The Vineyard Crisis

"How bad is it?" Holding the crisp packet in my hands, I questioned tremulously. The universe seemed to be preparing for the blow I was about to receive since the early air was too quiet and still.

Lisa, the manager of the vineyard and my closest friend, was hesitant. She glanced at the sign and then back at me. Her pen tapping against her clipboard was familiar, and she adjusted her spectacles. "Aria, it’s worse than we thought."

With unsteady hands, I unfolded the letter, feeling the harsh edges on my fingertips. The only thing that remained of my father, his vineyard, was about to be taken away.

As I scanned them, the words became hazy: *Foreclosure. Overdue. Payment must be made immediately.

I muttered, "This can't be happening." I clutched the edge of the office's ancient oak desk because my knees felt weak. It was the desk of my father. He had poured his heart into each plant as he constructed this vineyard from the ground up. It was now sliding out of my grasp.

Lisa put a kind hand on my shoulder and said, "I'm sorry Aria." However, the debt is enormous. The bank gave us a deadline.

I looked at her, looking for a shred of hope in her face. "How long do we have?"

"Thirty days."

The remarks were like a kick to the gut. Thirty days to figure out a sum that seemed unachievable.

"No," I replied with a headshake. "There must be an alternative. Something we haven't yet considered."

"The accounts have already been maxed out. The equipment maintenance expenses consumed what little profit we had left over, and the wine sales had been stagnant for months. Nothing else can be done."

Like a death sentence, her words hung in the air.

I turned to face the window, which had lengthy shadows cast over the room by the sunshine coming through the glass. The vineyard extended as far as the eye could see outside, the vines bare in the bitter cold of winter. It was lovely even in its silent, inert state.

I was unable to let it go.

"I’ll figure something out," I stated confidently, looking back at Lisa. "I must. Everything is here.

Gently, "I know it is," she said. However, you don't have to work alone on this. Perhaps—"

"I do have to do it alone," With a stronger tone than I meant, I interrupted her. The flicker of hurt in her eyes made me soften. "I apologize. I simply can't leave this to anyone else. I now have responsibility for this.

Lisa nodded after hesitating. "If there’s anything I can do, you know I’m here."

As I said, "Thank you," I forced a tiny smile. "But I’ll handle it."

When she was gone, I sat at the desk and looked at the foreclosure notice while raking my hands through my hair. The numbers gave me a chilly, unforgiving look in return.

I poured over the numbers for hours, looking at every sale, invoice, and spending. The figures were honest. There was no secret money hoard or miracle cure lurking in the shadows.

I was surprised by the knock on the door.

I pushed the papers aside and said, "Come in,"

The banker, Mr. Turner, entered through the creaking door. Even though I couldn't read his face, his mere presence caused my chest to constrict.

He said, "Miss Bennett," taking off his hat. "I’m here to discuss the situation with the vineyard."

I hurriedly answered, "I already got the letter," pointing to the documents on the desk. "I’m working on a plan."

He let out a sigh, but it was devoid of pity. "The bank has given you plenty of time, but I know this is challenging. We will be forced to take legal action if you are unable to make the payment before the due date.

My fingernails sank into the wood of the desk. "I'm working on it," I said. All I need is more time.

He stated, "Time is something we can’t grant," in a stern yet loving voice. "Miss Bennett, I apologize. It's business.

Enterprise. My stomach turned at that word. To Mr. Turner and others, this vineyard was merely a line on a balance sheet, but my father had put his heart and soul into it.

"I’ll get the money," I responded, looking him in the eye with all the resolve I could manage. "You’ll get your payment."

After examining me for a while, he nodded. "I'm hoping you do. For your benefit.

I didn't know I'd been holding my breath until he departed. I took up the foreclosure notice again, my hands shaking.

In thirty days, how was I going to save the vineyard?

As I stepped outside, the cold winter air stinging my skin, the notion tormented me. My boots crunched on the frost-covered ground as I made my way through the rows of lifeless vines.

There were recollections of my father everywhere I looked. His calloused hands demonstrated the significance of each step as he laughed while instructing me how to trim the vines. It was more than just land. It was home.

I muttered, "Hey, Dad," my breath catching in the chilly air. "I'm not sure if I can pull this off. I wish you were present.

As though responding to my question, a burst of wind blew through the vineyard, rattling the sparse branches.

A knot started to grow in my throat as I closed my eyes. Now I couldn't let myself break apart.

I was brought back to reality as my phone buzzed in my pocket. I saw a strange number when I looked at the screen.

"Hello?" I replied in a cautious tone.

"Miss Bennett?" The voice on the other end was smooth and deep. "This is Cole Montgomery."

I was startled at the name. Montgomery, Cole. That name was well-known throughout the wine industry. A millionaire with a continent-spanning empire.

"What do you want?" With a stronger tone than I meant, I asked.

Calmly, "I heard about your situation," he offered. "I have a proposition for you."

My heart raced when he spoke, but I wasn't sure if it was because I was angry or afraid. "I’m not interested in selling the vineyard, Mr. Montgomery."

His laughter was subdued and somewhat patronizing. "Who made any mention of selling? Miss Bennett, I believe you'll want to hear this offer. Perhaps it's the only way to preserve what remains of your father's legacy.

He seemed to know he had already ensnared me because of the lengthy, purposeful pause.

He went on, "I'll send my assistant with the details tomorrow." "Consider it. I'll be here waiting.

The line died before I could reply.

His words replayed in my head as I stood there with the phone still glued to my ear.

How could a man such as Cole Montgomery have made such an offer? Why did I feel as though I was going to bargain with the devil himself?