When we took over Greensleeves in November 2016, the easy move was to start clean: new name, new team, pretend the place had never gone dark. I went the other way and brought back the people who had worked there before it closed.
A landmark that has been shut carries two things a new owner cannot buy. The town's memory of the room, and the staff who know the regulars by name. Replace the staff and you have thrown away half of what you paid for. So the former crew came back, Tellus phased the renovation around live service, and the reopening ran in the local press as the town getting something back, not a stranger moving in.
We still had to rebuild the operation underneath them. It took a run of chefs before the right general manager landed, and it took a PR campaign and city events before the room was full. But the trust on day one was real, and it was theirs, not mine.
When you take over something distressed, the people who already know how to run it are usually worth more than a clean slate. Their standing with the community is an asset that shows up nowhere on a balance sheet, and it is the first thing a new owner throws away.