Chapter 2 #4
"This is the heart of the operation," Devon said as they approached the main entrance. "Crush, fermentation, aging, bottling—everything happens here during harvest season. Bryson and I share an office here. But, I do most of my work from my office in the main house, or from the tasting room, or the road. Both Bryson and I oversee everything, but he prefers winemaking, and I prefer the business aspects. Minus our teenage banter, as our mother calls it, we’re a perfect partnership.”
Inside, the building was a study in controlled chaos. Workers moved between towering fermentation tanks, checking readings and adjusting equipment with the focused intensity of people preparing for battle. The air smelled of grapes with undertones of yeast and the faint sweetness of alcohol.
"During harvest, this place runs twenty-four hours a day," Devon explained as they walked past a row of steel barrels. "We'll have crews working in shifts, tons of fruit coming in every hour, decisions being made about everything from fermentation temperature to blending ratios."
"And you manage all of this?"
“Like I said before, Bryson handles the winemaking decisions—he's got the palate and the instincts for that. I handle logistics, scheduling, and making sure we have the right people and equipment where we need them when we need them. My sisters handle the books, payroll, and marketing. Riley handles social media and helps manage both the tasting room in town and the on-site one, with her sister, Erin. And Dad, well, he’s the heart. While he leaves most of the daily stuff to us kids, he does still own this place, and he can overrule if he wants.”
They stopped outside a glass-walled office that overlooked the production floor.
Through the windows, Emery could see a man in his early thirties sitting at a desk covered with charts and computer printouts.
He had sandy brown hair and the kind of weathered hands that spoke of years working with both soil and machinery.
"That's Gabe Maxwell, our Operations Manager," Devon said.
“I’ve met Gabe a couple of times.”
“He’s a good man. Been with us eight years now. Basically keeps this whole place running.” Devon knocked on the office door and opened it without waiting for a response. "Gabe, I believe you know Emery.”
Gabe looked up from his papers and stood to greet them, his face lighting up with genuine warmth. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Tate. Devon's been singing your praises for weeks. Welcome to the Stone Bridge family."
"Please, call me Emery. And thank you—I'm excited to be here."
"Well, you've certainly picked an interesting time to join us. We're at the tail end of a late harvest, so things are intense right now.” Gabe's handshake was firm and calloused, his smile reaching his eyes.
Devon glanced at his watch. “I have a phone call I need to make, so I’m going to leave you two to get acquainted. Gabe knows this operation better than anyone—he's the guy who makes sure we actually have wine to sell when all our grand plans are said and done."
"Devon's being modest," Gabe said with a chuckle. "He's the one who keeps us all organized. But I'm happy to talk Emery through the technical side of things."
"Thanks," Emery said. "Where should I find you when we're done?"
“If I’m not back before you’re done, I’ll be in mine and Bryson’s office down the hall—Gabe's got a lot to discuss with you, and he actually enjoys talking about fermentation schedules and barrel rotation."
"Guilty as charged," Gabe admitted as Devon left. "Coffee? I've got a decent machine in here, and you're going to need caffeine if I start talking about malolactic fermentation as it’s implemented in organic wineries.”
"Coffee would be great, thanks."
He poured two cups from a machine that looked like it had seen better days but produced surprisingly good coffee.
"So, business development focused on premium collectors.
Walter filled me in on the broad strokes.
Authentication and provenance documentation, building relationships with high-end auction houses—it's ambitious work. "
"It is. And honestly, a little intimidating after..." She gestured vaguely, not wanting to rehash her professional downfall.
“Yeah, sorry. I did have a front row seat to what happened.” Gabe's expression darkened. “Harold can be quick to judgment.”
“Do you know him well?”
"Our paths have crossed a few times at industry events, and he’s not my biggest fan either, so we have something in common.” Gabe settled back into his chair.
Emery swallowed. “Mind if I ask why?”
“Well, that’s a dark and dangerous story that I’d rather not get into on your first day. But if you Google my last name, Maxwell and Callaway Wines, you’ll get a few articles, and Harold likes to remind me of the history,” Gabe said.
Something familiar tickled her brain—as if she should know this history.
“You're in good hands here. The Boones are solid people—they don't throw anyone under the bus, ever.
Walter especially has this thing about second chances and loyalty.
Once you're family, you're family." Gabe took a sip of his coffee. "Speaking of which, what are you thinking in terms of specific initiatives when it comes to the new premium wines line? Walter shot me a memo about a half hour ago. I was only able to skim it, but it looked impressive.” He spoke so fast it made her head spin, and something told her that was the point—getting her off the subject of why Harold didn’t like him.
Which made her even more curious.
They spent the next hour discussing her preliminary plans. Gabe listened intently, asking thoughtful questions and offering insights that showed both his deep knowledge of the operation and genuine enthusiasm for her ideas.
“He also highlighted the authentication process—the family has some incredible older vintages in their private cellar that would be perfect for that kind of program," he said, pulling out a thick binder.
"Some bottles date back to when the grandfather first started making wine. Maybe thirty bottles total, but with proper authentication and marketing, they'd be incredibly valuable to serious collectors, but I’m sure Walter already told you about them.”
“Actually, he said I should talk to you about what might be a good fit. So, yes and no,” she said. “Could I see them sometime? I'd love to assess their condition, research their provenance."
