Page 32 of The Vines Between Us

Chapter Twenty-Three

ALEXANDRE

"Oui, Marcel... quoi?" His body tensed beside me. "We'll be there in twenty minutes."

"What's happened?" I asked, already swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

"Irrigation system at Domaine Lefèvre. Complete failure. Marcel says it looks... deliberate."

The word hung between us like a storm cloud.

We dressed quickly, grabbing coffee in travel mugs before jumping into Hugo's weathered truck.

As we drove through the misty morning, I couldn't shake the dread settling in my stomach.

This wasn't the first "incident" in recent weeks, but it was escalating.

"Third alliance vineyard this month," I said, watching the familiar landscape blur past. Six weeks before harvest, with the August heat bearing down mercilessly, irrigation wasn't just important—it was essential .

"And always the same pattern. Critical equipment failing at the worst possible moment." Hugo's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Too perfect to be coincidence."

When we arrived at Marcel's property, a small crowd had already gathered. Marcel himself stood in the middle of his primary vineyard, staring at a tangle of slashed pipes and dismantled pumps. His wife Colette handed out coffee to the neighbouring vignerons who'd come to help.

"This is professional work," Jean-Marc said, crouching to examine a clean cut through the main line. "Someone knew exactly what they were doing."

I surveyed the damage, mentally calculating repair costs. "At least ten thousand euros, possibly more depending on how much of the electronic control system is damaged."

Marcel kicked at a piece of pipe, his face flushed with anger. "Ten thousand I don't have. Not with what I've already invested in the new cooperative press."

"The alliance will cover it," Hugo said firmly. "That's the whole point of our agreement."

"Will it?" Jean-Marc stood, brushing dirt from his hands. Something in his tone made me look at him more closely. "Our emergency fund is already stretched thin after what happened at Domaine Perrin last week."

"We'll find a way," I insisted, though the numbers running through my head weren't encouraging. The alliance's shared resources were indeed dwindling faster than anticipated.

We spent the morning patching what we could, creating a temporary system that would at least keep Marcel's most vulnerable vines alive. By noon, the August sun beat down mercilessly, and I could feel sweat soaking through my shirt.

"Let's break for lunch," Hugo suggested, his face streaked with dirt and concern. "Colette's prepared something for everyone."

Under the shade of Marcel's oak trees, the mood was somber as we ate bread, cheese, and cold cuts. Jean-Marc kept checking his phone, a behavior I'd noticed increasing over the past week .

"Something interesting?" I asked casually, passing him the water pitcher.

He startled slightly. "Non, nothing. Just... business matters."

Hugo caught my eye, a silent communication passing between us. We'd both noticed Jean-Marc's recent distraction.

After lunch, as we were preparing to resume work, Jean-Marc pulled me aside. "Alexandre, could I speak with you privately?"

We walked a short distance from the others, stopping beneath a cypress tree at the property's edge.

"I've received an offer," he said without preamble. "From VitaVine."

My stomach clenched. "For your vineyard?"

He nodded, unable to meet my eyes. "Triple what it's worth. Plus guaranteed contracts for the next decade, even if they keep my current staff."

"And in return?" I asked, though I already knew.

"I withdraw from the alliance. Immediately."

I let out a slow breath, trying to control the anger rising in my chest. Jean-Marc's barrel-making business was crucial to our collective bargaining power. Without him, our ability to produce and age wine independently would be severely compromised.

"Have you made a decision?" I kept my voice neutral, though it took considerable effort.

"Not yet." He finally looked at me directly. "But Alexandre, I have three children to put through university. My wife's mother needs expensive daily nursing care. This kind of money... it would solve everything."

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I understand, Jean-Marc. Truly. But consider what happens after that money is gone. When VitaVine controls everything—the vineyards, the equipment, the distribution. What will Saint-émilion become then?"

He nodded slowly, though I could see the conflict in his eyes. "I'll think about it. I promised Rousseau an answer by Friday."

"That's all I ask."

I watched him walk back to the group, my mind racing. If Jean-Marc was wavering, others might be too. VitaVine was picking us off one by one, applying pressure exactly where each person was most vulnerable.

This wasn't business anymore. This was war.

