Page 67 of The Vines Between Us
I nodded gratefully to him. "Exactly. Which is why I've prepared this." I distributed folders containing financial projections. "Two scenarios: one where we maintain the alliance through harvest, and one where we dissolve."
The group fell silent as they reviewed the numbers. I'd been brutally honest—the short-term outlook wasn't promising. We'd be operating at a loss for at least another year, possibly two. But the long-term projections showed sustainability and eventual prosperity, particularly if we secured the Canadian distribution contract we'd been negotiating.
"This assumes no more sabotage," Marcel pointed out.
"And no more defections," I added. "If we lose even one more member, the entire model becomes unviable."
The room grew uncomfortably quiet. I could almost hear people calculating their individual odds versus collective survival.
"Tomorrow at the village meeting," Hugo said, breaking the silence, "Rousseau will make his case. He'll offer security, immediate financial relief, and the illusion of continuity. Butmake no mistake—once VitaVine controls this region, everything that makes Saint-Émilion special will be systematically dismantled."
"That's a bit dramatic, non?" Pierre's wife Sophie interjected. "They're a business, not monsters. They need to maintain quality to sell the wine."
"They need to maintain the perception of quality," I corrected. "There's a difference. Look at what happened in Languedoc when GrapeCorp took over. Mass production, mechanization, vineyard workers replaced by seasonal migrants paid below minimum wage with politicians paid to look the other way."
"And the wine?" Madame Fontaine asked, though I suspected she already knew.
"Engineered for consistency. Additives to maintain flavor profiles. Nothing technically wrong with it, but..." I struggled to find the right words.
"But without soul and personality," Hugo finished for me. "Without the character that comes from generations of knowledge and care."
I looked around the room, trying to gauge where people stood. Some nodded in agreement, others looked uncertain. Jean-Marc stared into his wine glass, conflict written across his face.
"We should vote," Marcel suggested. "Before tomorrow's meeting. Are we standing together or not?"
I exchanged a glance with Hugo. This wasn't how we'd planned to end the evening, but perhaps it was necessary.
"All in favour of maintaining the alliance, regardless of what happens tomorrow?" Hugo asked.
Hands raised slowly. Madame Fontaine. Marcel and Colette. Hugo and myself, of course. Pierre, after a moment's hesitation and a nod from Sophie. But Jean-Marc kept his hand down, as did the Perrin brothers.
Five out of eight. Not enough for our financial model to work.
"Let's sleep on it," I suggested, trying to keep disappointment from my voice. "We don't need to decide tonight."
As people gathered their things to leave, I noticed Jean-Marc lingering. When the others had gone, he approached Hugo and me.
"I want to stay with the alliance," he said quietly. "But Rousseau... he knows about my daughter's disability. The treatment she needs isn't fully covered by state insurance, plus the ongoing cost of care for her."
I felt a surge of anger. "He's using your child against you?"
Jean-Marc looked miserable. "Not explicitly. But the timing of the offer, the specific amount... it's exactly what we need."
Hugo placed a hand on Jean-Marc's shoulder. "We'll find another way to help with your daughter's treatment. The alliance takes care of its own."
"How?" Jean-Marc asked bluntly. "You've shown us the numbers. Where would the money come from?"
I had no immediate answer. The truth was, we were barely staying afloat ourselves.
"Give us until tomorrow," I said finally. "After the village meeting. If we haven't found a solution by then, I won't stand in your way."
Jean-Marc nodded slowly. "D'accord. Until tomorrow."
After he left, Hugo and I remained at the table, the empty wine glasses and financial projections scattered before us like battlefield debris.
"We're losing them," Hugo said softly.
"Not yet." I reached for his hand across the table. "But tomorrow will be decisive."
