Lapis Lazuli (4)
Cedric Vaughan closed his eyes as peacefully as a soldier who had fulfilled his final duty. Before the ink on the contract had even dried, he returned to the earth of Lapis Lazuli, the vineyard he had spent a lifetime building. It was the quiet departure of an old farmer who had stood solitary watch over his vines in the mists of Napa Valley.
"Since it was Father's will, we will honor it as well."
Leo and Rose's attitudes had changed overnight as if by miracle. Or rather, the "practical consolation" I had offered had simply quieted their greed. I handed them the five hundred thousand dollars originally earmarked for Cedric's medical and care expenses, presenting it as a form of condolence money and immediate compensation.
Five hundred thousand dollars in ready cash, layered atop the security of a thirty-year annuity. For the children, it became both sufficient justification and tangible benefit for keeping their late father's last wishes.
"The transfer of ownership for Lapis Lazuli is complete. This land is now officially an asset of Redwood."
With the lawyer's confirmation, every official procedure that needed doing was finished. The funeral itself was simple, yet those who attended were anything but ordinary. Owners and winemakers of long-established Napa wineries came to pay their respects and offer their prayers for him.
Robert Mondavi's residence in Oakville.
On the elegant terrace sat two giants who embodied the history of Napa Valley. Across from Robert Mondavi in his wheelchair was a gentleman of sharp eyes and impeccable posture—William Harlan, founder of Harlan Estate and the man they called the Emperor of Napa Valley.
"Are you truly in your right mind, Robert?"
William Harlan's voice was cold. He made no effort to hide his displeasure as he fixed Robert with a hard stare.
"You helped that stubborn old fool Cedric hand his land over to that wet-behind-the-ears Asian? That parcel is the one my legal team spent years working on. The prize piece we intended to acquire at the right moment to complete the finest Merlot blend in Napa!"
Robert stroked the cup of warm black tea in his hands and gave a wry smile.
"Helped him, William? You still underestimate that young man. I merely pointed out the path. It was Brian who forced his way down it with his own ability."
"Damn it, what are you talking about? In the end you were the one who told him the value of that farm, weren't you?"
"Listen, William. I'm no fool. That young fellow from Redwood had already marked Coombsville's clay fields from the start. He came to me asking who owned them."
William's brow twitched.
"Is that true?"
"It is. Why would I give away information that valuable for free?"
"Hell... so that kid even has an eye for land..."
Watching William mutter darkly under his breath, Robert adjusted the blanket across his knees.
"An extraordinary one, isn't he? At that age, talent usually leans toward either farming or winemaking. Yet he exceeds us in both. I still can't quite make sense of it."
"Hmph. You've fallen for him completely."
"Not fallen for him so much as... come to feel a certain fear."
It was more than words. When Robert thought of that young Asian man, curiosity was accompanied by genuine apprehension.
"Fear? You, Robert?"
William's expression said he could scarcely believe it. The idea that a mythical figure of Napa Valley, standing at the edge of death, would feel fear toward some young winemaker was almost unthinkable.
Yet Robert continued in a calm voice, still cradling the warm cup.
"I always believed wine was made of capital, brand, technique, and perfect terroir. That young man from Redwood had proven none of those things. Look at him now, though. He already possesses brand and technique, and capital is following close behind. The problem... is terroir. That is the part of him I truly fear."
William nodded as if in agreement.
"Redwood... the fact that such dense Cabernet could come from that place is certainly a mystery."
"In that light, if he ever obtains true, proper terroir as well..."
As Robert's face tightened, William raised his voice.
"That's exactly why you should have steered him somewhere else no matter what! That clay ground in Coombsville only shines under the management systems of large wineries like ours. And you let it go to some unknown Redwood?"
"Heh. William, handing it to you wouldn't have been particularly pleasant from my position either."
"Not so. If it came to me, at least I could keep another winery from rising up to challenge Continuum, couldn't I?"
"Tsk tsk tsk. Still full of ambition, I see. If you wanted it so badly, why didn't you buy Lapis Lazuli yourself long ago?"
That clearly stung; William's eyes turned fierce.
"Those brats kept naming ridiculous prices. Were they trying to make a fool of me?"
"We all thought the same, which is why none of us bought it. Looking back, the land was open to anyone. The young Asian from Redwood simply paid the price we all considered too high. Even so, I find myself regretting it now. Three million dollars... why did I haggle over the price and let it slip away..."
