The Night Before the Winemaking Contest, Floating Comments Exposed His Plan Chapter 06

The Night Before the Winemaking Contest, Floating Comments Exposed His Plan Chapter 06

Six years later.

The plane broke through the clouds.

I watched the white mist roll past the window, then turned back to the vineyard data on my phone.

[Ms. Whitaker, the third batch of new seedlings isn’t adapting.]

(If we can’t find a fix within two weeks, the snowcrest chardonnay won’t be ready for market.]

Six years ago, everyone said nothing would grow on that land. Now it was an endless stretch of green.

Every year, wine merchants lined up for partnerships.

Growers who saw me on the road would nod and smile.

“Master Vintner Whitaker.”

Master Vintner had never been a title reserved for men. It meant respect. It meant recognition.

It meant someone had walked ahead and cleared the path for everyone coming behind her.

Since I left Briarvale, the strange comments had never appeared again.

Maybe from the moment I swung that ax, the story stopped following its script.

I was back in Briarvale now because the mass cultivation of snowcrest chardonnay had hit a wall. I needed their distribution channels and resources.

The meeting had barely started when the merchant across from me laughed.

“A female Master Vintner?”

“Some woman gets lucky with a couple vines and suddenly she thinks she can run 1,650 acres?”

The man beside him nodded.

“Nobody knows how long that land up north is going to hold.”

“Wine is built on heritage. Not the reckless passion of someone who’s been in the game five minutes.*

I opened my documents without looking up.

“Snowcrest chardonnay has completed three rounds of successful cultivation. Combined with Briarvale’s infrastructure, this is a mutually beneficial partnership. The numbers speak for themselves.”

He flipped through a few pages, then closed the folder.

“It takes more than pretty numbers to make it in this industry, sweetheart.”

The door swung open.

Wesley walked in.

Six years, and he was still Briarvale’s top magnate.

But something behind his eyes had dulled.

“I can provide the processing channels Northpine needs.”

Someone at the table snorted.

“Just like a woman.”

“If Wesley’s willing to put his name behind you, why not just marry into the Ashfords, have some kids, and settle down? Why bother coming to us?”

I looked up at Wesley.

“I don’t recall sending Mr. Ashford a partnership proposal.”

His hand tightened at his side.

When he spoke again, something raw slipped through the composure.

“Laurel. It’s been a long time.”

“I just want to make things a little easier for you.”

The new vineyard opening drew growers and business partners from across the region.

I stood in the heart of the vineyard, looking out over the rows of newly cultivated seedlings.

Six years of my life were in that soil. Every seedling was an answer I’d fought to find.

Then I saw workers moving vine seedlings in the distance, and I stopped cold.

I recognized them instantly. The mother vines from Northpine.

Every investment, every partnership, and every grower’s hopes for the next several years all depended on these seedlings.

I strode over and checked where they’d been pulled from.

My voice dropped.

“What are you doing?”