The Calm Before the Storm

By mid-November, with Sylphid causing a stir throughout the wine industry, I was busier than I had ever been. It was the season for shipping out not just Aschelon, but Serasia as well. Even with Sylphid performing so well, I didn't have much time to dwell on it. From the winery's perspective, the wholesale price was already locked at $70, and we wouldn't be able to renegotiate until next year anyway.

Aschelon, however, was a different story.

My expectations for Aschelon were incredibly high, as it had become even more perfect than last year’s double-gold vintage. I was monitoring temperature, CO₂, and dissolved oxygen levels with precision—a far cry from the guesswork I relied on the previous year.

"Hmm... it needs at least another year of aging..."

I had to be particularly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠meticulous in checking the state of each barrel for the cult wine project I was ambitiously pursuing. The 2004 Merlot barrels from Kenaz Vineyards, which I had purchased at auction, had been aged for over a year and were now finally ready to serve as the perfect blending partners.

Just as I was agonizing over which barrels to select, a guest arrived at the winery. It was none other than John Anderson.

He walked in carrying heavy paper bags in both hands, wearing a mysterious smile.

"What’s all this?" I asked.

My father looked on, and John replied as if it were only natural.

"A gift for the hero of Napa Valley, for Redwood. Please, I insist you don't feel burdened. Macy’s department store sent some of these over as a token of their gratitude."

"Haha, even if you say that, I can't help but feel a bit burdened," my father said with an awkward laugh. We both knew what he was really after.

When we first signed the contract with John Anderson, it was for the distribution of the 2005 and 2006 ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grape harvests. We were now entering the final year of that agreement. Since the initial two-year term was coming to an end, his desire to extend the contract was plain to see.

"Do you have any idea what the situation is like right now? People are flocking to Macy’s just to get their hands on Aschelon."

"I'm sure that's true for the wine enthusiasts, at least," my father said, trying not to react too much to his hype.

"Hahaha, why be so modest? Please, have a seat."

Once my father and I sat down, he began pulling items out of the bags he’d brought. I realized they were all luxury brand goods—handbags for my mother, suits, wallets, and shoes for my father, and even a suit and shoes for me.

Even before I regressed, I was never one for luxury goods. Whenever I had a bit of extra cash, it was always more important to me to expand our facilities or acquire more vineyard land.

"You really didn't have to..."

"It’s our sincerity, just our sincerity..." He insisted, pressing a wallet into my father's hand despite his attempts to refuse.

"It reminds me of the old days. When I had ruined the farm and was about to give up on everything, you and your son asked to buy the farm from me. Looking back, I think that was the moment you saved my life."

"Oh, well..."

"Do you know why the farm failed?"

"Pardon? Well, that's..."

"Pests spread aggressively, we couldn't manage the quarantine properly, and a significant portion of that year's grapes lost their marketability. But we had been farming for decades—would we really have sold the farm just because of a few years of hardship?"

It turned out there was another reason.

"Then what was it?" my father asked, narrowing his eyes.

John offered a bitter smile. "My son was causing trouble. He started hanging out with the wrong crowd and got into things I can't even describe. I never had much interest in farming to begin with, and it became even harder to focus. No, I didn't even want to pay attention to it. Honestly, whether I cared or not, a steady income kept coming in, and my father, who had passed the farm to me, told me not to worry because the revenue was consistent."

"Oh dear..."

"So, I only realized the farm was failing when it was already too late. By then, there was nothing I could do. There was a guy who approached me claiming he could solve the farm's problems, only to take the money and run... In the end, I couldn't hold on, and I had to take on investors. When those investors wanted to recoup their money by selling the land, I had no choice but to let it go for a cheap price."

"I understand."

"But look at me now. I look like a decent person, don't I?" He spread his arms and laughed. His expression was certainly different from the past. The man who used to walk around looking like he’d lost everything now carried an air of ease, even in the casual clothes he wore to drive his truck.

"I see."

"This is all thanks to you and your son."

My father, wearing an awkward smile, looked at me. His expression asked what I wanted to do.

"How are the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Aschelon sales going?" I asked.

As if he had been waiting for the question, John pulled a file folder from his bag and opened it. On the front was a promotional catalog with the title:

"For now, we are distributing the Aschelon we released to retailers last year, with Macy’s as our primary channel. The price point is high, but I believe it’s worth every penny."

"What is the retail price?"

"$320."

I immediately frowned. The price was too high; at this rate, there was no reason to maintain our supply price of $70.

Sensing my hesitation, John spoke up immediately.

"If you raise ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the supply price, Macy’s will just raise the retail price. Since it’s being sold in the wine shops within the department store, it’s not actually that expensive when you consider their commission fees."

"How much is the department store commission?"

"30%."

It was a steeper commission than I had expected, but I still wasn't satisfied.

"Hmm... it still feels a bit too expensive."

