Chapter 79: Forward Toward Success (3)
TL: Hanguk
Watching him bet $2.5 million in one go, I accepted the offer without hesitation.
"What about the deposit?"
"Fifty percent."
Just by having the base wine secured, I could get $1.25 million in hand. There was no reason to turn down an offer like this. And I needed more money.
The Echelon and Sylphide released this year had already sold out, and the revenue that had come into Redwood Winery's account already exceeded $2 million. That was more money than I'd spent buying up part of the burnt-down Silver Oak Farm, but it still wasn't enough.
Because if I wanted to think about further winery expansion, I'd need a lot more money.
"Please send me the contract."
"Good call. Sylphide is a wine that really deserves to reach beyond California."
A wide smile spread across his lips now that the difficult decision was made. Demand for wine in the East Coast of the US, centered around New York, was substantial, and its base was growing wider by the year. On top of that, the high earners working in law and finance around New York tended to favor wines that looked luxurious, as a way of showing off their wealth.
That was the basis on which Christopher was able to bet $2.5 million on Sylphide. The demand for Pinot Noir just kept climbing, and very few wines could hit the mark with those picky young high earners. He was convinced Sylphide was a perfect fit for that crowd, who were always looking for something new.
He let out a small sigh, sounding a little wistful.
"Now that it's come to this, I'm kind of regretting it. If I hadn't reviewed Echelon, I could've bet on that one too."
"Ah, I appreciated the Echelon review."
"I didn't go easy on it on purpose. I just rated it as it was. The objective assessment came from the San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition, so you could even say my 90 points was on the stingy side."
He felt a little embarrassed that he hadn't given it 92 points at the time. It was as if he'd come face to face with a prejudice he hadn't even known he had.
"That much just comes down to everyone having their own standards, so you can't really call it good or bad. But I guess you don't handle the wines you review?"
"It could raise questions, couldn't it? If I recommend something and then sell it myself, what kind of joke would that be?"
"Ah... that's a good principle to stick to."
"More importantly, you're doing custom crush for the Pinot Noir. How's that contract structured?"
"Three-year fixed with a plus-two-year option. This is year two, and Pinot Noir prices are rising, so I'll definitely exercise the two-year option to extend."
"Hmm... and how much are we talking, volume-wise?"
"Around 45 tons."
"Forty-five tons... that's why you only got 3,000 cases out of it?"
"I want Russian River Valley Pinot Noir. Other regions are a bit... I'd like to sign an additional Pinot Noir contract here, but it doesn't look easy, so I've been wrestling with it."
It wasn't that I was worried about not being able to land an additional contract because of rising prices. The existing contract with Hart Farm in Russian River Valley was priced at $2,400 per ton. Even at 45 tons, that worked out to a little over $100,000, and the wine made from it had sold for more than $1 million, so the profit margin was over tenfold.
If I tried to lock down Pinot Noir by the block now, I'd have to pay at least $3,000 a ton, but considering the price Redwood sold its wine at, it wasn't an amount that would break the bank.
The issue was that most blocks were contracted out by default, and with Pinot Noir's popularity this high, finding a block that hadn't been contracted to anyone was nearly impossible.
"What if... I found you a place like that and connected you? Would you be interested in doing business?"
I was a little surprised. Just how far was he seeing Sylphide's potential, that 45 tons wasn't enough and he wanted to push even more Pinot Noir my way?
"Oh, you'd look into it for me, Christopher?"
"Did you know? Most wine distributors are located on the East Coast of the US. New York, Boston, Washington D.C.... those big cities are clustered together, and historically, when wine came into the US from Europe, the major ports were on the East Coast. Plus, the geography makes it favorable for importing wines from traditional wine-producing countries like France and Italy. So the big distributors are mostly based in the East."
"I see."
"But distributors here on the West Coast in California have one advantage over East Coast distributors. We're located right at the heart of American wine production, so we know the wineries' situations inside and out."
"So you can dig around and find something?"
"Exactly. I can't promise anything, but I think I can connect you with a decent block before spring. There are a few blocks where contracts are ending this year and need to be renegotiated next year. But you'll have to pay up."
"How much...?"
"At least $3,500 or so."
That was more than a thousand dollars per ton higher than the block I'd contracted last year.
"Wow, that's a huge jump."
"Demand for Pinot Noir is exploding. And this is Russian River Valley Pinot Noir, not just anywhere, so $3,500 a ton really isn't all that expensive. Honestly, I'm not even sure I can get it for that price. They might ask for $4,000."
Four thousand dollars a ton went beyond burdensome into the territory of "can we really do this?" But as long as Sylphide's wholesale price held at $33, the profit would still be enormous, so it wasn't a problem. Up until now, I hadn't been able to sign more contracts because I didn't have the money and couldn't find a suitable block, but if those weren't issues, locking down as many blocks as possible to make more Sylphide was a guaranteed win.
"Sylphide's price has gone up that much too, so I'll have to accept it."
Since I was pricing it at a cult-tier $70 a bottle, Christopher was probably thinking I'd accept even $10,000 a ton. That was likely why he looked completely unsurprised at my agreement.
"Understood. I'll go ask around."
"How about we eat now? It's a bit much to just talk with food sitting in front of us."
"Hahaha, I guess I got a bit too eager. Let's eat."
Since I wasn't going to be driving, I ate plenty of meat and drank wine to match, but he stopped after the half glass I poured him.
