Phillip signed and initialed where I’d marked, then handed the contract back to me.
“You’re making great progress so far, Mr. Montgomery,” I said, tucking it back into my purse. “Let’s keep up the good work. Your next retainer is due at the end of next week. I’ll email you the invoice.”
We were three months and $150,000 into the job by then, not counting the $200,000 I got when I sold his furniture, and the stress of executing the plan was beginning to weigh on Phillip. He looked haggard, as if he wasn’t sleeping well. “I’m worried this isn’t going to work,” he said. “What if they figure out what I’m doing? Not only would it ruin me financially, but my reputation in town would be trashed.”
I placed a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “Look at me.” When he did, I said, “This is the hardest part. But remember, you’re not doing anything wrong. You’re spending money on your mental health. To find a better physical and emotional state. You’re selling a house that will have a ton of structural damage—a property you can no longer afford to carry—and you’ll split what you get for it fifty-fifty—ten thousand for you, ten thousand for her. There are a lot of ways to frame this so that you end up looking okay. But the one thing you cannot do is doubt. You have to believe that what we’re doing is legitimate, because how you frame things in your mind is how you present them to the world.”
He nodded, and I could see he was coming back around. The fear was subsiding. I needed him with me just a little bit longer.
***
The internet made it easy to keep track of Ron Ashton over the years. Public records showed he still lived in my house on Canyon Drive. Online news sites told about his upcoming run for state senate. But it was an article on a local Los Angeles real estate blog about a predatory agent who’d sexually harassed a client that gave me my approach. Mick Martin has been the longtime agent for Los Angeles developer Ron Ashton, who is rumored to be considering a run for state senate. Mr. Ashton declined to comment.
This job required me to see connections others couldn’t. I had to think ten steps ahead and imagine several scenarios simultaneously. Over the years, my instincts had become razor sharp, and I was rarely wrong.
I looked up Mick Martin and found that there had been two reports of sexual harassment to the California State Real Estate Board. According to their bylaws, three would be enough to permanently suspend his license. My fingers flew across the keys of my laptop, opening new tabs, conducting several new Google searches. How to report sexual harassment to the California Real Estate Board. Another one, How to get a California real estate license, and finally, Online real estate license classes, California.
I looked around my tiny apartment, the shades drawn against the dark night, and I began another list in my journal of things I’d need to do to get ready. A website for a boutique real estate agency. Another one for me, outlining several years of high-end sales. An agency phone number with a friendly, outgoing message. I bought several books about real estate, knowing I’d need to arrive already an expert.
It meant leaving Pennsylvania as soon as the title for the lake house recorded, several months before I’d intended. Sometimes, you have to leave a job early—you either run through other people’s goodwill or you realize the risk of finishing it isn’t worth what you’d gain by staying. This time, it was because I had to be back and in position well before the November election.
A spark of excitement danced around inside of me as I realized I would end my career where it started.
They say you can never go home again.
This is a lie.
Los Angeles
Present Day
Kat
August
The first thing I do the following morning is call the bank. They assure me my account is safe and that no money had been taken, but I ask them to give me a new account number anyway. Wherever that bank statement is, I want it to be completely useless.