Chapter 143: Quiet Hill (1)
TL: Hanguk
A late-September morning, at Warren's home.
"So how much have we lost by now?"
Andrew, his eldest son, kept his head bowed and couldn't bring himself to open his mouth, while Jonathan wavered before finally answering.
"Well... it's not as if we've had any major vacancies yet. They say prices for the surrounding buildings have dropped sharply, but there's still room for them to bounce back... and the crucial thing is, we didn't take on much debt when we bought the building, so..."
"Ha. And where would you be if I hadn't put a stop to it back then?"
"......"
Back when they had sold Stag's Leap Winery and bought the building in San Jose, Andrew and Jonathan had been envisioning a dreamlike future. A dream of buying up still more buildings with the monthly rent income and rising property values, and becoming real estate tycoons.
But then the subprime crisis, which they had assumed would blow over lightly, struck America hard, and they came to feel firsthand that real estate investment could not always be a sure thing.
They couldn't deny that if their father hadn't stepped in when they were about to buy even more buildings, they would have suffered far greater losses.
"So, are you managing the building properly?"
Sensing that the anger had left his father's voice, Andrew quickly lifted his head and answered.
"Yes! I go and check on it every other day without fail."
"Since it's come to this, at least manage it right. The real estate market won't keep sliding forever, so make sure it gets valued properly when things turn around again."
"Of course, Father. Naturally."
Warren nodded and began getting dressed to head out, when Jonathan, watching his father's mood, quietly ventured a question.
"How long are you planning to keep going in to Redwood?"
"How long, you ask? When one of our employees signed on at Stag's Leap, up to what year would you have wanted him to work before he left?"
"That's not what I mean... it's just, you're getting on in years, Father. I worry you'll wear yourself out for nothing. At your age, everyone's resting, traveling, that sort of thing..."
"Hmph! Why? Is it that you'd rather I not be seen around Napa?"
When Warren whipped his head around and glared, his second son waved his hands in alarm.
"Come on, what are you saying? I'm only thinking of your health. If you stay at the winery, you'll just keep fretting and doing research. Sitting in that stuffy aging cellar drinking nothing but wine can't do you any good, that's all."
"If a stuffy aging cellar were enough to ruin a man's health, how do you suppose Robert Mondavi lived to the age he did?"
"That's a special case."
"...What is it you're really trying to say?"
Feeling that his true intentions had been laid bare, Jonathan scratched his head before speaking.
"People are out there talking behind your back, Father."
"...... That's what you wanted to say?"
"Honestly, isn't it true? They all want to know why you'd go and bury yourself in that little winery. Michel Wine, the company that took over Stag's Leap, keeps sending inquiries, and they're sharpening their knives. They'll probably check every last wine that comes out of Redwood Winery. And if any of it so much as resembles Stag's Leap's blending ratios..."
"That won't happen."
At Warren's firm words, Jonathan hurried on.
"And even if not that, if some low-quality wine comes out of there, it'll only drag your reputation down."
Only then did Warren think he understood why his second son had been prattling on since morning.
"So what you're saying is, Michel Wine lodged a complaint that my reputation mustn't take a hit. Is that it?"
Jonathan jumped.
"What? No, it's not..."
"Not it, my foot..."
Convinced that his second son, who had never given a damn about wine, couldn't possibly be bringing up his reputation out of concern for him, Warren gave a scornful snort and spoke.
"There's no need for you to talk nonsense. And no need for you to go around listening to it, either."
"It's not that... it's just, there really are a lot of people who don't understand you, Father."
"And because they don't understand, you want me to go around explaining my intentions to each and every one of them? Or do you mean I should give up doing what I want to do for their sake?"
"......"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk..."
Warren left the house shaking his head, and before long the hard set of his face gradually softened. His step was light on the way to Redwood Winery, and it was anticipation that made it so.
He'd been thrilled for some time now, wondering how the blended wine would turn out, now that it was finished, bottled, and its marriage period had come to an end, and on top of that, this very day was the day he would taste the new Pinot Noir.
But when he arrived at the winery, Brian was nowhere to be seen, and only his father was there.
"Good morning. In early again today, I see."
Employee though he was, Woody Choi always treated Warren with something close to reverence. Knowing his reputation as well as he did, it was perhaps only natural.
"Haha, good morning. Say, is Brian in the aging cellar?"
He was asking because Brian, who always drank his coffee in the office in the mornings, was nowhere in sight. The instant coffee mix brought over from Korea was fairly addictive, but Warren kept his distance from it, on the judgment that it might alter his palate.
"No. He's over at Silveroak."
"Ah... I see."
Warren nodded, then recalled what Brian had said a few days earlier. That he'd take stock of the state of Silveroak's soil and grapes before mapping out the plan going forward.
"In that case, I suppose I'll head over to Silveroak myself."
"Haha, please do."
Silveroak wasn't far from Redwood, so Warren set off at an unhurried pace. With harvest season now close at hand, walking between vineyards heavy with clusters of dark grapes was enough on its own to fill him with happiness.
After a good long walk, he arrived to the sight of a middle-aged laborer taking down the farm's sign.
"You're here?"
I had been talking with the laborer in front of the Silveroak office, and I called out to Warren as I watched him make his way up from the distance.
"So this place will officially become Redwood now, too."
"That was always the plan."
