Tyler
THE SEALED TRUST had been opened.
My position was official. It was hard to believe California Jane was mine and mine alone.
There wasn’t much money in the trust, though. Not any to really speak of. Not enough to help the company out of the dire situation we were in, anyway. Sure, there was enough to make certain I could live comfortably for a couple years, but that was about it. I guess the endless amount of money I thought we had as a teenager wasn’t exactly correct.
It was all good, though.
My grandfather was a self-made man, and I could be, too.
My grandfather.
I glanced at his picture on the wall. Brown hair. Whiskey brown eyes. Big man. Rough around the edges. Calluses on his palms and years of labor on his back, and in the end, he’d built this.
All of this.
The office.
The winery.
The house.
My legacy.
It was etched into my spirit, and I knew it would always be a part of me, no matter what.
My gaze shifted across the space. The office was dusty. The magazines dated. But the bottles of wine were fine, and it was my job to make sure they stayed that way.
Reaching across the desk, I pressed the old intercom wondering if it still worked.
“Yes, Mr. Holiday,” my new receptionist greeted.
I couldn’t hide my smile. “Veronica, can you ask Wilhelmina to come to my office?”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
“Thank you,” I told her and let go of the button.
Rolling my grandfather’s old executive chair back, I pushed from the custom-made wooden surface and swiveled toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ravaged vineyards.
Ravaged vineyards and no grapes for next fall’s harvest.
Typically winter was quiet, sure. The vines dormant and storing nutrients for the coming year’s season. Our vines, however, were doing no such thing. Most of them needed to be burned, the soil reconditioned, and new ones planted.
But hell, it was January and the pruners and viticulturists hadn’t set foot on the property yet to attempt to remedy the situation. Well, because, let’s be honest, we couldn’t afford to pay them.
If something wasn’t done quickly though, at least with the vines we could salvage, spring would come and the time will have passed for the sap to rise and the buds to swell.
Pruning had to start.
Now.
Sure, we could buy the grapes from another vineyard at a crazy high price. We could source the best oak. We could even toast the barrels.
But could we afford any of that?
This land, my land, with its undulated hills and rolling fields, was on the north side of the ridge and the bottom of the valley. It wasn’t ideal for a winery. Water sources were always a challenge and the growing conditions not the best, but my grandfather had made it work, and so would I.
The situation would be remedied, and right away.
I had to find a way.
I would find a way.
There was a soft knock at the door. I bristled and called, “It’s open.”
“Tyler,” my step-grandmother said. “You wanted to see me?”
I whirled around and flashed her a detached smile. “That went as expected,” I remarked, referring to the reading of the trust.
She took a seat across from me. “Yes, it did.”
Her gaze surfed the office of the man she’d been married to for sixteen years. “I should have had this office cleaned out for you.”
I followed her gaze. “No, I’m glad you didn’t. I want to keep it just like it is.”
There was a look of understanding in her eyes that I hadn’t seen in a very long time.
My eyes dropped to the folder Mr. Dane had given me. The one that contained Highway 128’s numerous loans and mortgages, all on record, all obtained legally. Basically, they were already bankrupt. “I thought we should talk about where you fit in,” I told her, getting to the point.
A nervousness had her crossing her hands on her lap. “Yes, I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”
Had I?
Had I really?
Honestly, I hadn’t. Up until a few days, I thought Wilhelmina was doing a great job running the company, and after talking to Mr. Dane, absent financial reports aside, she had. It wasn’t her fault the fires ravaged our business and the asshole insurance company refused to pay up, stating acts of God were excluded.
Fuck them.
They were on the list to go after.
Yes, this was do or die time and knowing the truth, the facts, I couldn’t do it. I wanted to kick her out on her ass. Tell her to have a nice life, but I just couldn’t. “I want you to stay.”
Her botoxed face wrinkled in a way I knew it shouldn’t when she blinked in shock. “You do?”
I nodded. “But things have to change. No more secrets. We need to work together if we’re going to turn things around.”
The graceful part of her was always soft. Shame she rarely allowed anyone to see it, me included. “Tyler,” she said. “I don’t think you know how much this means to me.”
I pushed the folder her way. “Save the sap for someone else. Here’s the financial information on Highway 128. You were right. They’re on their last leg.”
She lifted her chin and straightened her spine. “I told you. Now, what are you going to do about it?”
That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? “There may not be anything I can do. Paris is going to announce her engagement to that rich French douche any day now, and I assume after they marry, she’ll use his money to pay off Highway 128’s massive debt.”
Her harsh gaze met mine. “Then stop her.”
Tossing back my head, I laughed. “Did you not listen to a word I just said?”
“There are ways, Tyler. There are always ways. If I were you, I’d start by looking into Henri LeBlanc’s love life,” and it was all she said before getting to her feet.
I wanted to ask her to expand. Give me some clarity without telling her Paris had already turned me down flat and laughed in my face. That digging into her soon-to-be fiancé’s love life was probably useless. But she didn’t give me a chance.
“Oh, and Tyler, there’s something else.”
I raised my hand. “Don’t push your luck, Wilhelmina, or I will have you escorted out.”
Her face went tight and wary as she pulled an envelope from inside her St. John’s suit jacket pocket.
I might have allowed her to stay with the company but that didn’t mean anything had changed. “What is it? Not your resignation I assume, so that leaves your eulogy?”
