[Expansion and Acquisition]
The gallery hall on the second floor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
Beneath the golden chandeliers, silver wine buckets and crystal glasses were lined up in a long, elegant row. This was The Met Gala Wine Invitational 2005, a pre-event for the Met Gala. In this gathering of New York’s elite and cultural icons, wine was not merely a drink—it was a language of status.
French Bordeaux and Burgundy bottles were displayed along the walls like statues in an exhibit, while the small "American Wine Corner" placed in front of them looked like an experimental piece tucked away in a corner.
Michael Lowell held a glass in that corner. As a senior editor for Wine Enthusiast, he was one of the few journalists invited to the event.
The label on the bottle next to him bore a familiar name: Echelon 2004, Redwood Winery, Napa Valley. It was a wine he had personally covered and written about.
"I see you’re still insisting on American wine."
A familiar, authoritative bass voice reached his ears. Turning around, he saw a man standing with a wine glass. A black tuxedo, flashing cufflinks, and silver hair swept back—he was wearing a faint smile.
"Mr. Richard Spencer."
Richard Spencer was the chairman of Apex Creative Holdings, the largest entertainment group in the United States. He was a man who owned Hollywood studios, record labels, fashion brands, and even luxury media outlets.
'A man who turned culture itself into a business.'
He was also the main sponsor of today’s Wine Invitational.
"I read your latest issue. You still have a profound interest in Napa Valley wine, I see. You even went all the way to California to cover it yourself."
"Ah, it’s only natural for a journalist to do so. Especially when it’s a winery that has achieved such remarkable results, as in this case."
"Is that so?"
The way he curled one corner of his lip was clearly a sneer. Since he was an American who was notoriously harsh on American wines, Michael wasn't particularly shocked.
"It’s a winery that won two Double Gold medals. Have you tasted it? If you were an owner-chef running a restaurant in the West, you’d be so surprised by the Echelon here that you’d be desperate to bring it to your shop."
"Of course I tasted it. It’s quite balanced for a one-year-aged wine, but other than that..."
"Haha, I see..."
"Wine, you see, is something I believe to be a blessing given by God to humanity."
He laughed and raised his glass.
"Just as people have different appearances and personalities, terroir varies infinitely, which is why the taste and aroma of every wine are different. But American wine is, what should I say... a product of an artificial industry? It’s just like the American film industry, where they pour money into anything that looks popular just to manufacture a shallow sort of entertainment."
"To be so critical of your own country's work..."
"I am objective. The moment I overestimate what I’ve done, I lose my objectivity, and my investments fail. The Echelon you recommended—it might seem a bit different, but in the end, it was a point I’ve felt somewhere before. A refined structure, deep aroma... but that is a designed balance. It’s nothing more than a derivative of Château Margaux, which was created by the grace of nature."
"......"
"However, I do acknowledge the technique. It is a quintessential American wine. Americans who pioneered the harsh environment of the West imitating French wine created by nature. This is also why I like America. It does not bow to adversity. Overcoming a lack of foundation is the effort of man."
"...You didn't read that part, did you? That wine was created by a Korean who immigrated to the United States."
Richard Spencer’s lip, which had been curled upward indefinitely, dropped instantly. Michael felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the sight.
"What did you say?"
"It’s a wine created by an Asian, a Korean at that."
"...Surprising. Ah, Korean... a country that developed rapidly after the war. In a way, they resemble Americans, so it wouldn't be strange for them to create a wine like this."
"......"
Watching him justify his words with bizarre logic, the triumphant feeling Michael had felt a moment ago melted away.
"Still, it should be easy to remember. Asians have a tradition that Americans don't possess engraved into their souls. I don't know how they will melt that into wine, though."
With a smirk, he patted Michael on the shoulder and walked past. As Michael stared blankly at the back of a man who harbored such hatred for his own countrymen, his phone rang. It was his friend, David Hoffman, whom he had met just a short while ago.
Wondering what was up, he answered, and heard his friend's strangely excited voice.
"It looks like this tiresome business is finally coming to an end."
"You called out of the blue—what are you talking about?"
"I went to the Napa Valley year-end farm owners' meeting earlier, and guess what? I met the owner of that Redwood vineyard you told me about."
"Oh? Really?"
"Hehehe... It was so funny. After winning the Double Gold, his ego was soaring to the heavens. He acted like he was some kind of master, even talking to Robert Mondavi."
"......"
The base jealousy in his friend's tone was palpable. But Michael couldn't bring himself to point out that it was a twisted way of thinking. He knew just how broken his friend’s spirit had become.
"So I casually dropped the idea that I might be selling my farm, and his eyes changed instantly. It was hilarious how greedy he got. Hahaha!"
"Are you really thinking of selling the farm?"
David’s voice dropped, sounding as if he were a completely different person.
"Yeah, I don't need this kind of land anymore. People who don't even have a palate don't properly appreciate my wine and only say it's lacking. But what can I do? That's just how the terroir is set up."
"David..."
"Forget it. But let me tell you something funny. I bought this place 15 years ago for $1 million. Do you know how much it's worth now? Don't be surprised. It's over $3.5 million. Hehehehe... Just by holding onto the land, my assets are worth over $3.5 million. Hahahaha!"
He was laughing like a madman, but Michael could feel the sorrow hidden in his friend's laughter. The realization that he was a loser leaving in failure was embedded in that frantic sound.
"I see. That's a relief; you'll be able to get a good price."
"I'm going to ask for $4 million. Of course, it would be great if I could sell it for that, but even if I only get $3.5 million, I'll be able to live without worrying about money for the rest of my life, right?"
