The Night Before the Winemaking Contest, Floating Comments Exposed His Plan Chapter 08

The Night Before the Winemaking Contest, Floating Comments Exposed His Plan Chapter 08

Word spread fast. Within days, every vintner from Northpine to Briarvale knew the snowcrest chardonnay

mother vines were destroyed.

In less than three days, partners who’d signed contracts with the Northpine vineyard started pulling out.

The calls came one after another.

“Laurel, it’s not that we don’t trust you.”

“But with the chardonnay compromised, there’s no way to guarantee future supply.”

“We have a responsibility to our clients.”

I ended the last call.

Documents were piling up on the desk.

Another message from the Northpine vineyard manager.

[Ms. Whitaker, more growers showed up at the vineyard gate to protest today.]

[They’re saying you broke your promise. That you don’t have what it takes to run a vineyard this size.]

I stared at the screen, my fingers pressed flat against the desk.

[Keep them calm for now.]

[Tell every grower I’ll personally cover the compensation and losses.]

A knock at the door. The estate manager stepped in.

“Ms. Whitaker. Camille is here.”

I didn’t look up.

“Send her away.”

He hesitated.

“She says if you won’t see her, she’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“Then let her wait.”

Half an hour later, noise rose from outside.

I stepped out of the vineyard office. Camille was putting on a scene on the front steps, sobbing hysterically

with her face buried in her hands.

“Laurel, I know you hate me.”

“I came to apologize. Please forgive me.”

A crowd had already gathered: people who’d only seen a woman breaking down.

“She’s cried her eyes out. Isn’t that enough?”

“Camille’s always been well-liked around here. It was an accident.”

“You can replant vines. You can’t just leave a person out here crying like that.”

I was about to have her removed.

“Enough.”

My mother pushed through the crowd.

She walked up to Camille. She looked older, thinner, but her eyes were sharp.

“Is that what this is? You put on this pathetic show out here so everyone thinks my daughter’s the villain?”

Camille’s eyes glistened.

“Mrs. Whitaker, I wasn’t trying to…”

My mother cut her off.

“Then why didn’t you tell these people the vines you moved were snowcrest chardonnay?”

“Why didn’t you mention how many growers had their futures riding on that batch?”

Camille’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.

The crowd went quiet.

My mother turned on the crowd, waving them off with both hands.

“Who the hell are any of you to call my daughter cruel?”

“Where were you when she spent six years alone in Northpine turning dead hills into vineyards?”

“Did any of you see what happened to her hands? Did you sit up with her through the nights she spent protecting those seedlings?”

“You came here for the show. Well, the show’s over. Get out.”

They scattered.

Camille rose to her feet. Her expression had hardened.

“You used to love me, Mrs. Whitaker.”

My mother didn’t flinch.

“I was wrong before.”

When she turned to me, her eyes were wet.

“Laurel. You’re home. That’s all that matters.”

I looked at her and couldn’t find a single word.

I’d waited so long to hear that. Now that it was here, I didn’t know what to do with it.

Then someone pushed through.

My brother walked up to me, head down.

“Laurel. I’m sorry.”

“I spent years thinking you pushed me into viticulture because you thought I was less than you.”

His fists tightened. His voice dropped.

“After I left Briarvale, I failed at everything.”

“Then one day it hit me: the only thing I actually knew how to do was grow grapes.”

I went still.

He looked up. His eyes were rimmed with red.

“You made me memorize those viticulture handbooks. Drilled me on grape varieties until I wanted to

scream.

“You weren’t trying to make me live in your shadow. You were scared that someday, when you weren’t there, nobody would be able to protect me.”

He pulled a folded paper from his jacket and held it out.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it.”

“I want to start at the bottom. The lowest position you’ve got.”

“Just let me stay. Let me help.”

I unfolded it. A registration form for basic grape harvesting, the most entry-level job in the vineyard.

I let out a breath.

“You start with harvesting. And if I catch you slacking, you’re done.”

His head snapped up. He nodded so hard I thought he’d hurt himself.

Beside him, my mother pressed her hand over her mouth, trying not to cry.

Wesley came to the vineyard that evening.

He stood at the edge, watching the growers work in the fading light.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know Camille would show up.”

“The Northpine vineyard is in real trouble, Laurel. Your partners are pulling their money. The growers are losing faith.”

“You can’t carry all of this by yourself.”

I finally looked up.

He took a step closer.

“Stay here in Briarvale. I’m still here. The Ashford family has the resources to help you through this.”

“You don’t have to do everything alone anymore.”