Brody - Ellie Masters Page 0,5

always have been. I’ve never seen a pair of siblings closer than my uncle and my mother. He kisses my cheek and goes to check on Mom. I finish the dishes and wonder how I’m going to keep Atwood Estates afloat. My list of equity investors rolls through my head. It’ll mean bringing an outside partner into our family business. I don’t like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

There are precious few family-run wineries left in Napa. Corporations have come in, gobbling up all the land or leasing the vineyards from those unwilling to sell the land.

Small wineries close. Big corporate wins.

After I take care of the dishes, I head back to the study, which has become my new office. I pull up the spreadsheets and stare at them. I peer at the screen, hoping this time I’ll see something new that might help. Unfortunately, there’s too much red peppering the screen.

I open up the past few years, looking at profit and loss, inventory, stock, and sales. Maybe if I go back far enough, something will jump out at me. I’m good with numbers, but these books are a total mess.

“Hey, cupcake.” Uncle Mark comes up behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. I give a little groan as his fingers dig into the tight muscles of my shoulders.

“That feels good.” I lean back and surrender to the power of his hands as he works out the knots. He’s worked the fields his entire life and has the muscles to prove it.

“Whatcha looking at?”

“Last five years.” I gesture toward the screen with its myriad of open files. “I’m just trying to make sense of it all. Profits have been steadily decreasing and I’m trying to figure out why.”

“We have highs and lows.”

“Why aren’t you worried?”

“Because you’re smart and talented. I can tell you this past year hasn’t been the best, what with the drought. Production is down and that transfers directly to our bottom line.”

“What I don’t understand is how other costs seem to be rising.”

“Welcome to the world of small business.” He peeks over my shoulder and glances at the list of equity investors I scrawled on a piece of scrap paper. “What’s that?”

I turn my attention to the list of five names, one of which I scratched through last night. I lift the paper for him to see better.

“Equity investors.” I worry my lower lip, nibbling at it with my teeth. “Back-up plan.”

“Equity investors?” His fingers stop their magical massage. “What do we need them for?”

“If the bank denies me, they might float the cash we need.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

“Well, nothing’s free. In general, they ask for percent ownership of the company and profits until their equity investment pays out. We’ll lose some of our profit, a bit of control, but we won’t lose the business.” I don’t tell him that they often come into the company they’re bailing out and make major changes, all in the name of protecting their investment, of course.

“I don’t like it. I hate to see you struggle. This was never what you wanted. I wish you’d let me buy you out.”

“I’ll figure something out.” I reach for his hand and give it a light pat. “I’m lucky to have you.”

“I know you had other dreams. Your mother’s illness changed a lot of things for you. My offer stands. Just say the word.”

“I can’t let you risk your savings. We’ll figure this out. You and me, we’re a team now.”

“That’s right. We’re a team.” He gives me a squeeze from behind.

“You know—” I turn the computer off, “I’ve been staring at this for far too long. How about taking me out and showing me how all this works?”

“Sounds like a deal. We can get to the books later.” Mark sounds frustrated.

So am I, but staring at the computer isn’t helping. I need fresh air and, hopefully, a fresh outlook if I’m going to save this place.

Three

Brody

I take off early Saturday morning to make the hour-long trek from the city to La Rouge Vineyards, which nestles up against the hills of Napa Valley.

Clear skies form a blue dome overhead; that deep California blue I’ve never seen anywhere else. Golden hills stretch out before me rolling inland where they’ll bunch together to form the foothills of the Rockies. People not used to the Bay Area see dried, crisped grass, but for those of us who live here, we know those hills turn verdant green in springtime. It’s going to