I Decided to Sell Before They Could Move In

Aaron advised me not to confront DeAndre until we knew more.

I didn’t.

I did something else.

I called a real estate agent.

Her name was Melissa Grant, and she’d sold two units in my building that year. She came over that afternoon expecting a normal listing consultation.

I told her I wanted a fast cash sale.

“How fast?”

“Before New Year’s Eve.”

She stared at me.

“Cassidy, that’s extremely fast.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to leave money on the table.”

“How much?”

She walked through the condo, took notes, and gave me a range.

If I listed traditionally and waited, she thought I could do considerably better.

I asked what an investor or cash buyer might pay for an immediate close.

Two days later, we had an offer.

Four hundred eighty thousand dollars.

Aaron called me when he saw it.

“I’m going to say this once because it’s my job. You do not have to do this.”

“I know.”

“You’re accepting less because you’re rushing.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

I looked at the cardboard box sitting beside my front door.

The gravy stain had dried brown across the bottom.

“Because I’m not selling only the condo.”

He waited.

I picked up a roll of packing tape.

“I’m buying distance.”

By the following morning, I had accepted.

I sold most of my furniture to a legitimate buyer myself. I donated what wasn’t worth moving. Important papers went into one suitcase. Clothes went into another.

The proceeds from the condo cleared after closing.

I checked the account twice.

Then I booked a one-way ticket to Naples.

Mom called constantly.

I answered once.

“The liquidator says his access code doesn’t work,” she said.

“That’s correct.”

“You agreed to cooperate.”

“I agreed to leave.”

“Brittany needs to measure the nursery.”

“She can measure it after New Year’s Eve.”

There was a long pause.

“Why are you acting like this?”

I looked around my nearly empty living room.

“I’ll talk to you after the move.”

“Cassidy—”

I ended the call.

That night, I carried my suitcases downstairs.

The cardboard box was the last thing left by the door.

I flattened it and put it in the recycling bin.

Then I handed my keys to the buyer’s representative.

The condo was no longer mine.

And for the first time, it wasn’t theirs to take either.

The New Year’s Eve Livestream

I landed in Italy with my phone on airplane mode.

By the time I reached the small rental apartment I’d booked in Naples, it was morning back in Seattle.

I showered, made coffee, and finally turned my phone on.

There were forty-three missed calls.

Most were from Mom.

Eleven were from Brittany.

Seven were from Dad.

DeAndre had called twice.

There were also messages from cousins.

WHAT HAPPENED?

Call your mother.

Did you really sell it?

Brittany is freaking out.

Then my cousin Kayla sent me a screen recording.

Brittany had livestreamed their arrival.

Two U-Haul trucks were parked outside my former building. She had apparently titled the stream something about moving into their new penthouse, which was generous considering my old place was on the seventh floor and definitely not a penthouse.

The video showed Brittany laughing while DeAndre unloaded boxes.

Mom was carrying a plant.

Dad stood beside the curb looking tired.

Then they reached the entrance.

Brittany entered her code.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

DeAndre stepped forward.

“Move.”

He punched in another code.

Nothing.

Brittany laughed toward the phone.

“Technical difficulties.”

A few minutes later, they managed to get into the building after another resident came out.

The condo itself was different.

DeAndre tried the door.

Locked.

He knocked.

Then harder.

A construction worker opened it from inside.

The video shook as Brittany moved closer.

“Excuse me, this is our unit.”

The worker frowned.

“No, ma’am.”

“We’re moving in today.”

“We’re renovating for the new owner.”

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

Mom moved into view.

“There must be some mistake.”

The contractor shook his head.

“The sale closed four days ago.”

DeAndre grabbed the doorframe.

“Sold to who?”

“I don’t know. We’re just the crew.”

Brittany turned the phone toward herself. Her face had gone completely still.

The livestream ended.

I watched it twice.

Then Mom called again.

This time I answered.

“Where are you?”

No hello.

“Italy.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Naples.”

“Naples, Florida?”

“Italy.”

Her breathing changed.

“You sold the condo?”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t sell it without me.”

“I already did.”

“I was on the mortgage.”

“You were on the original loan. You signed a release when I refinanced.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, Mom. You did.”

Dad’s voice came through somewhere behind her.

“Ask her where the money is.”

I closed my eyes.

Of everything he could have asked, that was what he chose.

Mom repeated it.

“Where’s the money?”

“Mine.”

“Cassidy, Brittany has two trucks full of belongings sitting outside.”

“Then she should take them home.”

Mom lowered her voice.

“You have no idea what you’ve done.”

That caught my attention.

“Actually, I think I do.”

“No. You don’t.”

“Then explain the hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar loan.”

Nothing came through the phone.

Not even background noise.

I waited.

“Mom?”

She hung up.

The Loan Wasn’t for a Startup

DeAndre called twenty minutes later.

I let it ring.

Then Brittany called.

I answered her.

She was crying, but she also sounded furious.

“What loan?”

“Ask your husband.”

“He says you’re making things up because you’re angry.”

“Ask him what North Sound Capital Partners is.”

She stopped.

I heard muffled voices.

Then DeAndre came onto the phone.

“Cassidy, you need to stay out of my business.”

“You put my address in your business.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then tell Brittany what it was like.”

“We were restructuring some financing.”

“For what?”

He didn’t answer.

Brittany spoke from farther away.

“You told me it was for the startup.”

There was movement on their end.

Then Mom’s voice.

“Everybody needs to calm down.”

I leaned against the apartment window. Below me, scooters moved through a narrow Naples street, and someone was pulling metal chairs onto a sidewalk.

“Mom, did you know about the loan?”

“I knew DeAndre needed temporary help.”

“Did you sign anything?”

“I don’t remember every document I’ve signed.”

“Did you sign a document giving him authority over my condo?”

Silence.

Then DeAndre said something I couldn’t make out.

Mom snapped at him.

Brittany started crying again.