Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,22
pogroms in Russia and Eastern Europe settled in Argentina because of its open-door immigration policy. In 1910, Leonard’s grandfather Mordecai Hollander was given a Mendoza winery as payment for a debt. Thirty-five years later, his son, Samuel, would go on to create the first branded Argentine wine, a Malbec he named gema de la tierra—gem of the earth.
But after World War II, the rise of Nazi sympathizer Juan Perón worried the Jewish population. Samuel Hollander moved his family—his wife, Gelleh; his eight-year-old-son, Leonard; and his six-year-old daughter, Rose—to the United States and settled on the Lower East Side of New York City. There he worked as a merchant, never reaching the success he’d had as a winemaker in his native country. Gelleh, no longer recognizing the depressed man who was her husband, suggested they try to find a way to reproduce their old life in America. Samuel moved his family again, this time to California, where he created a successful winery he named after his supportive wife. Leonard had grown up on Gelleh Estates Vineyard, where he had learned everything he knew.
So yes, Leonard—a third-generation winemaker—was the authority, and he never failed to remind her of this. It didn’t mean he didn’t love her. After all, he’d created Hollander Estates just so they could be together.
She slipped into bed next to him.
“I know we can think of something. We always do. You simply can’t allow this to happen.”
Leonard narrowed his dark eyes, then gathered up his pillows and headed for the bedroom door. “I’ve had enough talking for one night. I’m going to sleep in one of the guest rooms.”
Vivian was taken aback; it wasn’t like him to be so sensitive.
“Leonard, stop. Nothing will be solved by you leaving. I’m not trying to aggravate you. I’m trying to help.”
He walked back to the foot of the bed. “The most helpful thing would be for you not to question me. I need your support. It’s the only way to get through this.”
“Okay. Please—come back to bed.” The problem wouldn’t be solved overnight. She didn’t want to sleep apart.
He hesitated just a moment before settling back next to her.
She reached out and touched his arm. “I’ll be supportive,” she said to placate him. “But we have to tell Leah what’s going on.”
“Why ruin her vacation?”
“This doesn’t just affect the two of us, Leonard. We always planned to pass the vineyard on to our family. We have two children and a granddaughter. You’re contemplating a move that would take the business away from all of them permanently. Leah has a right to know.”
“Asher is the only one working at the business.”
“And whose fault is that?” Vivian said, crossing her arms. “I thought that what we were doing here meant something. That our grandchildren would walk the same fields as their father and grandfather. It wasn’t just about making money. I could have stayed in New York City with my parents for that.”
“Vivian, I don’t think you understand: I’m not selling to be rich. I’m selling to survive. To walk away with anything.”
What was he talking about?
“You’re exaggerating. That isn’t what Marty said in the meeting.”
“I told him not to discuss how bad things are in front of Asher. I don’t want Asher to know. If he finds out there’s no fortune left, he’s going to run off. It doesn’t look good to prospective buyers if my vice president quits. This summer is about keeping up appearances at all costs.”
“Leonard, don’t be ridiculous. All this land? It’s valuable.”
He shot her a look. “Are you needling me?”
For a minute, she was confused. What had she said? And then she realized the true problem. They were not in a bind just because the winery wasn’t making enough profit; their hands were tied thanks to a business decision made thirty years earlier. In need of an influx of cash, Leonard sold the development rights to all of their land to Suffolk County. At the time, the sum the county had paid seemed enormous. But it was an infinity deal: the property went into a land trust that would prevent it from ever being used for anything other than winemaking or farming. It could never be developed for commercial use. So while their neighbors in the Hamptons were getting millions and millions for a tract of land, their property on the North Fork was a money pit.
“The company balance sheet determines the value of the sale—not our property,” he told her.
She felt a ripple of fear. Could that