accommodate my hotel guests, and to provide them with an exclusive gaming experience. It was the choice of the Shinnecock Indians not to use up a major portion of the acreage they’d allocated for the casino on a hotel resort—at least not initially.”
“And perhaps not at all,” Marc commented.
“Exactly. They opted for the concept of a casino on the bay, which was a brilliant business move. They created the ultimate gaming facility and an islandlike beach experience. They’re about to add to that by building an entertainment arena, two stories of exclusive stores and restaurants, and a theater for their guests’ shopping, dining and entertainment pleasures. But, for now, they know what I have in mind. And it’s far more lucrative for them to leave the luxury hotel aspect of things to me. We’ll complement each other, and have a mutually beneficial business relationship.”
“It sounds like a win-win relationship,” Marc noted. “And a genius of an idea. Can we go back on the record now?”
“Sure,” Morano agreed magnanimously.
“Let’s talk about the local fishermen. Will you be phasing out your wharf and marina’s dock service business?”
“Not at all. I don’t plan on abandoning the locals. Shinnecock Bay is an ideal spot to supply local restaurants with the freshest catches. The fishing boats will still be coming and going from here—just a little farther down the way.” Morano pointed out the window, over and to the right. “A newer, larger pier will be constructed to accommodate more fishing boat traffic and to provide the fishermen with ample warehouse space. Meanwhile, the current pier will be redesigned and become a private pier for the hotel guests.”
“For their yachts and ferries,” Marc supplied. “I like it. An upscale environment. A local flavor. Very smart.”
And he meant it. John Morano was a shrewd businessman. By continuing to offer services to the fishermen, he’d win a whole lot of goodwill while giving the tourists a flavor for the area. Not to mention the cash flow from his dock services would still be incoming. Fishermen would have more customers—thanks to Morano’s hotel restaurants. It was good news all around.
On to a stickier subject.
“What about the town of Southampton?” Marc asked. “They’re typically very strict about minimizing the influx of tourist traffic. The locals like things the way they are—fairly quiet, except during the season. This will change all that. Was it difficult to obtain your building permits?”
A heartbeat of silence. Just a heartbeat. But Marc didn’t miss it.
He glanced up from his notes just in time to see the look of discomfort that crossed John Morano’s face.
It vanished as quickly as it had come.
“It’s a challenge. But nothing I can’t handle. The town is being very cooperative. I’m in the process of getting all the necessary permits,” he replied, his tone so smooth that it almost dispelled any doubt or anxiety.
Almost.
“That’s great,” Marc said, casually watching John’s reactions. “What about your contractors? Do you have all those lined up?”
John paused for a sip of coffee. But this time he kept his game face intact. “Sure do, other than a few estimates that are still coming in. Everything should gel within the next week or two. Luckily, it’s supposed to be a mild winter. That’ll make it possible to break ground right away.”
“So you’re moving forward aggressively on this project?”
Morano’s lips curved slightly. “I move forward aggressively on everything, Rob. Otherwise, I never would have snagged this opportunity before the slew of other developers who are now kicking themselves.”
That was Marc’s cue.
His brows arched—just a fraction. Not enough to be imposing. Just enough to be inquisitive. “The original developer…” He skimmed through his notes, as if trying to recall the name. “Paul Everett. Did you know him?”
An easy shake of the head.
“And perhaps not at all,” Marc commented.
“Exactly. They opted for the concept of a casino on the bay, which was a brilliant business move. They created the ultimate gaming facility and an islandlike beach experience. They’re about to add to that by building an entertainment arena, two stories of exclusive stores and restaurants, and a theater for their guests’ shopping, dining and entertainment pleasures. But, for now, they know what I have in mind. And it’s far more lucrative for them to leave the luxury hotel aspect of things to me. We’ll complement each other, and have a mutually beneficial business relationship.”
“It sounds like a win-win relationship,” Marc noted. “And a genius of an idea. Can we go back on the record now?”
“Sure,” Morano agreed magnanimously.
“Let’s talk about the local fishermen. Will you be phasing out your wharf and marina’s dock service business?”
“Not at all. I don’t plan on abandoning the locals. Shinnecock Bay is an ideal spot to supply local restaurants with the freshest catches. The fishing boats will still be coming and going from here—just a little farther down the way.” Morano pointed out the window, over and to the right. “A newer, larger pier will be constructed to accommodate more fishing boat traffic and to provide the fishermen with ample warehouse space. Meanwhile, the current pier will be redesigned and become a private pier for the hotel guests.”
“For their yachts and ferries,” Marc supplied. “I like it. An upscale environment. A local flavor. Very smart.”
And he meant it. John Morano was a shrewd businessman. By continuing to offer services to the fishermen, he’d win a whole lot of goodwill while giving the tourists a flavor for the area. Not to mention the cash flow from his dock services would still be incoming. Fishermen would have more customers—thanks to Morano’s hotel restaurants. It was good news all around.
On to a stickier subject.
“What about the town of Southampton?” Marc asked. “They’re typically very strict about minimizing the influx of tourist traffic. The locals like things the way they are—fairly quiet, except during the season. This will change all that. Was it difficult to obtain your building permits?”
A heartbeat of silence. Just a heartbeat. But Marc didn’t miss it.
He glanced up from his notes just in time to see the look of discomfort that crossed John Morano’s face.
It vanished as quickly as it had come.
“It’s a challenge. But nothing I can’t handle. The town is being very cooperative. I’m in the process of getting all the necessary permits,” he replied, his tone so smooth that it almost dispelled any doubt or anxiety.
Almost.
“That’s great,” Marc said, casually watching John’s reactions. “What about your contractors? Do you have all those lined up?”
John paused for a sip of coffee. But this time he kept his game face intact. “Sure do, other than a few estimates that are still coming in. Everything should gel within the next week or two. Luckily, it’s supposed to be a mild winter. That’ll make it possible to break ground right away.”
“So you’re moving forward aggressively on this project?”
Morano’s lips curved slightly. “I move forward aggressively on everything, Rob. Otherwise, I never would have snagged this opportunity before the slew of other developers who are now kicking themselves.”
That was Marc’s cue.
His brows arched—just a fraction. Not enough to be imposing. Just enough to be inquisitive. “The original developer…” He skimmed through his notes, as if trying to recall the name. “Paul Everett. Did you know him?”
An easy shake of the head.
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