Quiet Hill (1)
Late September, morning at Warren’s home.
“So, how much are the losses so far?”
His eldest son, Andrew, hung his head, unable to bring himself to speak, while Jonathan stammered in response.
“Well... it’s not like there are massive vacancies yet. Even though the prices of surrounding buildings have dropped significantly, there’s still room for a rebound... and crucially, our debt wasn’t that high when we bought the buildings...”
“Ha, what would you have done if I hadn’t stopped you back then?”
“......”
Back when they sold the Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars and bought the buildings in San Jose, Andrew and Jonathan had been dreaming of a bright future. They had envisioned becoming real estate moguls, buying up more properties with the monthly rent and the rising value of their assets.
However, the subprime mortgage crisis, which they had thought would pass by lightly, slammed into the United States, making them realize that real estate investment isn’t always a bed of roses.
They couldn’t deny that if their father hadn’t stepped in to stop them from buying additional buildings, they would have suffered even greater losses.
“So, are you managing the buildings properly?”
Noticing the anger had drained from his father’s voice, Andrew quickly lifted his head to answer.
“Yes! I make sure to go and check on them every other day.”
“Since things have turned out this way, just manage them properly. The real estate market won’t be on a downward slope forever, so make sure they’re valued correctly when the market recovers.”
“Of course, Father. Naturally.”
Warren nodded and began to get dressed to head out, but Jonathan hesitated before cautiously asking.
“How much longer are you going to keep going to Redwood?”
“What do you mean, ‘how much longer’? When our employees joined Stag’s Leap, how many years did you want them to work before they left?”
“That’s not what I meant... but you’re not young anymore, Father. I’m just worried you might hurt your health. At your age, everyone else is resting, traveling, and so on...”
“Hmph! Why? Do you want me to disappear from Napa?”
When Warren whipped his head around and glared, his second son waved his hands in alarm.
“Oh, what are you talking about? I’m saying this for your health. If you stay at the winery, you’ll keep worrying and researching. It’s not good for you to just sit in that stuffy aging room drinking wine all day.”
“If being in an aging room was bad for your health, how do you think Robert Mondavi lived to that age?”
“That’s a special case.”
“...What is it you really want to say?”
Realizing his true intentions had been exposed, Jonathan scratched his head and said,
“People are talking behind your back about you.”
“......Is that what you wanted to say?”
“Honestly, it is. They’re asking why you’re working at such a small winery. The people at Michelle Wine, who acquired Stag’s Leap, keep making inquiries and they’re sharpening their knives. They’re probably going to check every single bottle that comes out of Redwood Winery. And if it even remotely resembles the blending ratio of Stag’s Leap...”
“That won’t happen.”
At Warren’s firm words, Jonathan quickly continued.
“If not that, then if a low-quality wine comes out, your reputation will be the only thing that falls.”
Only then did Warren understand why his second son had been rambling since the morning.
“So, you’re saying Michelle Wine filed a complaint because they’re worried my reputation might fall?”
Jonathan jumped.
“What? No, that’s not it...”
“Like hell it isn’t...”
Warren, who knew his second son had zero interest in wine, scoffed at the idea that he would be concerned about his father’s reputation.
“There’s no need to say useless things. And there’s no need for you to listen to useless gossip, either.”
“That’s not it... it’s just that there are a lot of people who truly don’t understand you, Father.”
“Do you mean to say that because they don’t understand, I should go around explaining my intentions to every single one of them? Or does it mean I should stop doing what I want to do for their sake?”
“......”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk...”
Warren shook his head and left the house, his stiff expression gradually softening. His footsteps toward Redwood Winery were light, fueled by anticipation.
He was already excited to see the quality of the blended wine that had finished its marriage period after bottling, and today was also the day he would taste the new Pinot Noir.
However, when he arrived at the winery, Brian was nowhere to be seen, only his father.
“Good morning. You’re out early again today.”
Although he was a winery employee, Woody Choi always treated Warren with respect. It was natural, given he knew of Warren’s fame.
“Haha, good morning. Is Brian in the aging room?”
He was asking because Brian, who usually drank coffee in the office in the morning, wasn’t there. The instant coffee brought from Korea was quite addictive, but Warren didn’t touch it. He judged that it might alter his palate.
“No. He’s at Silveroak.”
“Ah... I see.”
Warren nodded, remembering what Brian had said a few days ago. He had mentioned he would check the soil and grape conditions at Silveroak before making further plans.
“Then I should head over to Silveroak.”
“Haha, please do.”
Since Silveroak wasn’t very far from Redwood, Warren walked leisurely. Since the harvest season was approaching, walking through the vineyards where black grapes were hanging in clusters was, in itself, a source of happiness.
After walking for a while, he arrived to see a middle-aged worker removing the farm’s sign.
“You’re here?”
I, who had been talking to the worker in front of the Silveroak office, greeted Warren as he walked up from a distance.
“So this place is officially becoming Redwood now.”
“It’s the predetermined course of action.”
“Has the existing equipment been cleared out?”
