How I Built a Casino in South America (4)
The scale of it had ballooned.
The original plan had been modest enough: a dozen casino hotels, a handful of attractions, something in the spirit of early Las Vegas. Then Antonio's warning sank in. Casinos alone wouldn't win this fight. They'd changed course. The new target was a tourist city on the order of Dubai.
Not that they could aim for Dubai from the jump. San Marcos didn't have Dubai's money. And even Dubai, for all its oil wealth, had declared bankruptcy mid-construction when the subprime crisis hit.
Still.
"If we draw the tourist numbers as planned, and word gets out that the profit margins are solid, investors looking to build hotels will show up with cash in hand."
That was the bet: a virtuous cycle. Get the people in, post a healthy net profit, and hotels, resorts, and clubs would follow as surely as water runs downhill. The city would grow itself.
In other words, they were planting a seed.
Antonio would handle the strategy and the investor hunt. Administrative support fell to Lessa's Ministry of Resources and Tourism.
"Has Antonio left the country?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. He said he had people who might be interested. He was at the airport the moment the sun came up."
"I hope it goes well."
"He's exceptionally capable, and his network is wide. He also understands the vision of this project perfectly. I believe the odds are more than favorable."
"Director Lucio recommended the right man."
"Yes. He appears to be the best possible appointment."
Once Antonio was gone, Lessa and I sat down to lay the city's foundations.
Putting up buildings was a problem money and time could solve. Filling them with a system that actually worked — that was a job only people could do. And in a city with gambling in its bloodstream, anything less than ironclad control would bleed straight into the rest of the country.
I sat across from Lessa in the office, twirling a pen.
"Let's lock down the principles first. The casinos are a foreign-currency machine, nothing else. I have zero interest in picking our own people's pockets."
"I agree completely, Your Excellency. If gambling addiction becomes a social problem, it will be nearly impossible to contain."
"Which is why we're going to write it into law. Check IDs at the casino entrance. Anyone holding San Marcos citizenship is banned from the floor. No exceptions — including me."
A total ban on locals. I had no intention of repeating Kangwon Land's mistakes.
"Understood. We'll also need to settle the employment question," Lessa said, flipping through her documents.
"Hotels and resorts require enormous staffs, and—"
"Not on the casino floor."
I drew the line without hesitation.
"Tell the casino operators that dealers, servers, and floor managers are to be filled entirely with experienced foreigners. Importing fluent English speakers from the Philippines or Macau would be the smarter play."
"To protect our own people?"
"There's a saying in Korea: what the eye sees, the heart wants. Watch a gambling floor every day and sooner or later you'll want to put your hands on the chips. We cut off access entirely."
"Then for the remaining hotel service jobs — housekeeping, kitchen, security—"
"San Marcos citizens get first hire, no debate. Lock in a minimum of sixty percent. That's how the public actually sees a benefit."
A hotel where tips make the rounds is hard work, but it isn't backbreaking, and the pay can be excellent. I wasn't about to pour the honey from a city we'd killed ourselves building down the throats of foreigners.
"Understood. I'll keep that firmly in mind."
Lessa nodded, then hesitated. When she spoke again, her voice was careful.
"Your Excellency... there's one more concern."
"Go on."
"Once the casinos and hotels go up, nightlife will follow. Inevitably."
"Nightlife. You mean prostitution."
Lessa flinched at the bluntness, then nodded.
"Yes. Once the city is standing, sex work targeting tourists will flourish."
I was quiet for a moment.
East or West, ancient or modern — prostitution is one of the oldest professions on earth. San Marcos had it on the books as illegal, and we'd been suppressing it. But supply follows demand. That's how markets work. You don't just ban it out of existence.
"What if we designated a special zone and legalized it? Tax it and regulate it, the way the Netherlands and Germany do."
I shook my head at Lessa's radical proposal.
"No. We can't."
It wasn't a moral objection. Legal prostitution markets existed all over Europe. San Marcos was a different animal.
It's the image. The image is the problem.
We'd just finished paying down the old debts and were in the middle of scrubbing the national brand clean. The second the "party tourism capital" label stuck, we wouldn't be Latin America's premier destination. We'd be another Southeast Asia.
And the image problem wasn't even the worst of it. The real damage would be the labor drain.
Young workers who should be in factories and on farms would peel off into that industry. That's a national loss.
Once people tasted easy money, nobody would want to sweat for a living. For a developing country that had only just turned the ignition on economic growth, that was a killing blow.
I can't let that happen.
Individual liberty versus state control. I made the call.
"Prostitution stays banned. I will not tolerate our people selling their bodies. Anyone caught gets the full weight of the law."
"Then it will simply go underground."
"Prostitution is illegal in Dubai and Hawaii too — two of the biggest tourist destinations on the planet. We announce that it's illegal and we enforce it as hard as we can."