Two days later, Hugo and I sat at my kitchen table, surrounded by spreadsheets and financial projections. The news wasn't good. Between the sabotage repairs and the regular expenses of maintaining seven struggling vineyards, our collective resources were stretched dangerously thin.

"If we divert funds from the new press installation," Hugo suggested, "we could cover the irrigation repairs and still have enough for basic operations until harvest."

I shook my head. "Without that press, we're dependent on Beaumont's facility, and he's already hinted he might not have capacity for us this year."

"Convenient timing," Hugo muttered.

"Too convenient." I pushed away from the table, pacing the length of the kitchen. "We need to call an emergency alliance meeting. Tonight, if possible."

Hugo watched me, concern etched on his face. "You think there are more wavering besides Jean-Marc?"

"I think we need to know where everyone stands before the village meeting tomorrow." I ran a hand through my hair. "Rousseau will be there, and he'll be prepared."

Within an hour, Hugo had arranged for everyone to meet at Madame Fontaine's café after closing.

As the sun set over Saint-émilion, casting long shadows across the ancient stone buildings, I felt the weight of what we were facing.

Not just the loss of our vineyards, but the soul of this place that had shaped us.

Madame Fontaine served wine from her private cellar as the seven vineyard owners and three affiliated businesses gathered around pushed-together tables. I noticed immediately that Jean-Marc wasn't the only one avoiding eye contact.

"Let's not waste time," I began. "We all know what's happening. The 'accidents' at our vineyards aren't accidents. The sudden equipment failures, delivery delays, and labor shortages aren't coincidences."

"You're saying VitaVine is behind it all?" Pierre Dubois asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"I'm saying we're being systematically attacked," I replied. "And I suspect some of you have received individual offers, as Jean-Marc has."

A ripple of uncomfortable glances confirmed my suspicion.

"I haven't decided anything," Jean-Marc said defensively. "I told Alexandre I'd think about it."

"And that's your right," Hugo interjected smoothly. "We all have difficult choices to make. But we should make them with full information."

I nodded gratefully to him. "Exactly. Which is why I've prepared this." I distributed folders containing financial projections. "Two scenarios: one where we maintain the alliance through harvest, and one where we dissolve."

The group fell silent as they reviewed the numbers.

I'd been brutally honest—the short-term outlook wasn't promising.

We'd be operating at a loss for at least another year, possibly two.

But the long-term projections showed sustainability and eventual prosperity, particularly if we secured the Canadian distribution contract we'd been negotiating.

"This assumes no more sabotage," Marcel pointed out.

"And no more defections," I added. "If we lose even one more member, the entire model becomes unviable."

The room grew uncomfortably quiet. I could almost hear people calculating their individual odds versus collective survival.

"Tomorrow at the village meeting," Hugo said, breaking the silence, "Rousseau will make his case.

He'll offer security, immediate financial relief, and the illusion of continuity.

But make no mistake—once VitaVine controls this region, everything that makes Saint-émilion special will be systematically dismantled. "

"That's a bit dramatic, non?" Pierre's wife Sophie interjected. "They're a business, not monsters. They need to maintain quality to sell the wine."

"They need to maintain the perception of quality," I corrected. "There's a difference. Look at what happened in Languedoc when GrapeCorp took over. Mass production, mechanization, vineyard workers replaced by seasonal migrants paid below minimum wage with politicians paid to look the other way."

"And the wine?" Madame Fontaine asked, though I suspected she already knew.

"Engineered for consistency. Additives to maintain flavor profiles. Nothing technically wrong with it, but..." I struggled to find the right words.

"But without soul and personality," Hugo finished for me. "Without the character that comes from generations of knowledge and care."

I looked around the room, trying to gauge where people stood. Some nodded in agreement, others looked uncertain. Jean-Marc stared into his wine glass, conflict written across his face.

"We should vote," Marcel suggested. "Before tomorrow's meeting. Are we standing together or not?"

I exchanged a glance with Hugo. This wasn't how we'd planned to end the evening, but perhaps it was necessary.

"All in favour of maintaining the alliance, regardless of what happens tomorrow?" Hugo asked.

Hands raised slowly. Madame Fontaine. Marcel and Colette. Hugo and myself, of course. Pierre, after a moment's hesitation and a nod from Sophie. But Jean-Marc kept his hand down, as did the Perrin brothers.