There was no fight left in her gaze. Not today anyway. She wasn’t her typical self—not going round-for-round with me like she usually did. “It’s a letter from your grandfather.”
Suspicion seeped into my bones. “He died more than ten years ago.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“What? Did he come back from the grave to PS me?”
“Not funny, Tyler. I was instructed to hold on to it.”
My eyes scanned it wearily. “What does it say?”
She handed the envelope to me. “Read it for yourself.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Your grandfather didn’t want me to give this to you until you were ready to know the truth. Although I’m not sure you are, I do think it’s time you did.”
I took what she offered. The paper was old and yellowed and it had my name written across it—Tyler Justin Ryan Holiday III. I recognized my grandfather’s regal cursive letters immediately.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about this.
What did it say?
What truths?
Did I want to know?
Just before my step-grandmother closed the door, she said, “And Tyler, you’re welcome to stay at the house. I know you don’t particularly like living with me, but it’s better than a hotel, at least until you find a place of your own.”
That was a polite way of saying I know the trust didn’t have as much as you might have thought and money could be tight, so don’t waste it.
Wow. Things were really starting to feel strange. Cordial and nice. This behavior was way out of her wheelhouse. “Yeah, thanks, I might do that after I wrap things up across the bay.”
She nodded. “Take a few days to finish your business there, but not too long. I’ll expect you at the production meeting on Monday morning.”
Expect me?
I was the one fucking in charge now.
Typically, I would have chewed her a new one for a comment like that, but the envelope in my hand had my attention. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
The door closed and I was left in my grandfather’s office with a letter he’d written me more than ten years ago.
I opened the desk drawer and found a letter opener. Slowly, I sliced it open, being careful not to tear or rip it.
Inside was a single piece of yellow legal paper. No fancy stationery or typed document. That wasn’t him.
My eyes flew to my name and I drew in a deep breath. Here went nothing, or everything.
My dearest Tyler,
If you are reading this letter, I am dead and you are, or soon will be, the one in charge.
I have no doubt that you’ve turned into the man I raised you to be. Unlike your father, you were always hard-working and determined. Qualities which I found out couldn’t be instilled as I once thought.
Qualities that will help you to determine the right course of action.
California Jane has a history. A history not written down in any book or shared as a fond memory.
I came to California with one-thousand dollars in my pocket, a good woman by my side, and a best friend by the name of Malcolm Fairchild.
Yes, old man Malcom was my best friend. You see Tyler, the feud hadn’t always been going on. He and I grew up in Wisconsin and worked together on a dairy farm. Two young and naïve boys, we pooled all of our money together as a down payment so we could purchase the single largest piece of property for sale in Northern California.
Unfortunately, the 500 acres escalated in price before we could secure the funds for purchase. I know you’re doing the math right now. California Jane is only 105 acres, so what happened to the rest?
The plot had been laid out in three distinct pockets that significantly ranged in elevation and were flanked by two cool creek canyons. The property was surrounded by dense forests, which was a risk in case fire ever broke out and was why, in the end, the bank turned us down for a loan.
Unwilling to give up, Malcolm and I sought out a private mortgage, and with the help of Vince Gable, we purchased the five hundred acres. However, before we could construct the largest winery California would have ever seen, Vince executed the option to divide the pockets of property. He also somehow managed to deed the best piece of the property to himself.
He was the businessman, and Malcolm and I were ignorant of the contract we had signed giving him the right to enforce the original plat designations.
In the end, we owed him money and he called in the loan that we couldn’t pay. So, in exchange, he took the 290 prime acres with both streams and no forest surrounding it, and left Malcom and I the two outer parcels.
By lack of proximity, Malcolm and I were forced apart. We argued about who would get the smaller, most southern piece with the better elevations and more robust soil and who would be stuck with the northern, larger piece.
The stress of Vince’s deceit caused a rift between Malcolm and I that was irreparable. I enlisted the services of Albert Dane to fight Vince, while Malcolm secured an attorney to fight me. In the end, I lost against Vince, and Malcolm secured the most-southern piece of land for himself.
You’re wondering how this happened?
Remember, this was a long time ago and times were different.
Either way, I hope you followed my plan and are an attorney who can handle any issues that our land might encounter in the future.
I spent my life building California Jane and didn’t have the time or the energy to waste on going after Vince.
My biggest regret is dying with the taste of hatred on my tongue. I should have made amends with Malcolm. I should have held Vince accountable. I did neither and I died with those two things left undone.
I leave this information in your good hands, my grandson. Do with it what you will. What you can. What you think is right. And if you want to leave the past where it rests, then I can accept that, too.
But I have to warn you, there are things I haven’t written in this letter that you may uncover. If you do, remember what I always told you—sins of the father are not sins of the son.
That you are strong and good and can handle anything.
In the end, California Jane is what matters.
And she belongs to you.
Take care of her, my boy.
Love always,
Your grandfather
My hands were shaking when I folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope.
Talk about a game changer.
Yeah, Grandpa, I don’t think I’ll let sleeping dogs lie. Then again, I’m pretty sure you knew that about me.
Vince Gable, I’m coming for you.
There was no doubt I had some big shoes to fill, but I planned to do just that. If I had any doubts before, they were gone. I was going to save my grandfather’s legacy.
Any way I had to.
Fuck, I wasn’t only going to save it, I was going to make it better, stronger, and bigger.
No matter what.