Chapter 1
“Do you want the pumpkin or the chocolate flavor?” Cherry
Brewster asked Loyal Stu, her resourceful right-hand man, as she walked up to
him with two fresh cups of ice cream. The fall sun caressed her skin that
afternoon, giving her an angelic glow.
“Pumpkin,” the smiling Stu replied. He took one cup and started
scooping the contents with a small wooden spoon. He wore a heavy cotton
shirt—which hid two t-shirts underneath—and a pair of jeans, with a scarf
wrapped around his neck. Mud from the wet ground stained his scuffed brown
boots. It had rained in the morning hours, just like it had for the past two
weeks. Everywhere you stepped on the Brewster Brewery compound, you were bound
to encounter a small puddle or some mud.
“How’s it going?” Cherry asked.
“So far so good, but I don’t think they’ll finish before
Christmas,” Stu said.
They were overseeing reconstruction work on the burned-down
brewery, which was happening at a brisk pace. The debris from the fire was
gone, and it now looked like a proper construction site teeming with workers in
overalls and hard hats. So far, they had rebuilt the walls across the building
up to the roofline.
Cherry was determined to see this through. Her late husband
Bernie had left her the estate in his will, and she didn’t want it to fall
apart under her watch. The fire had been a setback, but she wanted to put it
behind them as fast as possible. The loss jeopardized the livelihoods of her
people and her own future.
“The manpower isn’t enough?” Cherry asked.
Stu nodded. “These guys are warriors and are doing the best they
can. But to move faster, you’ll need more boots on the ground.”
Cherry sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that. I think if we
added a hundred more men, we’ll have the whole place up and running in four
weeks.”
Stu slowly turned his gaze to her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. I’ve actually thought about it,” Cherry said.
“Is the insurance cash out yet?” he asked.
“It’s still a ways off, but I’m working on it,” Cherry replied.
Stu frowned. “Looking at all the people and machinery on-site,
that’s a sizeable daily fee. I’ve been meaning to ask you this: how are you
able to keep paying for all the work that’s going on?”
His question pierced through Cherry like a ray of light in a dark
tunnel. She’d always told him she was using some savings from the business that
were in reserve. But this wasn’t the entire truth. Most of the money was coming
from her own cash, money she won in a lottery years ago that no one knows
about—at least no one in the town of Moose Head, her new home. No one needed to
know, because Cherry was in Moose Head to start a new life on a clean slate.
Suddenly, she could see just how much she was spending. The heavy
equipment; crew of over eighty workers; the catering tent; the insurance she’d
paid for—everything. It added up to a hefty amount, one which she couldn’t
explain away easily. Ramping up the number of workers would make it too obvious
that she wasn’t using any money from the business savings. The last thing she
wanted was undue attention and someone snooping into her past.
“Stu, I’ve got a confession to make,” Cherry sighed heavily.
“Besides the business savings I had, I borrowed a little to make this happen. I
wanted to get over the loss so fast I lost focus. You’re right, adding to that
debt would sink us into a deeper hole. We have to cut back.”
“Excuse me?” Stu asked, his eyes wide open.
“Yes, I borrowed. You just made me realize I’m rushing this. We
have to change the entire approach. Start smaller, then pick up the pace later.
We should send most of the team and the machinery home because I can’t sustain
the cost right now. We can revisit this in spring,” Cherry said.
Stu pondered this for a moment.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Very sure. Your question was a great reality check,” Cherry
replied.
Stu shrugged. “Alright then. But how do we get back to brewing?
We still have two months to go, and we usually get a good number of orders
leading up to the festive season.”
“You can help me with that. What can we do?” Cherry asked.
“We could set up a mini-brewery,” Stu said. “Depends on if you
have any cash.”
“The projected fees from the days could do something. Will tents
work?” Cherry asked.
“Nope, no tents. We have a few outhouses; we can add some more.
We’ll then install one or two simple brewing production lines in them and then
take it from there. If they’re prefabricated, they’re cheaper. All we need is
to buy the panels and set them up in a day or two,” Stu said.