"Well, the reviews have been so stellar. Macy’s was the one to set the price higher, so even I didn't expect it to reach this level. What’s even more surprising is that despite the high price, they’ve capped it at 'one bottle per person.' Because of that, we actually have a reservation waiting list. Some stores sold out their entire stock on the first day."

There was a clear sense of excitement in John's voice.

"I want to continue my contract with Redwood. What do you two think?"

Deciding whether to end it this year or extend it to next year was a critical choice. Depending on the distributor, our brand image and pricing could change drastically.

In that sense, John Anderson had clear pros and cons. As he was in the early stages of running his distribution company, he lacked experience, his territory was small, and his marketing power was limited. However, the advantage was that because it was a small company, my influence was significant, and he was capable of more aggressive sales tactics without the bureaucratic red tape of a larger firm.

"I assume you’ve brought a contract draft? May I take a look?" my father asked.

John immediately flipped to the back of his folder.

John leaned forward, his voice earnest. "I don't believe the sales growth at Macy’s is just a passing trend. Sylphid has exploded in the East, and Aschelon is reaching the same status in the West. The contract with Redwood accounts for 45% of our company's revenue. We really want to keep working with you."

Beyond Aschelon, Armando’s Redwood Vinegar was also generating significant revenue. Armando had set a goal: if he could secure stable income through the vinegar for three years and pay off most of his loans, he would cut the vinegar production in half and start making wine.

My father carefully reviewed the contract and said, "I see. We’ll think about it."

John, knowing that such a decision couldn't be made in a single day, replied readily. "Of course. I can wait as long as you need."

Since we were contracting for next year’s distribution, there was no need to rush.

John smiled, shook our hands, and left the winery. My father watched his retreating figure for a moment and asked, "What do you want to do?"

"They’re selling it for quite a high price at the department store. If that’s the case, we don't need to stick to $70. If John can handle the distribution at the $120 level, I don't think we need to look elsewhere."

"That’s true. John Anderson is basically just a middleman for Macy’s anyway. How easy is that for him? He takes it from us, brings it to the department store, and makes hundreds of dollars per case."

"Thinking about it that way makes my stomach hurt a little," I admitted.

My father laughed and patted my head. "Let's not be too greedy. I’m already so happy with just this."

"Me too. It’s good to see people making money off our wine."

"...Should we just start our own distribution company?"

"Dad..."

"Alright, alright... I’m truly happy."

"You really are?"

"I told you, I am. But what should we do with the money we earned this time? I heard there are a few AVAs available for grape cultivation."

At my father’s question, I sighed slightly. "Hmm, no. Let’s save the money for now."

We had taken out significant loans for the Silveroak Hills wildfire site, the Ironwood Cellars farm, and winery equipment upgrades, but we had managed to pay off a large portion of them with the money we’d earned so far. While we had paid quite a bit in interest, the income we’d brought in was comparable, so there was no reason to be disappointed.

With the $2.5 million from the Sylphid sales—which had sold out completely—already sitting in our account, and the Aschelon revenue coming in, plus the upcoming Serasia sales, we were looking at at least $3.5 million more. That meant $6 million in total. It was an astronomical amount of money.

My father might joke about starting a distribution company, but running a winery with over $6 million in annual revenue was a situation where we had nothing to envy. Normally, it would make sense to use at least half of that to buy more farmland, but I had a reason for wanting to take it slow this year.

The subprime mortgage crisis was coming next year.

I remember it vividly because, like anyone else who lived through it, I had experienced the horror of the housing market crash. The terrible memory of seeing the house I’d bought with hard-earned money and loans plummet in value.

I didn't remember the exact details, but I had heard that Napa Valley AVAs also suffered significant price drops at the time. When the credit crunch hit during the subprime crisis and interest rates skyrocketed, those who were managing their farms with loans would have undoubtedly been forced to put their land on the market, even at a loss.

Therefore, it was smarter to hoard our capital now and buy the farms after the chaos began.

"Then how about we change our house?"

My father, unaware of my thoughts, saw the $6 million coming in and immediately showed his desire for a better home. The house we were living in was a rental, and it wasn't exactly a great place. It was only fortunate that it was in the countryside, so at least it had some square footage.

It was only natural for anyone to want a better home.

"No to the house."

I knew exactly what was going to happen next year. I could compromise on other things, but not the house.

"Then... stocks?"

"No to stocks either."

Stocks were out of the question too.

"What? So you want us to just leave all that money in the bank?"

Honestly, I knew it sounded ridiculous from an objective standpoint, but this was a time when we shouldn't be touching real estate or stocks.

"How about... a car?"

"A car?"

My father’s eyes sparkled. He gave a shy smile and quietly headed into his office. He was definitely going to search the internet for new car models.

"Well, I suppose..."

To be fair, that pickup truck was way too old. As I thought about the opportunity to upgrade, a smile naturally spread across my face.