Page 69 of The Vines Between Us
As the meeting dispersed, Rousseau approached Hugo and me directly.
"Impressive speech," he said, his tone almost genuinely admiring. "But you know you're fighting a losing battle. The economics simply don't work in your favor."
"Some things are worth more than money," Hugo replied.
Rousseau laughed softly. "A lovely sentiment. I wonder how many of your allies share it when their livelihoods are at stake." He nodded politely. "Until next week, gentlemen."
As he walked away, I exchanged a glance with Hugo. We'd held our ground, but the cracks in our alliance were widening. Jean-Marc and the Perrins had already slipped out without speaking to us.
"We're losing them," I murmured, echoing Hugo's words from the night before.
"Then we need to give them something worth fighting for," Hugo replied, his eyes never leaving Rousseau's retreating figure. "Something VitaVine can't offer at any price."
Chapter Twenty-Four
HUGO
Iwoke before dawn, the weight of harvest preparations already pressing on my chest. Three weeks until we'd start picking, and every day brought a new crisis. The Alliance had shrunk from seven vineyards to five after last week's meeting, when the Perrins had quietly accepted VitaVine's offer. Their defection hurt, but I understood—their daughter's expensive overseas university tuition had come due, and Rousseau had strategically doubled his offer the day before payment was required.
Alexandre still slept beside me, his face peaceful in a way it rarely was during waking hours. I slipped out of bed without waking him and headed to the kitchen to start coffee. Through the window, I could see the first hint of light touching our vines. Our vines. The thought still caught me by surprise sometimes—how quickly we'd fallen back into each other's lives, as if those fourteen years apart were just a brief interruption.
The phone rang, shattering the morning quiet. Who would call at 5:30 AM?
"Allô?" I kept my voice low.
"Hugo, it's Marcel." His voice sounded rough, panicked. "There's a fire at the storage building. The one with the Alliance equipment."
My blood went cold. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
I scribbled a note for Alexandre and ran for my truck. The sky was lightening as I drove, but a different glow lit the horizon—angry orange flames consuming the building where we'd stored our shared harvesting equipment.
By the time I arrived, Marcel, Madame Fontaine, and Jean-Marc were already there. The fire brigade had contained the blaze, but the damage was catastrophic. Our grape press, two tractors, and most of the smaller equipment were charred ruins.
"It wasn't an accident," Marcel said grimly, pointing to where the fire chief was examining a melted plastic container. "They found accelerant."
"Rousseau," I spat.
"We can't prove it," Jean-Marc said, his face haggard. "But who else would benefit?"
Henri’s Citroen 2CV pulled up, and Alexandre rushed toward us, his hair uncombed, wearing yesterday's clothes. "How bad is it?"
"Total loss," I replied. "Insurance will cover some, but not nearly enough to replace everything before harvest."
"And we can't delay," Madame Fontaine added. "The Merlot will be ready in exactly twenty days if this weather holds."
Alexandre surveyed the smoking ruins, his jaw tight. "We'll rent equipment."
"With what money?" Jean-Marc asked. "The emergency fund is virtually depleted after the irrigation repairs."
"We'll figure something out," I said, trying to sound more confident thanI felt. "We always do."
The bad news continued later that morning when Alexandre returned from a meeting with Bertrand Dupuis, the notary. I was working in the Moreau cellar, preparing tanks for the upcoming harvest, when he stormed in, his face white with fury.
"The bank is calling in our loans immediately," he announced, slapping a letter onto the workbench. "Both of them—yours and mine. They want full payment in five days."
I stared at him. "That's impossible. My loan isn't due for another month and a half."
"Apparently there's a clause allowing them to accelerate and demand immediate payment if they have 'reasonable concerns about the viability of the business.'" His voice was bitter. "Rousseau got to them somehow."
