Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Simon
I was halfway through reviewing the revised construction schedule for our Brooklyn project when my office door opened, and my father walked in. He never bothered to knock first, which bothered me.
“You busy?” he asked.
“I’m always busy.”
He walked over to the couch and tossed a file folder on the coffee table. Immediately, I knew something was wrong.
“Tribeca,” he said.
I stood from my chair and walked over to him.
“What now?” I asked.
“We sold one unit this month.”
“One?” My brows furrowed. “That can’t be right.”
“It is,” he said, walking over to the bar and pouring himself a drink.
I picked up the file and opened it. Montclair Tribeca was one of our newest luxury residential developments, with 78 residences ranging from two-bedroom units to four-bedroom penthouses, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows, private terraces in select units, a rooftop pool, a fitness center, a private dining room for parties, and a 24-hour concierge.
We’d spared no expense with this project.
And neither had the few buyers who’d already purchased.
“Where are we sitting at?” I asked my father.
“Twenty-six units sold and two under contract,” he replied.
“So we still have fifty units to sell,” I said.
“Fifty-two if those contracts don’t close.”
“Jesus,” I sighed. That was exactly what I didn’t want to hear.
I sat in the chair across from the couch and flipped through the sales report.
“How’s the traffic?” I asked.
“Down.”
“How far?” My brows furrowed.
“Almost thirty percent since we launched it.”
“When the hell did that happen?”
“Gradually. But over the past month, it completely stalled.”
“What about showings?” I asked.
“Same problem, son.”
Something wasn’t adding up. We had one of the best locations in Tribeca, and the building itself was exceptional.
“Is it the prices?” I asked.
“That’s what I thought at first, so we ran comps again. We’re competitive.”
“Okay.” I tossed the report on the table. “What are potential buyers saying?”
“That’s part of the problem. They aren’t saying much of anything.”
“I don’t understand. What the hell does that mean?”
“They tour. They complement the finishes, and they love the amenities. They ask a few questions, leave, and then we don’t hear from them again.”
“Are they buying somewhere else?” I asked.
“Some of them are.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Stuart Development and Norris Development,” he replied.
“I’ve seen both.” I frowned. “Ours is way better. We have better layouts, better amenities, and better views.”
“I know that, son.”
“Then why the fuck are they buying there instead of Montclair?”
“If I knew the answer, I wouldn’t be sitting in your office.”
I stood, tucked my hands into my pants pockets, and walked over to the window.
This was the part of development I hated the most. You could research everything, from location and demographics to pricing, competition, and design.
You could spend years developing a property based on every available piece of data, and sometimes the market still said no. There was always a reason.
“What does marketing say?” I turned and looked at my father.
“That we need to increase digital spend.”
“Of course,” I sighed. “That’s their answer to everything. How much are we spending now?”
“Too much for one sale this month.”
“What about our socials?” I asked.
“Engagement is way down,” he said.
“What about the emails we send?”
“The open rates are decent, but they’re not generating much interest and definitely no appointments.”
I brought my hand up and rubbed my jaw. “So people are seeing it? Our posts and the ads?”
“Yes. They’re just not responding.”
“Have we changed the creative for Montclair Tribeca?” I asked.
“Twice since we started building,” my father said. “It didn’t matter.”
“What’s the creative campaign now?”
“You don’t know?” My father pulled out his phone.
“I don’t personally approve every fucking Instagram post,” I said.
“Well, maybe you should start.” He handed me his phone.
A video started playing. The first shot was a slow aerial of the building, then a cut to the lobby, and finally into one of the units. A caption appeared across the screen at the end of the video: “Elevated Tribeca Living,” followed by the Montclair logo.
“Well?” my father asked.
“I think it looks great.”
“That’s what everyone says. But I have yet to hear someone say they love it,” my father said. “Nobody seems excited about it.”
“We’re selling twelve million dollar-plus apartments. We’re not making TikTok dances. Our clients are a bunch of rich, snooty millionaires and billionaires who are wound so fucking tight they wouldn’t know excitement if someone handed them an instruction manual.”
“I’m aware, son,” he sighed.
“We need to sit down with marketing,” I said.
“I already did this morning. They want another three hundred thousand for the next phase of the campaign.”
“Absolutely not.” I laughed. “I’m not throwing more money at something that clearly isn’t working.”
“Then we need another approach. Any ideas?” His brow arched.
I walked back to my desk and sat down. I’ll have Sonia set up a meeting for tomorrow. I want Marketing, Sales, Digital, and the Tribeca team there.”
“Then let me know a time, and I’ll make sure I’m there,” he said. “By the way, Mary told me she ran into Bella at the boutique.”
“Yeah. Bella mentioned it last night,” I said.
“She likes her.”
“Mary likes everybody.”
“She said she’s beautiful and you two would make an adorable couple.”
“Fuck off.” I pointed at me, and he laughed.
He stood up from the couch and walked to the door. “Her words. Not mine.” He winked and walked out.
I woke my computer, pulled up Montclair’s Instagram account, and found the Tribeca campaign.
I watched one video, then another, and another.
They were polished and professional. So why the hell wasn’t anyone responding?
I looked over the financials again. We were at a significant loss.
We’d sunk an enormous amount of money into the Tribeca project.
That was normal. What wasn’t normal was sitting on more than fifty unsold units this far after launch.
If we didn’t start moving them quickly, the problem would only get worse.
Every month those residences sat empty cost us money.