“You must be kidding, right, Dad? This can’t be aged wine!” James’ eyes were wide as dinner plates.

“Look at how yellowish it looks, though. It must be fake!” Florence accused.

“You guys must not have seen brews like this before. Aged craft brews get this color, and it only darkens the longer it’s been aging. Every wine connoisseur knows this.”

The looks on everyone's faces quickly changed. Their accusations had just been dampened significantly, not by just anyone but by John Nicholson himself, a well-known wine enthusiast. His judgment couldn’t be wrong.

“I was blessed to be able to try such a fine wine years ago with a government official, but this brew right here must be finer than the one I had—that body and finish tell me it must’ve been aged for at least 50 years!” John smacked his lips, still enjoying the brew’s aftertaste.

“How much would it cost on the market?” James asked curiously.

“It’s priceless. You couldn’t find a willing seller even if you offered a city’s worth.