If even one of the many wines he had attempted had truly taken off, he probably would have easily earned $3.5 million.
"I'm envious. You have to treat me right when you come to New York."
"Of course. I'll make sure we have a hell of a time at an amazing place."
"Yeah, call me when you get here."
Michael Lowell hung up the phone with a bitter smile. He had just witnessed a winemaker giving up on his dream and choosing reality.
Two days after the winter rain stopped, I drove down the red dirt road. Outside the window, the rain clouds had vanished, and sunlight was quietly pouring over the vineyards on the northern hills of Napa Valley.
Red soil mixed with iron, gentle slopes with good drainage, and a south-facing aspect. Just by looking at the topography, I could guess what kind of wine this land would produce.
At the end of the road, an old sign was swaying in the wind.
IRONWOOD CELLARS.
Beneath the blackened, peeling paint, the marks of time were laid bare. As I parked my truck in front of the warehouse, the door opened, and a large, middle-aged man appeared. Silver-streaked hair, cracked hands, deep wrinkles...
It was David Hoffman.
"Brian... right? I thought your father was coming."
His voice was tinged with disappointment. I smiled and reached out my hand.
"I wanted to see it for myself. I’m the one who makes the wine."
His gaze swept over my hand for a moment. He shook it and let out a scoff.
"Is that so? You make the wine?"
He already had a look that didn't acknowledge Redwood wine, and hearing that I was the one making it seemed to make it even more unbelievable to him.
"Yes."
"...That's curious. Well, it's not my business. Come this way."
I followed him straight to the vineyard behind the warehouse. The winter vineyard had lost all its leaves, but the roots and vines still held vitality. As I bent my knees to pick up some soil, David stopped.
"Do you know how to look at soil?"
He asked, raising an eyebrow. The soil in my hand was red and firm, and I could smell a faint scent of iron at the tip of my nose, indicating it was rich in minerals.
I brushed the dirt off and said, "I just took a look."
"Hmph, young people these days..."
"Could I take a look at the aging room for a moment?"
"Sure."
We visited the winery's aging room and then entered an old office, where the smell of the warehouse and the scent of old wine barrels were mixed together. He placed his finger on a map spread out on an old table.
"18 acres south of here is hilly. The drainage is perfect. The 12 acres above that are clay, which is better for Merlot than Cabernet. In this location... you have to pay at least $4 million."
I nodded calmly.
"It’s a good condition. But there are many parts that need repair."
"What?"
"Coming here, I saw that some of the drainage ditches have collapsed and the drip irrigation lines are old. The insulation in the aging room is also weak, so the internal temperature will exceed 25 degrees in the summer."
He furrowed his brow. He was puzzled as to how I could have known that just by glancing around for a short time.
I took out my notepad from my bag and scanned the notes I had written down.
"30 acres of vineyard... the average yield is 3.5 tons per acre, so it should produce nearly 100 tons annually, but as far as I know, the production volume of this winery's wine is at a third of that level. Is it because the bottling line is old and inefficient? Or has the production volume itself decreased?"
"More than half was sold to other wineries as raw grapes."
It was a shameful thing for a winemaker to say. It meant he had sold the grapes to other wineries for the farm's stable livelihood rather than making his own wine.
"I see."
"Still, it won't go below 4 million."
His voice dropped low.
"The price itself isn't unreasonable, but if I acquire it, it will cost too much money. There are more than one or two places that need fixing."
"...... If you're just going to lower the price like that..."
"I'll sign the contract right now for $3.6 million."
He stared straight into my face.
"That's too low."
"If so, please think about it until tomorrow and contact me. I don't like to wait long."
I closed my notepad and stood up. His expression wavered subtly. His eyes were confused, unsure if this was a test or if I was serious.
"Wait."
He stood up.
"Are you really planning to buy it?"
"I'm serious. I'll have the contract ready soon. It's $3.6 million."
A short silence flowed, and his shoulders slowly dropped.
"Fine, 3.6 million. Let's do that."
"Great. I'll come back tomorrow with the contract specifying $3.6 million and a lawyer."
At that moment, his eyes widened slightly.
"Tomorrow? That's fast."
He nodded, pretending to be nonchalant, but his fingertips were trembling slightly. In his eyes, relief and joy were mixed together. I didn't need to be told how much he had wanted to sell this farm.
"Then I'll see you tomorrow."
As I left his office, I picked up a handful of soil and scattered it over my palm. With soil this good, I wouldn't have to overhaul the farm extensively like Silveroak did.
$3.6 million was expensive, but half could be paid in cash and half through a loan. This level of investment was well worth it. Now, Redwood had become a winery with 60 acres of vineyards, stretching from the north of Silveroak to the south of Ironwood.
As I was driving home, my phone rang. It was Jacob. When I answered, I heard his voice, which was full of excitement.
"Brian! Hey, can I change the distillation ratio a little bit?"
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"You know that method you taught me, the Reflux Ratio? I lowered the existing 5:1 ratio a bit and tried it at about 4:1."
"You added a bit more grain aroma?"
"Yeah. I wasn't sure what people would like. But when I tried it at 4:1, everyone loved it. So, I was wondering..."
"Should we go with 4:1?"
"Yeah, is that okay?"
Jacob's voice sounded slightly worried. He was likely afraid that I would be offended if he adjusted the ratio I had taught him on his own.
"Of course it's okay! People like it, don't they!"
"Hahaha! Right? Everyone asked me to contact them when it's officially released because they want to buy it. I... I want to release it officially as soon as possible!"
Jacob's voice was full of hope.