The Assistant
Today, Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars was wrapped in a palpable tension as they welcomed some very important guests. Brad Cooper, Vice President of MW Estates, and Alessandro Bellini, President of Marchesi Antinori—the key parties involved in the acquisition—were in attendance.
Sitting on the sofa behind the negotiation table, Warren’s two sons and Hudson watched the proceedings with strained expressions.
Given that these parties had left the previous meeting with significant progress, their currently hardened faces made it clear that the current turn of events was not to their liking.
Warren placed his wrinkled hands on the table and spoke in a low voice.
“I’m sure you’ve already heard the rumors... and you’re probably wondering why I’m suddenly acting this way. I hope you can understand. I don’t know how much longer I have left, and the thought of living my life completely detached from wine leaves me feeling lost.”
Brad Cooper, who already shared a close relationship with the family, spoke with a troubled expression.
“But sir, if you insist on removing the non-compete clause, the risk for us as the buyers becomes far too great.”
“I’m not unaware of that. That’s why I agreed to the condition that I won’t acquire a company or start a new one.”
“The problem is the very fact that you would be working as a winemaker at *any* winery. From now on, whatever winery you go to will inevitably be called the new Stag’s Leap.”
“You’re being extreme. A person’s palate and their favorite foods don’t change easily. The same goes for the wine they enjoy. Even if people rave about a restaurant they frequent, if the taste changes, they turn their backs on it in an instant. They have a clear standard for the taste they desire. They might try a wine once or twice because of the winemaker’s reputation, but if it doesn’t meet their standards, they’ll go right back to what they were drinking before.”
“That may be, but...”
“I believe I’ve made enough concessions. If you find it impossible to concede even a little, then I’m afraid I’ll have to accept that. What can I do? Our standards simply don’t align.”
From the perspective of the buyers, it was hard to see his stance as a concession, but knowing that a massive asset like Stag’s Leap wouldn’t easily hit the market again, the two men looked at each other and sighed.
This time, Alessandro Bellini of Antinori spoke with a heavy countenance.
“We understand your intentions, sir. In that case, we will insert a clause prohibiting any copying, ensuring you do not create a wine that utilizes the exact blending style of the SLV you created.”
“That’s fine.”
“And the same logo is also prohibited.”
“Naturally.”
“Even if you don’t use the blending exactly... it would be problematic if the style turns out to be too similar. We would like a supplementary clause to prevent ‘minimal similarity’...”
“I accept that as well.”
Alessandro Bellini nodded and let out a low sigh.
“Whew... Understood. I will accept.”
He turned his head to ask for Brad’s opinion. Brad shrugged his shoulders and said,
“I have no choice. I’ll accept it as well.”
Though it seemed like a decision made on the spot, it was likely something already discussed internally within their respective companies. Both firms had clearly decided that they could not afford to miss out on the Stag’s Leap property currently on the market.
Seeing the two men’s decision, the two sons watching the negotiation high-fived each other in celebration.
After finalizing the details, Warren excused himself, claiming he was tired, leaving only his sons and the representatives from the two wineries.
“Do you have any idea why he’s acting like this?” asked Brad, who was puzzled by the sudden change in a man who had been losing his passion so much that he’d barely been showing up to the winery in recent years.
“We don’t know either. We were just surprised when he chose Redwood Winery for... something...”
“Redwood?”
“It turns out Redwood Winery has absolutely nothing to do with us. We have no clue what Father is thinking. And honestly, what’s the point in knowing? Hahaha.”
“Well, it’s all over now, then.”
Andrew and Jonathan smiled with satisfaction, knowing that once the revised contract was drawn up, all that remained was for their father to sign it. They didn’t really want to know what their father was thinking. They were just excited about the money coming in so they could purchase that building in San Jose.
However, Brad and Alessandro remained bothered by what Warren’s true intentions might be.
“Brian! Did you see the announcement? Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars was sold for $180 million.”
As soon as I arrived at the winery, Dad raised his voice while checking the article on the internet.
“Yeah...”
It wasn’t a surprise, as I had already known this from before my regression. My mind was preoccupied with something else—the golf club membership catalog sitting on Dad’s desk.
“Dad, Chloe’s father sent this, right?”
“Huh? Oh... no... he just suggested we go for a round together.”
“Going is fine, but don’t let Mr. Frederick talk you into signing a contract at Deer Ridge Country Club.”
I could feel in my bones that the housing market was becoming dangerously unstable. Several companies were starting to go bankrupt, and interest rates were fluctuating wildly.
“Oh? Is that because the real estate market looks a bit shaky lately?”
“Exactly. It might crash at any moment.”
“You’re right. I’ll just go and enjoy myself. By the way, Chloe knows how to play golf, too.”
“Chloe? Hmm... did she learn from a young age?”
“Apparently so. She’s reaaally good. Just looking at her, with those long arms and legs, don’t you think she’d be good at golf?”
Objectively speaking, Chloe was tall and slender, so she had the kind of physique that wouldn’t look out of place on a model.
“Well, I’m not interested in golf.”
“You should learn when you have time later. Chloe would be a great teacher.”
“Geez...”
I shook my head as I watched Dad sneakily avoid my gaze. I was about to head to the aging room when someone called out from outside.
“Mr. Brian, there’s someone here to see you.”
“Who is it?”
“An older gentleman. He’s looking for you.”
