Crush - Alan Jacobson [114]
“Victoria was the most vocal opponent of using Superior. She was also an aggressive power broker. She was due to take over the presidency, as part of our board’s three-year rotation. She was leading a group of three board members who wanted concessions from the other members of the AVA and they were using this Superior contract as leverage.”
Dixon took a sip of her coffee. “Leverage for what?”
“She and her cohorts would agree to renew Superior’s contract—if the board supported their efforts to convince the government to modify the proposed AVA law that sets forth the minimum grape requirement for our AVA standard.”
Vail held up a hand. “Kevin Cameron told us something about this. The minimum requirement refers to that 85 percent rule?”
“Yes. The Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau requires that a minimum of 85 percent of the grapes used in wines that are listed as coming from our AVA have to be from the Georges Valley district.”
“Your minimum is 85 percent,” Vail said, “but Napa’s is 75 percent?”
“Correct.”
“And the purpose is to protect consumers?”
“Well, yes—but it also supposedly protects the Georges Valley brand, because people who buy a Georges Valley wine expect a certain quality that comes from the area’s soil, microclimate, and weather patterns.
“But,” Wirth continued, “there are three higher volume vintners in our group—including me and Victoria Cameron—who want to be excluded from that minimum requirement because our brands existed well before the law was passed. But if they enforce the minimum, our brand, Georges Valley Estate Wines, Victoria’s brand, F&M Georges Valley Family Winery, and one other, Georges Valley Reserve Select, would disappear overnight. Our business models are based on importing quality, but less expensive, grapes from the central valley.”
“But there are no Georges Valley grapes in your wine,” Vail said.
“That’s correct. We couldn’t charge what we charge for our wine and use predominantly Georges Valley grapes.”
Vail set down her mug. “Isn’t that misleading?”
“That’s their argument. Our position is that our brands have been around for twenty years, well before this minimum grape law was proposed. It’s unfair to penalize us—put us out of business by losing our brands—because of an administrative issue that some people have pushed through politically.”
Dixon blew on her coffee. “Why would the government allow that kind of exclusion?”
Wirth shook his head, then held up a hand. “Exclusion isn’t exactly the right term. We want our brands grandfathered in. But if our association doesn’t endorse their application, the government probably wouldn’t want to get involved in our own internal dispute.”
“So,” Vail said, “Victoria was trying to broker a deal in which she and her allies would ratify the Superior Bottling contract, and in turn, the AVA board would endorse the grandfather clause. And what’s in it for the other members who don’t have a stake in this grandfather clause?”
Wirth spread his hands. “They want Superior to get the contract. We’ve been using them for almost three years and they’ve done a good job. They turn out a quality product, they’ve got the best pricing on the market, and they’re a one-stop shop.”
As Vail reached for her coffee, her stomach rumbled. “Sorry.” She threw a hand against her belly. “We haven’t eaten.”
“And we’ve taken enough of your time,” Dixon said. She pulled a card from her pocket and placed it on the table. “If you think of anything else about what we discussed, give me a call.”
Wirth took the card and looked at it. Vail sensed there was more he wanted to say. “Is there something else, Ian?”
“You can’t tell me what the investigation is about, but you’re asking a lot of questions. Questions that, when I put them together with the fact that Victoria is dead, lead me to think that you believe she was murdered.”
“She had a stroke,” Dixon said.
Wirth pursed his lips and nodded. Kept his gaze on the card. “My father was a cop, did you know that?”
Dixon and Vail shared a look. Vail had a feeling