching the two of you, it seems you think this winery already belongs to you."
Both sons flinched, and Jonathan spoke with a slightly flushed face.
"You've been talking about selling the winery for ten years now. If you change your mind at this point, we're the ones left bewildered."
"And if I sell it to Redwood, does that not count as selling?"
"Father!"
"Why do you think I started talking about selling ten years ago? Neither of you has any interest in wine, neither of you intends to carry it on, so should I cling to it until I die? If I die, do you really think the two of you could sell this for what it's worth?"
"......"
At Warren's words, the two sons were struck dumb.
"The winery isn't going anywhere even if it doesn't sell right away, so how do you think it feels for me to watch you two wringing your hands over Ste. Michelle and Marchesi Antinori?"
"That's... because if the sale deadline slips, everything falls apart."
At his younger son's mumbled answer, Warren scowled, then soon spoke with a calm expression.
"Fine, understood. Proceed with the contract schedule as is."
At Warren's answer, the two sons lit up.
"Got it!"
"You made the right call! We'll go tell them right..."
Just as the two sons were excitedly about to leave,
"On one condition...!"
"What?"
To his two sons, who had stopped and turned around, Warren continued.
"I'm changing the terms of the deal."
"What...?"
"I'm going to request the removal of the Non-Compete Clause, the provision that would bar me from working anywhere else in the wine industry after the sale."
Andrew and Jonathan were both stunned.
"Father!"
"What are you talking about?"
When a premium winery of this caliber was sold, a non-compete clause was included nearly one hundred percent of the time. Especially with someone like Warren Winiarski, a man who was the brand itself, the buyer regarded him as the single most sensitive risk, so the terms typically came in far stronger.
If the seller founded another wine business right after selling the winery, the buyer would take a major loss. So asking to strike this clause was practically the same as declaring he wouldn't sell at all.
"Instead, I'll tell them I'll proceed with the deal if they attach an additional condition allowing me to work as a winemaker, just not as an executive."
"You know that's an impossible condition! They'll never accept it!"
"Then I won't sell. Go ahead and sell it yourselves after I'm dead, see how that goes."
At their father's resolute answer, the two sons realized there would be no persuading him. They knew that once he dug in his heels over anything to do with wine, no one could stop him.
Besides, wanting to keep working as a winemaker was his own decision about how to spend the rest of his life, and they knew that wasn't something they could meddle in either.
"Whew... All right, for now."
He wasn't starting a wine business, only continuing as a winemaker; their father had given some ground there too, so the two sons withdrew for the time being.
Once his sons had gone, Warren turned to Hudson, who had been watching on pins and needles, and asked.
"Do you think I went too far?"
He gave a wry smile.
"No, not at all. But I am curious. A winemaker, of all things... I can't even imagine you working anywhere other than here at Stag's Leap, Warren."
"That makes two of us."
"Have you settled on where you'll go?"
"No. Nothing at all."
"So you'd simply be a freelance winemaker, then? The other side will probably impose restrictions on every last thing, right down to blends resembling the wines already released. Are you all right with that?"
At his worried question, Warren only smiled all the wider.
"What's the problem with that? If I'd wanted to make the same things as before, why would I have said I want to be a winemaker? I'm doing this because I want to try making something different. Let them pile on every restriction they like. It makes no difference to me."
Whether the acquiring side accepted or not, Warren felt far more at ease now. No, by this point he even felt a little unburdened.
"That damned San Jose building... Let's just see how well it turns out."
He had never once laid eyes on that building they were head over heels for, loving it more than the winery itself, but he truly couldn't stand the thought of it.
*****
Join our Discord for announcements or to report any mistakes.