The Ash Corp. management team exchanged glances, but none of them spoke.
‘Come on!’ shouted Miles, banging his desk. ‘I pay you good money to fix these things. I need ideas.’
Miles knew he needed more than ideas; he needed a miracle. After the runaway success of the Laing hotel and its rapid extension into luxury apartments on the Strip, the Las Vegas gaming commission had had a sudden sea chang
e in its attitude towards Ash Corp. As long as certain conditions were met, they said – Miles suspected that ‘certain conditions’ meant ‘heavy investment’ – they were open to an approach vis-à-vis building a casino. Work began on Ashford Towers almost immediately: a vast upwardly mobile hotel, casino and condo project. It had been started in late 2006 when the whole of America was riding on the crest of an economic wave. Sin City was recession-proof, everyone said so. In its entire history it had only suffered one downturn, immediately after 9/11. But then no one could have predicted the scale and impact of the 2008 financial crisis. Sub-prime greed, arrogant hedge-funders plus the hubris of the US banks meant that the world economy not only wobbled, it toppled to the ground, taking Lehman Brothers and a whole house of cards with it. To Miles’ fury, Ash Corp. was left badly exposed. If he had stuck with his father’s policy of diversification, they might have been able to roll with the punches, but he had restructured to focus on leisure, travel and construction – three of the most vulnerable sectors in a recession. Now Ashford Towers seemed to stand as a shining monument to his folly, its rooms empty, the gamblers shifting to Hold ’em Poker, the only game in Vegas where the house failed to win.
‘Well, we could refinance,’ said Greg Barbera, the Ash Corp. COO, cautiously. ‘It’s a risk of course, given the current climate, but it might help us ride it out.’
‘No, that’s just throwing good money after bad,’ said Miles. ‘Besides, we haven’t got the time. Every hour it’s open, the casino is sucking up more electricity than the whole of New England. We need to make money, not borrow it.’
‘Perhaps if we look at the projections?’ said Jonathon Cohen, finance director. ‘I’ve run a few figures, and if we experience a bounce effect, we may gain some breathing space.’
Miles jabbed his finger at the spreadsheet in front of him. ‘Screw your projections, Jon,’ he said. ‘Look at the figures from last month. Hotel booking down thirty per cent on your worst-case scenario. What kind of confidence do you think that instils in me? We need to face facts: it’s far worse than anyone dared guess.’
‘It’s not just us. Have you seen where MGM Mirage stock prices are? Steve Wynn has just had to cut employees’ salaries by ten per cent.’
‘I don’t care what other people are doing,’ said Miles. ‘I only care what we’re doing.’
He looked around at each of the team. ‘Right. No more double-talk and marketing-speak bollocks. I want each of you to go away and come back with real-life workable solutions for rescuing Ashford Towers – and Ash Corp.’
He clapped his hands. ‘Go on, piss off.’
Silently they all gathered their notes and filed towards the door.
‘Not you, Michael,’ said Miles, gesturing to Michael Marshall to close the door. He walked over to his drinks bar and poured himself a malt whisky. ‘Snifter?’ he asked, but Marshall shook his head. ‘OK, Mike, tell me you’ve got an idea.’
The lawyer had started out in the company by getting Ash Corp. a foothold out here in the desert; now Miles needed him to perform another of his sleight-of-hand tricks. Marshall had risen up the ranks by doing Ash Corp.’s dirty work, but now he was Miles’ consiglieri, the one man he trusted to dig them out of this hole, because the alternative was grim: the whole company could go down.
‘I do have one idea to get hotel occupancy up, but I’m not sure you’re going to like it.’
‘If it works, I’ll like it, Michael,’ said Miles, sipping the amber liquid. ‘We’ve run out of elegant solutions. Ugly is all we got.’
‘All right,’ said Marshall. ‘Hotel occupancy is down, gambling is down, people have fallen out of love with Vegas – no one gets excited about blackjack when they’re struggling to keep a roof over their heads.’
‘My heart bleeds,’ said Miles. ‘But continue.’
‘There’s one other thing Vegas does that people will always want – showbiz. This place does over-the-top razzle-dazzle like nowhere else on earth, and people will come for that, because in hard times, everyone loves escapism – plus they feel they’re getting value for money. Now Cirque du Soleil continues to pack ’em in, and Celine Dion’s residency at Caesars has taken over fifty-five million dollars in ticket revenues over the first twelve months.’
Miles nodded. ‘It’s an interesting angle, but let’s say forty mill of that is profit – forty large isn’t going to fill our hole.’
‘Exactly, but fifty-five million ticket sales equals at least a couple of hundred thousand customers passing our way. They all need food, lodging and gas. And if they’re happy, in a great mood having seen a great gig, it will get them into the casino.’
‘But who’s big enough in the States to pull in that number? Madonna?’
‘Too expensive.’
‘Well who else sells tens of million of albums?’
Michael looked at him and nodded.‘Time to call in a favour, Miles.’
Alex didn’t say yes or no; he just laughed. The speakers in the conference call system crackled as his laugh boomed out.
‘Tell me you’re joking, Miles?’ he said down the line. ‘You have to be kidding, right?’
Miles struggled to keep his voice calm. He had been reluctant to call Alex at his home in London, but Michael had persuaded him that it was the only way to bring in enough bodies to get the casino working again.
‘I’m completely serious. We both have a lot to gain.’