I walked down into the cool, damp air of the cellar.

The wooden racks were mostly empty, but the crates seized from the warehouse had been returned.

They sat on the concrete floor, waiting to be unpacked.

I knelt beside one of the boxes and lifted the lid.

Inside, the dark green bottles of Hayes Reserve lay nested in straw.

I reached in and pulled one out, wiping the dust from the label.

My father’s name was printed in gold leaf across the front.

I held the bottle against my chest, feeling the cool glass.

Above me, the floorboards of the empty house creaked in the wind.

I stood up and carried the bottle back up the stairs.

I walked out onto the back terrace, looking out over the valley.

The vines stretched for miles, green and vibrant under the pale blue sky.

This land belonged to me now.

The conspiracy was dismantled, the papers were signed, and the keys were in my hand.

I set the bottle down on the stone railing, looking out at the horizon.

I was finally home.