Chapter 3 - The Gathering of the Debt
The heat in Toledo during the month of June was a heavy, suffocating weight that dried the soil until the grapevines looked like twisted iron claws rising from the earth. I spent the morning walking through the lower vineyards with Manuel, our head cellarmaster, who had worked for my father since the fields were nothing but dry grass.
Manuel kept his eyes on the ground, his old straw hat pulled low over his brow. "The workers are talking, Don Álvaro," he murmured, his voice barely rising above the rustle of the leaves. "They see the way the Senora treats the Doña Sofia. They see the maids refusing to bring the old mistress her medicine until after the main house has finished its tea. It is not right. Your father never allowed a worker to be treated like dirt, let alone the woman who gave him this valley."
"I know, Manuel," I said, stopping to touch a cluster of young, green grapes. "How many of the staff are loyal to Veronica's payroll?"
"The new ones," Manuel spat into the dirt. "The ones she brought from Madrid. The house manager, Juana, and the two girls from the city. They think the old ways are dead. They think the money comes from the Vega family now."
"Tell the field hands to keep their heads down for three more days," I said, turning to look back at the grand stone villa rising on the hill. "When the harvest begins, the accounts will be settled. Every single one of them."
I returned to the main house at noon. As I entered the cool, shaded dining room, I found Veronica sitting with her father, Fernando Vega. Fernando was a large, ruddy-faced man who wore gold rings on three fingers and spoke with the loud, unearned confidence of a man who lived on borrowed capital.
"Álvaro!" Fernando boomed, raising a glass of our reserve white wine. "Come, sit! Your wife was just telling me about the northern port clearance. The logistics lines are ready to move the moment you authorize the primary release."
Veronica smiled, her fingers elegant around her fork. "I’ve already had the corporate seal placed on the preliminary registry, Álvaro. We only need your digital key to execute the transfer of the holding shares."
I sat down at the head of the table, the seat that had belonged to my father for forty years. A young maid—one of Veronica’s city recruits—placed a plate of fresh sea bass before me. She didn't look me in the eye; she looked at Veronica for approval before stepping back.
"The digital key will be activated at the general shareholder meeting on Thursday," I said, picking up my knife. "I’ve invited the primary distributors from Rioja and the international auditors from the Madrid exchange. Since we are integrating the Vega network, it is only proper that the transition is handled with full transparency."
Fernando’s smile stiffened slightly, his gold rings clicking against his glass. "Auditors? Is that really necessary, son? We’ve been running these companies as a family partnership for two years. A public audit brings unnecessary eyes to the internal allocations."
"It is standard procedure for a Calderón integration, Fernando," I said, my voice smooth as silk. "My father always said that a clean account is the only foundation that can survive a bad year. Don't you agree, Veronica?"
Veronica looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly, searching my face for any sign of hostility, any trace of the husband who had stood in the mud by the pig trough two days ago. But I gave her nothing but the polite, slightly tired smile of an overworked administrator.
"Of course," she said slowly, though her fingers tightened around her linen napkin. "Let the auditors come. The Vega name is solid. We have nothing to hide."
May you like
I chewed my food calmly, looking out the grand window toward the small, white-washed cottage at the edge of the property where my mother was currently resting, wrapped in the silk shawl I had cleaned with my own hands.
Nothing to hide, I thought. Except the cameras you never bothered to look for.
