In the ever-unfolding saga of Virginia’s casino advancements, a prominent law firm stationed in the coastal city of Virginia Beach has sent ripples through the state’s approaching gaming horizon. The firm, standing as the champion of legal interests for The Cordish Companies, has laid down a strategic gambit aiming to halt the drive of a new casino resort in the heart of Norfolk.
The stir began when Norfolk City Manager Patrick Roberts, in the solemn conclave of the Norfolk City Council held on a crisp September morn, bore witness to a pivotal resolution. With the gavel’s fall, Boyd Gaming, an entity of Las Vegas renown, was enshrined as the new titan steering the city’s gaming future. Through the council’s decree, echoed by a 7-1 supporting chorus, the gaming landscape was reshaped: Golden Eagle Consulting II, LLC, once the ward of billionaire Jon Yarbrough, was now beneath the Boyd Gaming banner, a transition shrouded in clandestine fiscal veils.
Yet this twist of fate did not sit well with John Lynch, advocate and learned partner at Troutman Pepper, who perceived in Boyd’s ascent an affront to state statutes. With fervor and legal acumen, Lynch petitioned the Virginia Lottery Board – the sentinels of the Commonwealth’s gambling terrains – to cast aside Norfolk’s casino aspirations.
Norfolk’s own citizens had cast their lot nearly four years ago, in the November 2020 elections, blessing a $500 million venture to erect a casino resort along the serene banks of the Elizabeth River. The city had danced in unison with the Pamunkey Indian Tribe, cementing them as the harbingers of this opulent temple of chance, bound by a Development Agreement that declared Golden Eagle Consulting as the tribe’s sole herald and architect for the grand design.
But the script had since been altered, much to Lynch’s chagrin, with Boyd Gaming now poised to lay foundational stones on the sacred date of October 30. City officials had gleaned the path, only the issuance of the building edicts remained.
Troutman Pepper’s entreaty to the Lottery Board bore the weight of earnest conviction. Lynch decried not just a nominal shift, but a substantive divergence from the original entity, the Pamunkey Tribe, sanctified by the city’s own hand in 2020. Furthermore, Lynch deftly argued that the surreal vision of a casino conjoined with the iconic Harbor Park stadium wandered askew from the original will of the voters.
As the contemplative eye of the Virginia Lottery Board turns to appraise the situation, it must adjudge whether Boyd Gaming, under the guise of Golden Eagle, can indeed inherit the title of Norfolk’s “preferred casino gaming operator.” Meanwhile, the stage is set for Petersburg to cast its destiny, potentially joining the ranks of Norfolk, Portsmouth, Danville, and Bristol as the newest member of Virginia’s casino cohort.
Behind the scenes, the threads of interest and ambition are deftly woven by Cordish, with Troutman Pepper as the conduit of its will. The Waterside District, a stone’s throw from the proposed casino site, stands as testament to Cordish’s investment – a $40 million metamorphosis into a hub of leisure and nightlife, with an enigmatic clause of partnership in the arena of gaming, should Fortune’s wheel spin in favor of commercial casinos. Alas, the Virginia Court of Appeals drew the curtain on such dreams early this spring, dismissing Cordish’s pleas.
Mysteries deepen with the emergence of the Norfolk Accountability Project, its legal life-force pulsing from the same well that sustains Troutman Pepper. In this complex web of competing ventures and legal battledores, the fate of Norfolk’s casino dreams hangs in the balance, a tale of chance and strategy befitting the very halls of gamble they seek to summon.
