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“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. “Never met the guy.”
“My notes say he was killed about a month before you bought in, even though no body was ever found. I guess I sound like a bad spy novel, but do you think it’s possible his murder had something to do with this project?”
John’s teeth gleamed. “You do sound like a bad spy novel. The truth is, I have no idea why Paul Everett was killed. Like I said, we never even met. Most of the contractors I’m dealing with are the same ones he hired, since they’re the best in the area. They all have spotless records. And none of them has spoken badly of Everett, or implied that he was shady in any way, if that’s what you mean.” A shrug. “But who really knows the private life of another person? He could have been killed over anything. I feel bad for the guy, but I’m not worried about my contractors. They’re all insured, well respected and highly recommended.” It was Morano’s turn to look quizzical. “Why do you ask?”
Marc shrugged. “Just an overactive imagination, I guess. It’s certainly not on my list of questions. Part of me was just wondering if you ever worried that the project was jinxed.”
That elicited a rumble of laughter. “Jinxed? Hardly. This project is a grand slam. The casino will boom, the hotel will be sold out year-round, tons of vacationers will reap the benefits and I’ll be a very rich man.”
“Sounds good to me.” Marc scribbled down a few final notes. “In fact, I wish I’d come up with this idea. My job doesn’t even pay enough for me to stay in your hotel overnight.”
“I tell you what,” John said, rising from his chair. “I’ll arrange for you to enjoy a complimentary weekend as soon as we open. In return, you can write a follow-up article describing your experience, which I have no doubt will be incredible.” He stuck out his hand.
“I can’t wait.” Marc grinned, shaking Morano’s hand. “Interviewing you has been a pleasure, John.”
“Thanks. When will the article appear in the magazine?”
“Either next week or the following week’s issue would be my guess,” Marc replied. “Do you have a business card with your contact information on it? I’ll email you the specifics once I know them.”
“Certainly.” Morano fished in his pocket and pulled out a card. “There you go.”