Once the meal was winding down, he glanced at me and carefully asked,
"Honestly, I do have one concern... I'm a little uneasy about whether Brian will have any trouble carrying out all the contracts with me."
On the surface, it sounded like he was asking whether it was really okay for the son to make all these decisions without the father around. But underneath, he was subtly asking what my exact position at the winery was.
"No need to worry. Everything we discussed today will go forward without a hitch."
Christopher, who'd been vaguely wondering about this all through our back-and-forth, still looked slightly surprised at my answer despite having suspected it. Being essentially the owner of the winery meant there was no skill gap between father and son.
"... I see. That's remarkable. It's not an easy thing at your age..."
"I've been really into this field from a young age."
It probably wasn't a satisfying answer, but Christopher nodded and let it go. Even if he didn't understand, he couldn't exactly press the issue.
After dinner, as evening was darkening, Christopher left Brian's house. Before starting his car, he turned his head back once.
"Strange..."
When he thought about it, he realized that up until now, he'd discussed most of the business with Brian rather than with Woody Choi, the winery's owner. It made him wonder if perhaps the real core of the winery wasn't Woody Choi but Brian.
"Could it be..."
He tilted his head, then drove off the farm.
At sunset, the streets of Sacramento were bathed in red light. Under the orange sky, signs flickered on one by one among the old brick buildings.
Jacob Miller walked down the street carrying an icebox in both hands. Inside was the first liquor he'd distilled a few days earlier, "Gold Grain Vodka".
"I've got to put myself out there."
He hadn't built the distillery on the naive hope that if he just sat around and produced, everything would sell itself. Jacob remembered every word his mother had said to him at the bank when she'd cosigned the loan to build this distillery.
To avoid feeling ashamed of himself, Jacob was heading out to the market today, for the first time, carrying the liquor he'd made himself.
His gaze stopped in front of one sign.
The Copper Glass.
The weathered copper-colored sign glowed softly. Through the window, he could see a long bar counter. Walls with exposed wood grain, dim lighting, and a woman's hands polishing a glass.
He took a breath and pushed open the door. A small bell rang as the door opened, and the scent of deep whiskey mingled with citrus brushed past his nose.
"Welcome. Don't usually see a new face at this hour."
The bar owner looked to be in her early forties. Her hair was neatly tied back, and her eyes carried the seasoned look of someone who'd dealt with countless customers.
Jacob took off his hat and spoke politely.
"Hello. My name is Jacob Miller, and I run a small distillery north of Sacramento. Do you... have a moment?"
The woman set down the glass, smiled, and gestured with her chin.
"Come on in."
Jacob opened the icebox and took out a bottle. The clear liquid inside sparkled. On the neck of the bottle was a label he'd attached by hand.
Gold Grain Soju House – Grain Vodka.
"It's a liquor I made using rice I harvested myself. It's refined like vodka, but it retains a grain-like texture. I don't have a name or brand set yet, but I wanted to get some market feedback, so I've been going around."
"You brought it for tasting, so I'm guessing I can try it?"
"Of course."
She pulled out a crystal shot glass and carefully poured. As the clear liquid filled the glass, a subtle aroma spread. It was a faintly sweet grain scent, hard to find in ordinary vodka.
"The aroma is soft."
"Regular vodka is completely scentless and flavorless, so I wanted to bring out our distillery's own character by preserving the grain aroma. You'll notice a clear difference when you taste it."
She lifted the glass and took a sip. She rolled it around in her mouth for a moment, then raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Wow... this is interesting. Clean like vodka, but sweet on the finish. Is that the rice's sweetness?"
"That's right. Some of the grain components remain through the refining process, so there's a slight sweetness at the end. You could call it something halfway between Korean-style soju and European-style vodka."
The bar owner set down the glass and laughed.
"This would work well as a cocktail base too. Especially mixed with citrus or herbal liqueurs, I think you'd get a really unique aroma."
She looked at Jacob with a serious gaze.
"This liquor, how much are you planning to sell it for?"
Jacob delivered the line he'd prepared in advance.
"I'm thinking $11 a bottle wholesale. If distribution takes $5 to $6, it should come into stores at around $16 to $17."
"Sixteen dollars?"
She lifted the glass up to the light and gave a small smile.
"Not bad at all. A 750ml Absolut goes for $21, so this one... could sell for about $23. These days, the completely scentless, flavorless end of the vodka market is already saturated. But this one... it has character. Don't you think customers would get curious about it?"
"Ah, that's good to hear."
"I'd love to tell you to leave a bottle or two... but you can't sell them, can you?"
Jacob's expression turned regretful.
"I'm sorry. Because of liquor laws, I can't sell directly. Honestly, I'd love to just leave some and see how customers react, but I can't do that either."
"Can't be helped. But I really like it. If it launches properly, I'll probably pick up a few bottles."
"Thank you."
Carrying that one piece of hope with him, he stepped outside to find darkness already settling in. Streetlamps along the road flickered on one by one, tinting Sacramento's streets in yellow.
Jacob picked up the icebox, now lighter by one bottle, and walked slowly. It was still heavy with liquor, but Jacob didn't mind. His dad had told him to be a strong man, so something this small had to be nothing.
"I'll hit every one of them before I head back."
His goal was to get every bottle in here tasted before the day was out. If he just powered through like this for one month... then he'd be ready to make a real run at it.
*****
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