I wondered who could be looking for me, so I went out. I saw an elderly man I’d seen somewhere before, wearing a red checkered shirt and comfortable brown pants, inspecting the farm.
“Oh? You’ve come to visit again?”
The old man grinned when he saw me and said,
“So you were here today. You were over there last time.”
“Did you know I was there when you came before?”
“I did at the time.”
“Why?”
“I had something to ask.”
I furrowed my brow.
“So, when you asked about the land back then, it wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment question?”
“That’s not it. I went there to ask something else, but I ended up forgetting it all. The situation back then was just too intense.”
I didn’t understand what he meant, so I just stared at him. He hinted,
“Are you not hiring anyone?”
“Here?”
“Well, would I ask anywhere else but here?”
“No... what kind of work can you do?”
“I know how to make a bit of wine.”
Thinking back, I remembered that this old man knew quite a bit about grapes. If he knew that much at his age, he must be an experienced veteran who had been making wine for a long time elsewhere.
“You must have experience, then? Where did you work?”
“I’ve brought something to show you...”
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to me. I looked at it and realized it was a resume.
“I agonized quite a bit over writing that...”
I didn’t hear a word he said. The contents of the resume were just too strange. I stared at the paper intently and asked,
“This is... a joke, right?”
“It’s not.”
“So... you... wait, you’re Warren Winiarski?”
“That’s right. That’s me.”
I blinked, alternating my gaze between his face and the resume.
The experience listed on the resume was nothing short of spectacular.
- Founder and operator of Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars for over 50 years.
- Achieved 1st place at the 1976 Judgment of Paris with the 1973 S.L.V. Cabernet Sauvignon.
- Developed signature labels including SLV, FAY, and Cask 23.
- Established micro-vinification and blending structures by soil and block.
- Over 40 years of vineyard management, directly supervising all processes including irrigation, pruning, and harvest timing.
- Conducted various research collaborations with world-class wineries and universities (including U.C. Davis).
His consulting and educational activities were equally impressive, and the Technical Skills he added at the end were the textbook methods I had studied repeatedly before my regression. And the reason for applying listed at the very end:
[I was deeply impressed by your company’s precise soil composition and Target Viticulture methods, and I wish to learn them firsthand and experiment with them together.]
“Could you wait here for a second... just a moment...”
“By all means.”
He gave a benevolent smile, and I quickly went inside and sat down in front of the computer.
“Who’s here?”
“Just a second.”
Ignoring Dad’s question, I immediately searched for his name. Most of the results were text-based articles, but after clicking through for a while, I finally found a photo of an elderly man with white hair, glasses, and a kind expression.
“It’s real.”
“What is?”
“The person in this photo is outside.”
“This guy? Warren... Wini...arski? The man with $180 million?”
“Yes...”
“Why?”
“He wants to join our winery.”
“...Is he a con artist?”
I left Dad behind and went back outside. He was still looking around our vineyard, touching the soil and examining the trees. As I approached, he pointed to the ground and said,
“The soil here is a bit different, isn’t it? What are the components?”
“You haven’t been hired yet, so I can’t tell you.”
“Oh... right. You should hire me quickly, then.”
He looked at me with eyes full of anticipation. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it, so I asked,
“You could just make wine at the winery you already own.”
“Haven’t you seen the news about my winery being sold? Everyone should have seen it by now.”
“I saw it... but couldn’t you have just not sold it and continued your research there?”
“What are you talking about? It’s written right there in my application.”
“Yes, I saw it. You want to learn our precise soil composition and Target Viticulture methods. Are you really joining for that reason?”
“I told you, didn’t I? And selling the winery was unavoidable. None of my children wanted to take it over.”
The reason he had to sell his winery was exactly the same as Mr. Frederick’s. If Chloe or Brandon hadn’t changed their minds, they would have sold everything just like Warren.
“But... with your incredible experience, the salary conditions might be...”
“I’ll take $100,000. How’s that? Honestly, if I went to another winery, I could get another ‘0’ added to the end of that. I have my pride, you know; you have to pay at least this much.”
A $100,000 annual salary is high, but if they could hire Warren Winiarski for that price, not just wineries in Napa, but wineries all over the world would be foaming at the mouth to sign him. Honestly, even $1 million wouldn’t be expensive.
“That’s one thing, but if you join my winery, you have to follow my lead. Can you do that?”
He hesitated for a moment, scratching his nose as if that part bothered him, and made a wry face.
“All instructions?”
“Of course.”
“Hmm... I’m a bit blunt, so if something is wrong, I tend to point it out immediately.”
“You’re free to point things out. If I’m wrong, I should fix it.”
“Right? Then, well...”
“But I’m the same way. If I point out something you’re doing wrong, you have to fix it.”
At my unexpected words, he pointed at himself with his index finger.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Refreshing... that’s refreshing...”
His eyes widened in surprise, and then the corners of his mouth curled up.
“So? Am I hired?”
“Yes, well... let’s do our best.”
As I reached out my hand, Warren grinned and said playfully,
“Good choice. But what’s my title?”
“Associate Winemaker. It’s an assistant position to help me. You don’t have any complaints with that, do you?”
“No, not at all. It’s a truly great position. It’s exactly what I wanted.”
He beamed, looking with satisfaction at the farm—which, compared to the one he used to own, could be described as the size of a speck of dust.