Page 79 of The Vines Between Us
Jean-Marc nodded. "VitaVine's investors were furious about the media coverage. The exposés on their predatory tactics caused their stock to drop fifteen percent. Rousseau became the sacrificiallamb."
"Couldn't have happened to a nicer person," I said dryly, though I felt no real satisfaction in another man's downfall—just relief that his threat had been neutralized.
"They've likely also moved onto easier targets elsewhere," Jean-Marc suggested. "Especially with your journalist friends scaring them off with those exposés."
He had a point. The media attention following our discovery of Henri and Claude's experimental vines had been unexpected but welcome. Agricultural journals, wine publications, and even mainstream news outlets had covered the story—a small community of vignerons banding together against corporate takeover, discovering climate-resistant grape varieties developed decades ahead of their time.
The resulting publicity had brought not just customers but also researchers, grant opportunities, and heritage preservation interest. VitaVine's predatory tactics, once exposed to public scrutiny, had become significantly harder to implement.
"Maybe," I conceded, though the unease lingered. "Any word from the Perrins?"
Jean-Marc's expression sobered. "Nothing official, but Marie mentioned they're struggling. VitaVine's promised support hasn't materialized. Their equipment keeps breaking down, and the corporate technicians take weeks to respond."
Exactly as we'd warned them. I sighed, feeling no satisfaction in being right. "Tell Marie the door remains open. The Alliance bylaws include provisions for reintegration."
"I'll pass that along." Jean-Marc stood, checking his watch. "I should go. We're testing the new sorting equipment this afternoon."
After he left, I returned to the ledgers, but my concentration had broken. The mention of VitaVine had resurrected concerns I'd been trying to suppress. Their silence felt strategic rather than defeated, and I couldn't shake the feeling that Rousseau was planning something.
I was still brooding when Hugo arrived an hour later, carrying a stack of clipboard-bound papers.
"Final harvest schedules," he announced, dropping them on my desk. "Eight vineyards, staggered picking dates, shared equipment rotation, processing assignments. A logistical miracle, if I do say so myself."
I smiled despite my mood. "You've missed your calling as an air traffic controller."
"I'll stick to grapes, thanks." Hugo perched on the edge of my desk, studying my face. "What's wrong?"
"Jean-Marc mentioned VitaVine. I can't help feeling we haven't seen the last of them."
Hugo nodded slowly. "I've had the same thought. It's not like Rousseau to admit defeat so easily."
"The festival would be the perfect target," I said, voicing the fear that had been growing. "Maximum visibility, all the Alliance members in one place, international media present."
"Which is precisely why we've taken every precaution," Hugo reminded me. "Extra security, equipment checks, backup generators. We've even arranged for the wine to be stored in three separate locations."
He was right, of course. We'd anticipated potential sabotage and planned accordingly. The festival was as secure as we could make it while still remaining open to the public.
"I know," I sighed. "I just can't help feeling we're missing something."
Hugo slid from the desk and moved behind me, strong hands kneading the tension from my shoulders. "We probably are. But we're also stronger than we've ever been. Eight vineyards working as one, sharing resources, knowledge, connections. The equipment sharing system is working perfectly. Every member vineyard has reported increased productivity and decreased costs."
I leaned back into his touch, letting my eyes close briefly. "You're right."
"I usually am," he teased, dropping a kiss on the topof my head. "Now, are you coming to dinner at Marcel's, or shall I tell them you're too busy being paranoid?"
I laughed, the tension breaking. "I'm coming. Just let me finish this last page."
Hugo wandered to the window while I completed my work, gazing out at the vineyards bathed in late afternoon light. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said softly. "Sometimes I still can't believe we pulled this off."
I joined him at the window, slipping an arm around his waist. "Claude and Henri would be proud."
"They'd also tell us to stop worrying and enjoy what we've built," Hugo pointed out. "Remember what Claude wrote in his journal? 'The true measure of success is not in the wine you produce, but in the joy you take in producing it.'"
"Henri had a similar saying," I recalled. "'A vineyard without laughter is just agriculture and manure.'"
I took a deep breath, looking out over the vineyard as the evening light cast long shadows between the rows. Then I turned to Hugo.
"I've been thinking about something," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.