Of course, the people who were going to do it would do it anyway. Foreigners from Venezuela or Brazil might come in and work the trade.
But.
Where in the world is there a perfect law?
Laws change with the times. That's what they are.
"We'll start there and watch how it plays out. We can adjust later."
I intended to take it slow, watch, and correct as needed.
"Yes, understood."
Lessa nodded and took notes in her pad.
"Good. Let's look at the hardware."
I glanced down at the map.
"How's the golf course coming?"
"Foundation work has begun. Tortilla Construction is currently drawing up the blueprints with consulting from Hyunhwa Resort & Golf."
Minsik, the president of Tortilla Construction, seemed to be doing his job properly. I was pleased.
Though with talent like that, why does the guy spend all his time chasing Isabella?
Truly, I could not understand that man.
"I hear you're looking to acquire a cruise ship?"
"Yes. We're currently sourcing a used vessel in the hundred-thousand-ton class. We'll decide between a lease and a purchase once we've inspected the ship. A purchase would run at least eight hundred million dollars, so we're leaning toward a lease if at all possible."
"Used... a lease does sound like the better play. And the roads?"
Lessa traced the map as she explained.
"Tortilla Construction is working around the clock. They've started connecting the highway from the airport to the access road into the planned city site. On schedule, you'll be able to get there from the airport in under thirty minutes. Shuttle buses are planned as well."
"Thirty minutes. Not long enough to get bored. Just right."
Lock in the access, and the odds of success jumped considerably.
I nodded, satisfied — and Lessa's voice took on a suggestive edge.
"Your Excellency..."
"Yes?"
"I believe it's time we named the city. We can't keep calling it 'the planned site' or 'East New Town' forever."
"Ah. I'd forgotten something important."
She was right. The whole city needed a brand name. Something that made your pulse pick up the way "Las Vegas" or "Cancún" did — a name that was a destination all by itself.
"We should name it. Any good ideas?"
"Not yet."
Lessa shook her head.
"Which is why I was thinking... we might run a contest within the Ministry of Resources and Tourism."
"A contest?"
"Yes. If people name it themselves, they'll feel more attached to it. And we might get better ideas than we'd come up with on our own."
Not a bad thought. I could name it myself, but more heads might produce something sharper.
"Do it. There's something to be said for letting the people who are going to build the city name it."
I thought for a moment, then added:
"On second thought, a contest with nothing on the line is boring. Let's put up a prize."
"A prize?"
"Something modest. A thousand dollars? I'll present it to the winner myself. Tell them to use their heads."
"The money aside, receiving a prize from Your Excellency would be the honor of a lifetime."
"Come on. It's just a prize."
I laughed and sent Lessa on her way.
I had no idea.
I had no idea what kind of unholy hybrid you get when civil servants, overdosed on loyalty, are asked to name a city.
I never dreamed that the city which would one day be called the Emerald of Latin America would — against every intention I possessed — be named Choi City.
Meanwhile, at the same hour Eugene and Lessa were in conference — the United States.
Antonio Carvalho was tearing across the country like a man on fire, east one hour and west the next.
In his hands he carried exactly two sheets of paper: an investment-attraction power of attorney signed by Eugene himself, and a rendering of the Drumpf Hotel. That was all. He was certain of success, and he was out selling the dream.
"Folks, let's be honest with each other. Taxes... aren't you sick to death of them? You earn a thousand dollars and they rob you of half of it — a quarter if you're lucky. Which is why I've prepared something for you. An opportunity to invest in a paradise on earth, a two-hour flight from here: San Marcos. And the tax benefits, to start with, are outrageous. Full tax credit on your entire initial investment, low-interest loans from Tortilla Bank, and a five-year holiday on corporate and personal income tax once you're up and running— cough, cough. Ahem. Let me get a glass of water and pick that back up."
The investors stared at him, unmoved.
"And it's not just the taxes. The scenery — would you look at this? Not a single filter on these photos. Kyaaa. Doesn't that just kill you? This is where you put the hotels and resorts. Casino hotels inland, right here. Ah, and over on this side, the largest golf course in Latin America is going in — truly, breathtakingly beautiful. On top of that, we're planning a regular cruise line out of Florida, and... hmm? Why the long faces, everyone?"
He'd poured his heart out, and the investors still looked like they'd been asked to sit through a timeshare presentation. He regarded them for a moment, then spoke slowly.
"I see. You haven't quite grasped how this works yet. Allow me to show you proof of just how big an opportunity this is..."
Antonio unfolded the rendering of the Drumpf Hotel & Resort.
"D-Drumpf?!"
The name value of Drumpf started to pull their interest.
"So? Have I got your attention now?"
Antonio rubbed his palms together, a sly smile spreading across his face.