Gabe placed his hand over his chest. “Walter has always been so good to me. However, those wines are stored in the family’s cellar.
Devon can show you, but I do have a log of them.
” Gabe flipped through pages of meticulous inventory records.
“Anything that was produced commercially is stored in this building.
Fair warning—I'm a bit obsessive about record-keeping.
Everything's documented, cross-referenced, temperature and humidity logged daily. "
"That's not obsessive, that's perfect. Collectors pay premium prices for that kind of documentation."
“I do it because one slip up, and we’ve got an entire bad run.
” Gabe had a boyish grin. "You know, it's refreshing to work with someone who understands the premium market. Most of our focus has been on volume sales—restaurants, distributors, wine clubs. This collector-focused approach could really be a game changer for us.”
"That's exactly what Walter wants. Build Stone Bridge's reputation as a source for investment-quality wines."
"Smart strategy. And honestly, long overdue.
We've got the quality, we've got the terroir, we just haven't been positioning ourselves properly in those high-end markets.
" Gabe closed the binder and leaned forward.
"I want to see this authentication program succeed.
Whatever you need—access to records, introductions to staff, someone to bounce ideas off—I'm your guy. "
“And my past, what happened with Harold, doesn’t bother you?”
“Bother? No. Concern? I can admit to having some reservations. Not about your talent. Or your qualifications. Just about the optics.”
“Yeah, those are a bit problematic now, aren’t they?”
“Riley has a plan.”
“She has me doing an interview with the local paper early next week. She believes we need to control the narrative.”
“She’s a smart one,” Gabe said. “The Boones... they're good people. They gave me a chance when I was just some kid with a degree and big dreams, and they've supported me ever since." His expression grew thoughtful. "Walter especially."
There was something in his voice—deep respect mixed with genuine affection—that told Emery this wasn't just professional loyalty.
"It shows. How the place runs, how people talk about the family. It's not just a business, is it?"
"No, it really isn't. It's a legacy. Something built to last." Gabe glanced out his office window at the production floor, where workers were checking equipment with the focused intensity of people preparing for something important.
"That's what harvest is really about—not just making wine but continuing something that started long before us and will hopefully continue long after we're gone. "
“Your degree was as a vintner, right?”
Gabe nodded. “I work closely with Bryson, making sure we’ve got the right blend. I’ve learned a lot from him.”
“Have you ever thought about looking for a head winemaker position?”
Gabe shrugged. “Not really. I don’t need the accolades. I like what I do here. I get to oversee all aspects of production. My hands are dirty from planting to bottling to distribution. It’s a thrilling position. In my opinion, there’s no better winery in all of Napa Valley.”
“That’s quite the compliment.”
As if summoned by their conversation, Devon appeared in the office doorway. "Ready to head back? Dad wants to go over the quarterly reports before lunch."
"Actually, before heading out,” Gabe said, his expression growing more serious. “I meant to ask this last night. Are we planning to send something to the Callaways as a group? I'd like to contribute if we are."
Devon looked surprised. "Mom's organizing a food delivery schedule. Dad wanted to send a nice arrangement. And we’re going to take up a collection to donate to his favorite charity."
“I didn’t know David well. Actually, tried to avoid him and his family.
But he was always kind to me at industry events, and when Olivia miscarried, he and his wife sent a nice arrangement.
” Gabe paused, glancing between Devon and Emery.
"If possible, I'd also like to attend calling hours," Gabe continued.
"I know it might be awkward given… my last name, but David was a decent man. I'd like to pay my respects."
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, but can I ask what your name has to do with you going to a funeral?” Emery asked, that gnawing sensation that she should know more ate at her.
Gabe shifted uncomfortably. "My grandfather worked for Jasper Callaway," Gabe explained.
"Back when Jasper was running his... less legitimate operations alongside the winery. When everything came crashing down and Jasper went to prison, so did my grandfather, and my family lost everything. My parents moved away from Stone Bridge before I was even born.”
"Oh, I hadn’t made the connection," Emery said softly. “I’ve heard the story over the years.”
"There are a few people who never put it together, but it’s also something I don’t advertise." Gabe's smile was rueful. "David always treated me with respect and never made me feel like I had to answer for my grandfather's choices. That meant something."
"Once we hear what the arrangements are, we'll find out who from the staff wants to attend and try to accommodate everyone. I think it would be appropriate for you to go, Gabe,” Devon said. “And for the record, your grandfather's mistakes aren't yours to carry."
Gabe smiled. "That's very generous of you to say."
"It's not generous, it's the truth." Devon checked his watch. "But we really should head back before Dad sends out a search party."
Emery stood and extended her hand to Gabe. "Thank you for taking the time to walk me through everything. And for being so open about your background. It can't have been easy growing up with that kind of shadow."
"It wasn't," Gabe admitted, shaking her hand. “But just like you, the Boones gave me a second chance. Welcome to the family," he added with a genuine smile. "I think we're going to do some amazing work together."
As they left his office and headed back toward the main house, Emery found herself thinking about second chances and the weight of family history. She understood better than most what it felt like to carry someone else's mistakes, to have your own reputation tainted by association.
Gabe was right. This was a gift. And she was needed to make sure she deserved it.