Inside the château, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a small comfort in the midst of Amélie's growing unease. The stone floors beneath her feet were cool as she walked through the sunlit hallways, passing by old family photographs and framed newspaper clippings that heralded the vineyard's successes of the past. "Beaumont Vineyards—The Jewel of Burgundy" read one headline, a relic from a time when their wines were the toast of Paris.
But those days felt distant now.
In the kitchen, Claude was sitting at the long wooden table, the morning light streaming in through the wide windows. He looked up from his newspaper as she entered, his eyes crinkling into a smile. "Amélie, ma chérie, you're just in time," he said in his gentle voice, his French accent as thick as ever despite decades of speaking English with their international clients. "Join me for breakfast before we start our rounds."
She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him, forcing a smile. "How are you feeling today, Papa?"
"Never better," he replied, though the cough that followed suggested otherwise. He waved it away as if it were a mere inconvenience, and Amélie said nothing. Claude Beaumont had always been a man of unshakable optimism, his belief in the vineyard and its future unwavering. It was part of what made him so beloved by the locals, but it also blinded him to the harsh realities of their situation.
"Did you see the forecast?" he asked, gesturing to the newspaper. "Perfect weather for the harvest. This year, I have a good feeling, Amélie. The vines are healthy, the grapes are strong. This could be our year."
Amélie took a sip of her coffee, the bitterness matching the knot forming in her stomach. She wanted to believe him. Every year, she hoped that this would be the harvest that saved them, that brought back the glory of the Beaumont name. But hope wasn't enough. They needed real solutions, and fast.
"Papa, we need to talk," she began cautiously, her fingers tightening around the handle of her cup. "About the finances."
Claude raised an eyebrow, his smile faltering slightly. "What about them?"
"We're… struggling," Amélie said, trying to find the right words. "The market is changing, and we haven't kept up. We're losing clients to bigger vineyards, ones that can produce faster and cheaper. And the costs keep going up."
Her father's expression grew serious, but he waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense, ma fille. We've survived worse. The Beaumont name means something—our clients know the quality of our wines. We've built trust over generations. These things go in cycles."
Amélie felt her frustration rising, but she kept her tone calm. "I know that, Papa, but the world is different now. We can't rely on tradition alone anymore. We need to adapt."
Claude set his cup down and leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you suggesting? That we abandon everything your ancestors worked for? That we turn this place into some kind of industrialized factory like the others?"
"No, of course not," Amélie replied quickly. "But we need to find new ways to stay competitive. Maybe we could expand our exports, reach out to new markets, invest in modern equipment—"
"Modern equipment?" Claude interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "This vineyard has thrived for centuries without the need for machines. We do things by hand because that's what makes our wine special. It's what makes us unique."
"I understand that, but—"
"There is no 'but,' Amélie," Claude said firmly. "This is our legacy. Your mother understood that. She would never have agreed to compromise the integrity of this place."
Amélie flinched at the mention of her mother, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air. She had always tried to honor her mother's memory, but things had changed since Claire's death. The vineyard wasn't just a symbol of family pride anymore—it was a business, and it was failing.
"I'm just trying to save the vineyard," Amélie said quietly.
Claude's face softened, and he reached across the table to take her hand. "I know you are, ma fille. But we must be patient. This land has seen more than we can imagine. It has survived wars, droughts, and economic crises. We will survive this too."
Amélie nodded, though she wasn't convinced. The vineyard might have survived those things, but the world they lived in now was unforgiving. And patience wouldn't pay the bills.