It had never really been about the money. Paying more than comparable parcels and looking like Napa Valley's sucker—that was what had kept them from closing, even though the land was good.
William folded his arms and gazed out over the cool, empty vineyards.
"Well, enough. My head winemaker Bob Levy has never been wrong. For the past few years the Merlot from Lapis Lazuli was worthless. Excess nitrogen, ruined acidity. Full of that heavy Coombsville character. There must have been some problem with the land we didn't know about."
That had been the other reason they never bought. Over the long term the Merlot had been slowly declining, and with it the value of the ground itself.
"Perhaps so."
In a way it was like the fox deciding the grapes were sour, yet Robert agreed. Even he admitted that the quality of Merlot from Coombsville's clay had fallen short of its prime.
William watched Robert for a moment, then rose. He slipped on his coat with deliberate calm.
"Still, Continuum seems to be carrying on your will well. It will be rough for a while, but I believe it's a region capable of producing quite fine wine."
"Kind of you to say so."
"...Even if you're no longer here, if anything happens to Timothy, I'll see that he gets help."
They had once been rivals, and one of them had fallen, yet William offered the words so that a dying man might feel some peace.
"Just don't go trying to devour him."
"Heh. Not a particularly appetizing target. That young pup from Redwood, on the other hand..."
As William turned to leave, Robert spoke quietly.
"Ah—did you see that?"
"Hm?"
When William turned back, Robert gestured to a staff member behind him. The man approached at once bearing a crystal bottle on a tray.
William stared, wondering what it was.
"What is that? Ruby Quartz?"
"Look carefully at the bottom."
Only then did William notice the mark engraved in the center of the lower label. His brow furrowed hard.
"Warren Winiarski?"
"That's right. Warren joined Redwood and produced not wine, but brandy. It only just launched. Since you're already here, take one as a little bribe from me."
"......"
William stared at the ruby-brown brandy on the tray, then picked up the bottle.
"I'd prefer to see you again as late as possible."
Watching William's retreating back with the bottle in hand, Robert murmured,
"So would I..."
There would be little reason to visit Robert again for some time; the next meeting was most likely to be at Robert's funeral. That was why William had spoken of seeing him late.
Once inside his Rolls-Royce sedan, William Harlan did not wait. He broke the seal on the Ruby Quartz right there and poured a measure into the rocks glass kept in the car.
From the moment the liquid left the bottle, a wave of cherry aroma hit him so hard his brow creased.
"What kind of... brandy is this..."
He brought the glass to his nose. Intense alcohol and dense cherry fragrance crumpled his face further. No brandy in existence had ever offered so rich and bright a fruit perfume.
Then William Harlan took a sip. Heat raced down his throat while cherry filled mouth and nose; his eyes closed of their own accord.
When he opened them again he raised his eyebrows high and said,
"Find out which company produces this brandy."
"Yes, sir."
Having given the order to his secretary, he closed his eyes once more and let the deep cherry linger on his tongue.
At the very hour William Harlan was speaking with Robert in the Oakville mansion—
"You made it."
I waved to Warren Winiarski as he appeared at the Coombsville farm.
"Clever work, managing to land this place."
Warren turned up the collar of his worn coat and slowly surveyed the vineyard Cedric had devoted his life to.
On the threshold between late autumn and winter, Lapis Lazuli looked desolate. The harvested vines stood bare, and the fog-soaked clay clung stickily to every step.
"Nice, isn't it?"
"Nice enough... but you don't intend to simply take over the farm as it is, do you?"
His experienced eyes saw the chronic illness currently afflicting the land before they saw its potential.
"Of course not."
"As I thought... you know. When you first marked Coombsville and the western slopes of Oak Knoll, what surprised me—and worried me—was that the quality of the Merlot here had been steadily declining. Do you know why?"
I nodded.
"Yes. The soil has already been acidified by excessive fertilizer, and the layers have been compacted hard by heavy machinery."
"Then you've drawn up a restoration plan, I assume? You're not thinking of plowing the whole thing under the way you did with the Silver Oak plot, are you?"
"Haha, of course not. But the grain of the approach is similar."
"Similar in grain?"
Warren's concern was valid. Winter pruning and soil preparation—