a few minutes, he drove in silence. When we passed King's Point, a retirement community for adults, he pointed and informed me he and his wife lived there.
I decided to probe since he'd stopped talking. "Tell me more about the relationship between Mike and Hutchinson."
He let out a big sigh. "At first Hutchinson was standoffish, then he got rude to agents, clients, and even to Mike. I heard he sold his house and moved into a smaller one."
Art pulled into Eagle Trace's entrance and stopped. It's an upscale, gated community. Lush shrubbery and palm trees filled both sides of the divided entry and the median strip, which led to a red brick guardhouse.
"They lived in here when the agency was making money," he said.
On elaborate homes off to the right, I saw beige and white walls under expansive red tile roofs. I lived close by, not in a gated community of course, but I knew enough about the market to know the houses weren't touchable for much under half a fortune. There were some nice apartments toward the neighborhood's rear entrance.
"Where did they move to?" I said.
He pointed across the street, indicating a community of modest townhouses. "To those townhouses."
"Quite a come down. They must have lived on the edge to lose so much that fast."
"Maybe. I don't know. I remember overhearing Hutchinson tell Mike they bought the townhouse free and clear from their equity. Part of their retirement plan, he said."
The answer puzzled me. I pushed for more information. What could he do, throw me out of his car? "Art, is there more to this?"
"I'm not sure what came first, but their kid got in trouble and went to jail. Then Jamel came around again. Mike said Hutchinson spent most of his reserve and some clients' escrow bailing him out. The kid repaid him by getting into trouble again."
"Sometimes it's better not to rescue them."
"My opinion, as well. I have good kids though. One's finishing med school, and the other's teaching history at NYU."
"You obviously did a fine job raising your children. I'm impressed."
"Thanks. Having a decent income certainly helped."
"Back to Mike and Hutchinson."
"They were friends and competitors for years, but they worked different markets, Mike catering to the middle class whites and Hutchinson to the upper middle class blacks. Changes in the community made them direct competitors. The neighborhoods blended, and Mike was top dog."
"Hard to take."
"Hutchinson seemed a changed man. I overhead him and Mike arguing a couple of times, but they were polite. I also know Hutchinson was trying to get Mike to hire his wife. She's a nice lady, but she isn't a sharp salesperson."
"Oh?"
"Not bright, in my opinion." He lowered his voice, his tone confidential. "Now that Hutchinson is out of the game, I think Mike will buy what's left of the agency."
"What about Amelia?"
"Good question. He promised we wouldn't have to work with her."
"I'd gotten the idea she planned to work for Mike, sell him the agency, give him the outstanding contracts."
"Without a broker of record, the agency isn't worth much. Every client listed with Hutchinson needs to sign a contract with us. In general, the listing contract isn't transferable to another realty. She has to hire a broker of record to complete the scheduled closings. That's my impression, but I'm not a lawyer."
We were sitting in front of the drop gate at Eagle Trace, and the guard was walking over to our car. Art waved him off and made a U-turn. When the traffic cleared, he headed south.
I was certain we were going back to the agency. "Mike's a mean SOB," I said.
"It's business."
I grimaced. "So, you take a woman when she's down—lost her husband, lost her home, kid's a problem—then you take her business, promise her a job, then fire her?"
"I never said it was nice business."
"Touché." We rode in silence.
When Art stopped across the lot from Michael Wiley
I decided to probe since he'd stopped talking. "Tell me more about the relationship between Mike and Hutchinson."
He let out a big sigh. "At first Hutchinson was standoffish, then he got rude to agents, clients, and even to Mike. I heard he sold his house and moved into a smaller one."
Art pulled into Eagle Trace's entrance and stopped. It's an upscale, gated community. Lush shrubbery and palm trees filled both sides of the divided entry and the median strip, which led to a red brick guardhouse.
"They lived in here when the agency was making money," he said.
On elaborate homes off to the right, I saw beige and white walls under expansive red tile roofs. I lived close by, not in a gated community of course, but I knew enough about the market to know the houses weren't touchable for much under half a fortune. There were some nice apartments toward the neighborhood's rear entrance.
"Where did they move to?" I said.
He pointed across the street, indicating a community of modest townhouses. "To those townhouses."
"Quite a come down. They must have lived on the edge to lose so much that fast."
"Maybe. I don't know. I remember overhearing Hutchinson tell Mike they bought the townhouse free and clear from their equity. Part of their retirement plan, he said."
The answer puzzled me. I pushed for more information. What could he do, throw me out of his car? "Art, is there more to this?"
"I'm not sure what came first, but their kid got in trouble and went to jail. Then Jamel came around again. Mike said Hutchinson spent most of his reserve and some clients' escrow bailing him out. The kid repaid him by getting into trouble again."
"Sometimes it's better not to rescue them."
"My opinion, as well. I have good kids though. One's finishing med school, and the other's teaching history at NYU."
"You obviously did a fine job raising your children. I'm impressed."
"Thanks. Having a decent income certainly helped."
"Back to Mike and Hutchinson."
"They were friends and competitors for years, but they worked different markets, Mike catering to the middle class whites and Hutchinson to the upper middle class blacks. Changes in the community made them direct competitors. The neighborhoods blended, and Mike was top dog."
"Hard to take."
"Hutchinson seemed a changed man. I overhead him and Mike arguing a couple of times, but they were polite. I also know Hutchinson was trying to get Mike to hire his wife. She's a nice lady, but she isn't a sharp salesperson."
"Oh?"
"Not bright, in my opinion." He lowered his voice, his tone confidential. "Now that Hutchinson is out of the game, I think Mike will buy what's left of the agency."
"What about Amelia?"
"Good question. He promised we wouldn't have to work with her."
"I'd gotten the idea she planned to work for Mike, sell him the agency, give him the outstanding contracts."
"Without a broker of record, the agency isn't worth much. Every client listed with Hutchinson needs to sign a contract with us. In general, the listing contract isn't transferable to another realty. She has to hire a broker of record to complete the scheduled closings. That's my impression, but I'm not a lawyer."
We were sitting in front of the drop gate at Eagle Trace, and the guard was walking over to our car. Art waved him off and made a U-turn. When the traffic cleared, he headed south.
I was certain we were going back to the agency. "Mike's a mean SOB," I said.
"It's business."
I grimaced. "So, you take a woman when she's down—lost her husband, lost her home, kid's a problem—then you take her business, promise her a job, then fire her?"
"I never said it was nice business."
"Touché." We rode in silence.
When Art stopped across the lot from Michael Wiley
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