"Has all the old stuff been cleared out already?"
"Yes. They stripped it clean, to the point where I didn't have to lift a finger... It's all too old and crawling with bugs, so I'm just going to tear the office down and move the winery equipment over to our side."
"Oh? Then you'll need to expand Redwood Winery, won't you?"
"That's actually what we were just talking about. I have to get the blueprints drawn up and file with the state government, so..."
"What about the wine in the tanks?"
"The quality's not bad, so I'm still deciding. I'm even considering moving it into oak barrels, aging it a year, and putting it into next year's Ashlon."
"Oho... and if not that, then..."
At the expectant look in his eyes, I shrugged.
"You want to tell me we should make it into brandy, don't you? Let's hold off a little longer. It's not finished yet."
The new brandy, surprisingly, still hadn't come together even after the low-temperature still had been brought in. The brandy that had looked flawless in theory had, once the actual results came out, gone off balance and run into trouble.
But neither Warren nor I were particularly worried. Whether it was wine or a distilled spirit, making liquor inevitably meant passing through a stage like this. Hadn't I gone through countless failures myself before my regression?
"Mark my words, a month at the most will be plenty. We'll find the answer before then."
"I know. I won't put it into barrels for now, so let's finish it and decide before then. Either way, moving the tanks needs approval from the state, so we can't relocate the equipment right away anyhow."
"Right, right."
Warren nodded, took a look around the surrounding vineyards, and asked.
"When have you set the harvest for?"
"At least another week, I'd say. Two weeks at the most? From what I can tell, they didn't apply SWP last year. So this year I want to apply water stress right at the end... October's going to be seriously busy this year, since I've got to haul the equipment over."
Warren's eyes went wide.
"Without buying more?"
"Yes."
"So you've decided to turn over all the soil?"
"That's right. The terroir isn't bad, but it's not as though it's much better than Redwood's, either. And what's worse, over 30% of the vines have already entered old age."
"Then the grapes must be all over the place."
"They are. There's a bit of a gap between the ones in good shape and the ones that aren't. If I'm going to do this anyway, I'll just clear it all out, build up the soil from scratch, and start planting saplings next year."
Even Warren clicked his tongue in amazement at such a bold decision.
"Well, well... you could keep this land just as it is, make nothing but wine, and still pull in millions of dollars a year..."
Elowen Pike, the former owner of the Silveroak farm, might not have managed it, but I could easily have generated that kind of value from this wine.
"But if I put in the work for five years, after that it'll bring in tens of millions of dollars."
"Are you really that certain?"
"Of course. And you want to see me turn this land over as well, don't you, Warren?"
"Hahaha! Right you are, right you are. I intend to watch it closely from right beside you. How you build up the soil, what organic matter and microorganisms you set to work inside it. I'm looking forward to it already. But let me say this now, coming out here alone like today won't do. You must bring me along without fail."
"All right. It's just, you've been so busy making the brandy lately..."
"Well, there's no helping that, is there? Then I'll do the brandy in the evening..."
"No, no...! Do that and I might end up branded the man who worked an old man into the ground, so I'll be sure to let you know in advance whenever I'm coming out to Silveroak."
If he overexerted himself for no good reason and collapsed, it was all too obvious that Redwood would be denounced as the winery in Napa Valley that abused its elders.
"As it should be. In that case, those 18 acres of grapes you bought and prepared over there ahead of time will bear fruit some three years sooner. And you'll cultivate this place exactly the same way, I take it?"
"Yes."
"And Ironwood Cellars stays as it is?"
"I think trying to cultivate every plot to high quality would be too much. Partly it's the money that goes into building up the soil, but also, a winery can only run stably if there's steady revenue coming in."
"Hmm, true enough."
I went on to discuss the blueprints with an outside contractor who specialized in wineries, then headed back to Redwood together with Warren. By the time we did, it was already past one, and time for lunch.
"Perfect timing. Very nice indeed."
Warren briskly rubbed his palms together and stood before one of the oak barrels, his eyes sparkling.
"What's got you so pleased?"
"The plain roast chicken your mother will be bringing over soon, paired with a Pinot Noir, will make for a finer lunch than any restaurant could."
Mom was quite a good cook, and by now she'd grown fairly skilled at Western dishes on top of Korean food. Roast chicken among them wasn't all that difficult, and ever since Warren had joined us, Mom had taken it upon herself to prepare lunch every day, on the grounds that an elderly gentleman ought at least to eat well.
Since today had been set aside as the first tasting of the Grendel Hill Pinot Noir, the dish had been settled on as roast chicken to match. Of course, having already tasted it, I wasn't especially moved. Just a wine that had come out no worse than Sylphide, about the extent of it? Naturally, with different soil, its character was slightly different.
He gave the barrel a light tap with his palm and carefully poured the red wine into a glass with a sampler. Warren's greedy gaze shimmered as it traced the clear, ruby-red liquid.
"The color... it's pale, but it's not cloudy."
Rather than smelling it first, he tilted the glass to let the light pass through and studied the rim for a long while, and only then did he slowly bring the glass to his nose.
"Mmm... wild raspberry, pomegranate... the violet is more distinct than in Sylphide. The spice, on the other hand, has slipped into the background."
He took a mouthful and paused for a moment. During the brief span he rolled the wine over his tongue, I waited quietly for him to finish his appraisal.
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