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Thirty hours later, George stood at the entrance of the Canada Bank in Niagara City.
Yes, George had gone straight for a major play. Instead of picking cities near the U.S., like Vancouver, he chose Walkervilleâa small town in Ontario near Lake Ontario.
The town, with over two centuries of history, sat on the lake's shore and housed more than a dozen wineries that produced various wines.
George hadn't known much at first, but after a detour through Vancouver and talking to locals, he learned that Canada had started Prohibition four years earlier. However, too much U.S. liquor had been smuggled in, so the government had lifted it. Now, with America enforcing Prohibition, Canada was cooperating again. Major cities near the U.S. were under increased smuggling pressure, and George figured even places a bit farther out would eventually attract attention.
Buying a batch of liquor would've been simpleâwith money, you could buy anything. But it wasn't sustainable. George knew this Prohibition would last over a decade. He couldn't rely on scattered purchases.
Through further inquiries using U.S. dollars, George learned Canada's main alcohol types were grain-based, especially Canadian whiskey, one of the world's top five, made primarily with rye.
After confirming his route, George flew to Attawapiskat.
The area had the perfect climate and fertile land for growing grains. If he built a distillery here, sourcing raw materials would be easy. It was also near the lake, just across the water from the U.S., with convenient transport options. The population meant labor would be easy to find, and existing wineries made acquisition quicker than building from scratch.
As an outsider, George needed a professional to handle things quickly. So, after changing into brand-name clothes in a secluded area, he entered the bank.
A uniformed woman greeted him with a smile. "Hello, sir. How may I help you?"
"I'd like to check my account balance," George replied coolly.
"Please come this way."
After providing his name, account number, and verification password, George had two cups of coffee while the bank verified his information with the American Bank.
Eventually, the same woman returned, bent down, and whispered, "Mr. Orwell, I apologize for the wait. We've confirmed your account holds $450,000 U.S. dollars."
George nodded in satisfaction and smiled at him, rânot at the now-loosened collar buttons that had been fastened earlier. Ahem.
The woman leaned closer. "Mr. Orwell, my name is Belle. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes. Please bring me the best broker available. Thank you."
"Are you looking to make a purchase? I could help with t, that too."
"Please find a professional broker. If I want to tour Walkerville, Iely look you up," he said plainly.
"Understood. Please follow me."
She led him into a reception room, where someone brought fresh coffee. She then left to find a broker.
A few minutes later, she returned with a balding, middle-aged man. After introductions, they sat down across from each other.
The woman left, closing the door behind her.
George looked at the broker, John, who had the same thinning hair and belly he might've had in his previous life. It gave George an odd sense of dĂŠjĂ vu.
John, unaware of George's thoughts, got straight to the point. "Mr. Orwell, Belle mentioned you had specific needs. How can I help you?"
George replied, "I'm looking to purchase two wineriesâone for whiskey, one for wine. Ideally, both in one facility."
"Alright. Give me a moment," John said, bowing slightly before leaving.
Ten minutes later, he returned with a folder.
"I apologize for the delay, Mr. Orwell." He sat down, opened the folder, and turned it toward George. "There are five wineries for sale. One is just a standalone facility. The other four are fully equipped. Gwen Winery is the most notable, famous for its whiskey. But the founder died five years ago, and his daughter, Gwen, has her own business in Vancouver. The winery ceased operations during Canada's Prohibition. Now that it's lifted, she's selling. Across a small river is another winery that specializes in wine. If you buy both and connect them, it'll meet your needs perfectly."
"What's the asking price for both? What's the lowest likely price? And if I buy both, what happens with the small river in betweenâwill I have to pay to use the water? Most importantly, are the winery workers still available so production can resume quickly?"
John answered smoothly. "The quoted price for both is $250,000. With cash, we can probably close at $200,000. If you buy both and make a donation to the local government, they'll let you merge the land. As long as you don't pollute, the water in the river section will be yours to use. And yes, production can resume quickly. Most of the skilled workers and winemakers are still here, as jobs are limited in this small city."
"When can we visit?"
"Anytime."
"Let's go."
George stood up, and John quickly followed. In the lobby, John asked George to wait while he arranged a car. Soon, George was stepping into a vehicle waiting outside.
The car drove out of town. As the buildings thinned and the road narrowed, George noticed it remained well-traveled, making for a smooth ride.
After twenty minutes, the car turned down a smaller road and stopped in front of a large gate. John got out, opened it, and they drove inside. A few minutes later, they arrived at a two-story villa.
In front of the villa was a circular garden and a pond. The left side housed five small residencesâlikely for workers or winemakers. The right side had warehouses and stables, as George heard horses inside.
Just then, the villa's door opened. An elderly woman, supported by a child, stepped out.
Seeing John, she smiled. "It's you, little John."
John hurried over, hugged her warmly, and said, "Lady Gwen, you're still as energetic as ever."
She patted his shoulder and looked at George. "Is he interested in buying?"
"Yes, there's some interest," John replied.
George stepped forward. John introduced them, and they shook hands.
"Hello, Lady Gwen."
"You too, young man."
She turned to John. "Take him around. I'll stay inside. The cellar key's still in the usual place."
"Understood."
As she left, John explained, "Young Gwen and I were classmates. Lady Gwen watched me grow up. She's the one most reluctant to sell."
They toured the winery and descended into the cellar. George found a substantial wine reserve: fifty small barrels of 40 liters, 100 barrels of 150 liters, and thirty large barrels of 700 litersâabout 38,000 liters total, or 76,000 bottles.
"Are these included in the price?" George asked.
"Yesâall of it."
"Alright. Let's go see the other winery."
The next winery, specializing in wine, had rows of grapevines neatly aligned like soldiers.
Both properties backed onto a small hill. If Gwen Winery expanded, it could occupy the whole peninsula stretching into Lake Ontario.
George asked about the ownership of the hill and the surrounding land. John explained it was public land. The town once planned to build a castle there, but financial issues and Prohibition halted progress.
After the tour, George asked John to take him to the best hotel. In the lobby, George proposed a deal: combine the two wineries, the small hill, and the nearby land, starting at $250,000. John would receive a five percent commission based on the final amount, and George wanted it handled quickly.
Five percent might not sound like much, but if the final price was $240,000, John would earn $500âmore than his daily wage of $5. At the time, even a popular Ford cost just $400.
Energized by the generous incentive, John left immediately to start negotiations.
â End of Chapter 12 â
đ Translator's Note
Thanks for reading! I'm thinking of launching a Patreon soon with early access to 10â20 chaptersâwould you be interested? Let me know in the comments!