“That sounds brilliant! Do the numbers, and we can get started,”
Cherry said.
“Let me talk to the men first. I need to let them know about the
change of plans,” Stu said as he walked off.
The scaling down took three days to implement. They had to
release half of the construction workers. Those who remained helped build three
more large outhouses to add to the two smaller ones already present.
As the work continued, Cherry received several orders in her
email inbox for the various brands of beers in their brewery stable. The lists
made her shake her head. Not one to spend a long time staring at a screen, she
printed them out. They ended up filling ten pages of paper. She walked over to
the catering tent.
“Stu, do you have a moment?” she asked.
Stu looked up, his cheeks swollen with food. He put down his
burger and walked over to her.
“I need some help here. We’ve got all these orders to look into.
Do you think the new setup can handle this volume?” Cherry asked.
Stu read them one by one. After the last page, he looked up and
shook his head.
“This will not work with the timelines. You might churn out half
the orders if you’re lucky. Even then, you can’t do all the variety you need,”
Stu said.
“Can we extend the delivery timelines?” Cherry asked.
Stu shrugged. “We could, but you’re talking about dedicated lines
for certain brands and quality control. Also, we have severely limited capacity
now. So, even if we extend production timelines, hitting those same volumes at
the quality required will just take too long for each brand. We can’t compete.”
Cherry sighed. “So you’re trying to say we should stop the
orders?”
“We can stop some and slow down others. You can’t live a lie.
This is the new normal until we get back on our feet again,” Stu said.
“This isn’t looking good for the brewery. Getting back the market
share we had will be a nightmare,” Cherry said.
“That’s why the likes of Arthur will celebrate behind closed
doors. This is the chance they were waiting for,” Stu said.
“You’re right. I hope people remember us. We’ll have to bank on
sentiment to claw back some of that market share,” Cherry said.
“You’d better push those insurance guys to handle their business
before they make us shut down,” Stu said.
“Shush, don’t say that! We might be in a hole right now, but I
can assure you we’ll never shut down. Not while I’m alive,” Cherry assured.
Cherry’s phone rang, and she took the call.
“Cherry speaking?” she said.
“Hey Cherry! Fancy hearing your voice again. It’s Trip,” a
booming voice said.
Cherry frowned. “Trip from Dover?”
“The one and only! How have you been down there?” Trip asked.
Trip was one of Bernie’s closest friends, and they had known each
other for decades. Cherry remembered Bernie introducing her to Trip while they
attended a conference together. She didn’t know him well then, but Bernie often
gushed about their strong friendship. The last time she’d seen him was at
Bernie’s funeral. They had barely spoken then.
“It’s going well,” Cherry replied.
“Good to hear. I heard a fire hit you. Sorry to hear that. I was
wondering if you’re able to still get some production done?” he asked.
She glanced at Stu. “Yes, we can, but just a small volume. We’re
still a long way from hitting the levels we were at. I’m afraid we can’t take
more orders if you wanted to make one.”
“No, no orders. But you’ll need some of that craft beer for what
I have in mind.” Trip said.
“What do you have in mind?” Cherry asked.
“I’ve been running a craft beer festival in Dover for a couple of
years now. Even Bernie attended a few times, and we always had a blast. I was
thinking it would be great to have you showcase some of the work you do at the
festival this year,” Trip said.
Cherry raised a brow. “Oh, I did not know. When is this
happening?”
“Next week. I had thought of letting you know earlier, but I held
back. Now I’m sure I want you over, as a tribute to Bernie,” Trip replied.
Cherry bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we can hack that.
It’s too soon.”
“It’s never too soon to take a crack at something. You guys need
to catch a break. I’m offering one. Sleep on it, and then we’ll talk about it
tomorrow,” Trip said.
“But I—” Cherry began, but Trip had already hung up.
“What is it?” Stu asked.
“Someone’s inviting us to a craft beer festival,” Cherry said.
“They’re daring us to dream,” Stu said.
“I don’t think we’re ready to dream yet. At this rate, we’ll need
a miracle to get back on track,” Cherry said.