“Yes. They cleared it out so thoroughly I didn’t even have to touch it... It was too old and infested with bugs, so I’m just going to demolish the office and move the winery facilities to our side.”
“Is that so? Then you’ll need to expand the Redwood Winery, won’t you?”
“I was actually in the middle of discussing that. I have to get blueprints and report it to the state government...”
“What about the wine in the tanks?”
“The quality isn’t bad, so I’m debating. I’m considering moving it to oak barrels to age for a year and then putting it into next year’s Echelon.”
“Oho... if not that, then what...”
I shrugged at his expectant gaze.
“You want me to say brandy, don’t you? Let’s wait a bit longer. It’s not finished yet.”
The new brandy hadn’t been completed yet, even after the low-temperature distiller arrived. The brandy, which looked perfect in theory, had developed issues with its balance when we actually produced the results.
But neither Warren nor I were overly worried. Whether it’s wine or distilled spirits, this process is an inevitable part of making alcohol. Didn’t I experience countless failures before my regression?
“I guarantee you, a month is more than enough. I’ll find the answer before then.”
“I know. I won’t be putting it in oak barrels yet, so let’s finish it and decide then. Anyway, to move the tanks, I need permission from the state government, so I can’t move the facilities right away.”
“Yes, yes.”
Warren nodded, looked around the surrounding vineyards, and asked,
“When have you set the harvest date?”
“I think it’ll take at least another week. Maybe two weeks at most? Looking at it, it seems they didn’t apply SWP last year. So this year, I’m planning to give them water stress at the end... October is going to be really busy because I have to move the equipment.”
Warren’s eyes widened.
“Without buying more?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve decided to plow up all the soil?”
“That’s right. The terroir isn’t bad, but it’s not significantly better than Redwood’s, either. What’s worse is that over 30% of the trees are already in their old age.”
“The grape condition must be a mess.”
“Exactly. There’s a bit of a difference between the ones in good condition and the ones that aren’t. If it’s going to be like this, I’m just going to clear it all out, prepare the soil anew, and plant seedlings starting next year.”
Warren clicked his tongue at the bold decision.
“Haha... you could earn millions of dollars a year just by maintaining this land and making wine...”
I don’t know about the former Silveroak owner, Elowen Pike, but I could certainly create that much value with this wine.
“But if I put in the effort for five years, I’ll be earning tens of millions of dollars after that.”
“Are you really that confident?”
“Of course. And you also want to see me plow up this land, Warren.”
“Hahaha! True, true. I’ll be watching closely from the side. How you prepare the soil and what kind of organic matter and microorganisms you’ll activate in it. I’m already looking forward to it. I’ll tell you in advance, you can’t come alone like today. You must come together.”
“I got it. But you’ve been busy making brandy lately...”
“That can’t be helped, can it? Then let’s do the brandy in the evening...”
“No, no...! If I overwork you and you collapse, I don’t want to be branded as a winery that abuses the elderly. I’ll be sure to tell you in advance when I come to Silveroak.”
If he collapsed from overexertion, it was obvious that Redwood would be criticized in Napa Valley as a winery that abuses the elderly.
“Of course you should. Then the 18 acres of grapes I bought and prepared over there will come out about three years early. You’ll prepare it the same way as that place, right?”
“Yes.”
“And Ironwood Cellars will stay as it is?”
“I think it’s impossible to make all the land high-quality. Aside from the money going into soil preparation, the winery needs consistent sales to operate stably.”
“Hmm, that’s true.”
I continued to discuss the blueprints with the winery construction experts from outside, and then returned to Redwood with Warren. By then, it was already past 1:00 PM, time for lunch.
“Perfect. This is very good.”
Warren rubbed his palms together, his eyes sparkling in front of an oak barrel.
“What are you so happy about?”
“If it’s the light roast chicken your mother will bring soon and this Pinot Noir, it will be a more magnificent lunch than any restaurant.”
My mother’s cooking skills are quite good, and now she’s quite adept at Western food, not just Korean. Among them, roast chicken isn’t very difficult, and since Warren joined, my mother has been preparing lunch herself, saying that an elderly person needs to eat well.
Since today was set as the time to taste the Grendel Hill Pinot Noir for the first time, the dish was decided to be roast chicken, which pairs well with it. Of course, I had already tasted it, so I wasn’t particularly moved. Just that it was a wine that came out as well as Sylphid? Of course, the soil was different, so the texture was slightly different.
He tapped the oak barrel lightly with his palm and carefully poured the red wine into a glass with a sampler. Warren’s greedy eyes shimmered as he followed the clear ruby-colored liquid.
“The color... it’s thin, but not cloudy.”
Without smelling it first, he tilted the glass, let the light pass through, and stared at the edges for a long time before slowly bringing the glass to his nose.
“Hmm... wild strawberry, pomegranate... the violet is clearer than in Sylphid. Instead, the spice has receded to the back.”
He took a sip and paused for a moment. I waited quietly for his impressions to end during the short time he rolled the wine over his tongue.