Turning the sign around

Bought for a song was the word which went around when Sunrise Properties acquired a mansion-that-was and, using all the tricks of the bricks, transformed it into their flagship office.  Within, though, all was not well: conditions since the company had moved into the territory of estate agencies had changed.  

“What’s more difficult than selling a house since expropriation without compensation?” announced Genevieve from behind one of the partitions which management saw as an upgrade from open-plan.  

“Selling it to a foreign buyer,” came from Jules.

“No, selling an estate agency. But your idea would give it a run for its money.”

“What money?”  Dale’s voice. “Are you aware that there are 71 houses on sale in the five square kilometres where most of our business comes from?  You could sell a plot in a graveyard more easily.”

“Maybe I could,” said Genevieve, “but some people couldn’t,” she added.

“How are you keeping yourself going?” Jules asked quietly as she came into his cubicle.  “That was mean of Genevieve – it’s not your fault that you’re struggling to sell anything.” 

“Those good sales of a year ago have helped,” he replied, “but unless the market ticks up suddenly, I can’t see how I can manage much longer.  I’d look for other work if there was any, but there isn’t. I know that I’m not the success story of Genevieve, but her hardball approach just isn’t me.  I don’t like being dishonest. I’m not saying she is, but if I were to take the lines she does, it just wouldn’t be me.”

“I know what you mean,” said Jules.  “Don’t worry about it – she’s also struggling, believe it or not.”

“She’s got a lot of fat to play with, though – I’ve got no reserves left.”  His voice was so deflated that Jules changed the subject.

“You know what Annabelle did the other day?  She had made a sale – a sale mind you – and the deal was done, papers signed, buyer not needing to sell his own property, etc.  She leaves the house and forgets to turn the sign around. Next day the owner’s bell rings and someone wants to see the property, they see it’s for sale. ‘No, it isn’t, it’s sold,’ says the owner.  ‘But that’s not what the sign says,’ the other guy says. Annabelle was called up by rather a worried man and had to move rather quickly down there and do the necessary.”

“She won’t do that again – that is, if she has a sale,” mumbled Dale, which was not the response she had hoped for; she decided to leave him to his own devices.

Leaning into his screen, he did a check of the record of their recent sales across the whole peninsula.  Unsurprisingly, the red flags of properties still unsold after a year obscured the green flags of happiness.  He expanded the view to include all house sales (commercial ones were simply blood on the screen). There was hardly a difference between their and other agencies’ figures: selling was difficult, regardless of agent, area or price. Then he noticed something else.  Where one green flag was seen, there was usually another one or two nearby; then came fields of red, not a single green in sight. He expanded to the further reaches of the city, its dormitory suburbs. A pattern was evident: in close proximity to where one sale had gone through, others had also occurred.  Was it possible that one sale boosted the chance of another? “The greatest fear to fear is fear itself” might have been said at the time of the Great Depression, but it held true now, the fear of putting money into a property market uncertain of its future. But did the truth of that dictum not give rise to another: confidence inspires confidence in others?

Dale did not need to view his screen any longer; he knew whom he would approach. Someone whose property he had the sole agency to sell and whose home was close to others with whom he had the same arrangement.  

“Oh, I was going to call you,” said Casey when Dale’s voice came over the intercom, “but come in.”  She doubted he was bringing any good news: no one had even been to see the house for the past four weeks and, unless interest had been evident, the estate agency would not put a house on show. Perhaps he was the hatchet man, here to let her know that she was being removed from their client list. Where to then?  His was the third agency through which she had tried to sell the house. What next? If her planned move overseas had any chance of success, she needed money to get started.  

“Anything good to tell me?  Someone offer a million more than I’m asking?”  If she was about to get the chop, she might as well go down laughing at her own joke. Judging from his expression, she would be. 

“No, but I want to talk to you about selling,” Dale replied.  Wasn’t that what he had been supposed to be doing for the past three months?  He seemed agitated about something. “Listen Casey, I’m just as keen to sell this house as you are,” he continued, “Quite honestly, if I don’t manage to sell yours or some other I will have to sell my own – and it’s so bad that even an estate agent will struggle.”

She felt herself chill.  Estate agents were trained and perhaps naturally disposed to talk up the prospects and impart confidence.  Here was one whose words were genuinely desperate – suddenly she found herself wishing for the other kind. Was he asking for her help? That was impossible. 

“I’m asking you to help me –  and yourself.”   It was true – he was asking for help.  “What I’m taking is a risk” – it was getting worse – “and it’s a risk which could cost me my job and reputation.”  She needed to stop this. “But I’m willing to take the chance and I’m hoping that you will agree with what I’m proposing, especially as there’s absolutely no risk for yourself.  You can only gain; if it doesn’t come off, I’m the fall guy.”

Casey was confused.  What Dale said next did not help.  “I want you to pretend the house is sold.”  He went on before she could protest. “I’ve looked at the pattern of sales over the past year and it seems that when people see that a house has been sold they are more likely to buy in that area.  Some confidence has been restored: someone has taken the plunge and that makes others more willing to follow.” He paused. “What do you think?”

“Wait.  You want me to pretend my house is sold, but it’s not.  So how’s that going to help?”

“In my theory,” Dale replied, “the sign is everything. On the other side of the “For Sale” sign is “SOLD”. I’ll bring clients to your house, with its SOLD side showing, but tell them that the sale’s fallen through because the potential buyer cannot sell his.  What matters is that your house was bought – the sign says so – and that immediately says something about it – someone was prepared to buy it when the market is full of houses.  And that makes it all the more likely to have someone else interested.”

“Okay…”.  Casey knew there were things she should be asking, but couldn’t think of them.  “If I go along with it, apart from being party to your lie, what else must I do?”

“You must be here, that’s important,” said Dale.  “I’ll only bring clients around when you are. Having you at home solidifies the “reality” of the sale-fallen-through.  Makes it more personal, allows for the contact which show houses don’t, but,” he paused, “have the house looking as good as you can, not too perfect, just enough to impress – that helps.  If your kids are around, all the better, but don’t let them know any of this arrangement,” he added.

“But what if the client asks difficult questions?” she asked. 

“Such as?”

“Like what if the original buyer sells his house tomorrow and wants to buy this one again?”

“That’s no issue,” he replied. “Once the condition of a sale only going through when the potential buyer’s house is sold comes unstuck, the sale is cancelled.  Any offer made after that stands, provided the seller signs. But,” he added, “there are other questions you need to be prepared for.”

“Such as?”

“A buyer will want to know as much as he can,” said Dale. “Having taken the bait, he has to be kept on the line and so answering questions like what price the house was actually sold for is important.”

Casey was alarmed. “What do I say then?”

“No harm in telling them that it was less than the asking price,” Dale replied, shifting his chair closer.  “Look, no one is getting what they asked for. Most are dropping by at least half a million, I’m sorry to say, but that’s better than no sale at all.  You don’t have to give a figure, but let them know that you’re open to a lower price – that’s bound to keep them here,” he added.

“The more I drop my price, though, the less you’ll get, too,” she said quietly.

“That’s a given,” he replied, “but for me a sale is better than a no-sale.  I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

“Okay,” Casey’s words came slowly.  “What else do I need to know?”

Dale felt his spirits rise.  Now that the plan had been heard, he no longer feared the consequences of his scam being found out.  He realised how people could embrace the idea that the only crime was getting caught.  

“If this works,” he said, “I plan to use the strategy again, even with two clients simultaneously.  Their properties, though, will be in close proximity to yours as the more “SOLD” signs evident, the better the bait.”  He lowered his voice, “You must promise me that you will never let anyone, anyone, know what happened here or what might have happened with any other property which I might manage to sell.”

“Why would I?” Casey said sharply.  

“Yes, it would be stupid to do so,” he replied, “but you might be tempted by the success of the sale and let something slip inadvertently.  Don’t worry, it won’t affect the sale, but it would end my career – I’d be thrown out of the estate agency business and worse would be to come – possibly a jail term,” he added. “And remember, you are totally innocent – you had no idea that I had brought the clients here on false pretences – you didn’t know the sign had been turned around.”

“You must be desperate,” Casey said. “But I suppose I am too, otherwise I wouldn’t be agreeing to this.”  She paused. “You can trust me, but what if someone else whose house you might manage to sell doesn’t keep quiet?” she asked.

“That’s the chance a desperate man takes,” Dale answered. “but I will choose whom I approach carefully.”

Walking into the office, Dale saw a colleague look, then come purposely towards him. “Hi Dale, I didn’t know oil had been found in Valley Heights,” he said.

“Anything’s possible in a suburb called Valley Heights,” smiled Dale, “don’t you know that?”

“I mean, how’ve you managed to sell three houses there in five weeks?  No one else has sold one anywhere. I might add,” his colleague said quietly, “that I’m asking the question that most of the others, including Genevieve, would love to – I’m not that proud though.”

“Simple really,” Dale replied. “Just a case of turning the sign around.”