Chapter 20

Mariah

 

“I promise you, this is the best possible deal for everyone. The family’s made an exceptional offer.”

I’m sitting at my desk, facing the Sanchez family: Robert and his wife Marie. They don’t look half as excited as I’m trying to make them, but that’s okay. There’s still time.

“Tell me about them again,” Mr. Sanchez asks.

“Of course.” I flip the file open, but Mrs. Sanchez cuts me off, to talk to her husband.

“Mi amor, we know who they are. We’ve read over their application ourselves a dozen times.” Mr. Sanchez gruffly nods, but still doesn’t look pleased.

“Listen. I understand how tough this is,” I tell them. “Selling a house is never easy - ”

“I do not think you do understand.” Mr. Sanchez leans forward in his chair, his expression more pained than angry. “This home has been my family’s since the time of my great grandfather. He built it with his own hands. Letting it go…”

Marie rests her hand on her husband’s arm. “Letting it go is what’s best for all of us, mi amor. It’s time to move forward.”

Robert doesn’t look convinced. Even from just the few minutes I’ve spoken with him on the phone and the time spent with him here and now in the office, it’s hard not to feel his pain. It’s new for me.

Houses have always been just that for me: houses. The lives and times of the people who live in them, move out of them, and move into new ones were never any real business of mine. When I was younger, I’d see my dad escort the buyers and sellers in and out of his offices, occasionally hearing bits and pieces of their conversations… but it had never really struck me directly until this moment how difficult it might be for someone to sell the house they grew up in, to let go of that control and still feel whole.

“You’re right, Mr. Sanchez. I don’t fully understand what you’re going through. But I can say for sure that I understand a small part of it.” The words start pouring out before I’m even fully sure I want to share them. “Letting go is hard. And I know it must sound silly, coming from me, but I really do know how hard it is, especially when it comes to family. My father… he had a goal for me.”

The Sanchezes are both listening now. No going back, I guess. “He wanted certain things, and if I’d given them to him, I would have had a comfortable life sitting in front of me. Comfortable, but constrained. Instead of sticking with what was comfortable, what would have been easy, I chose to move forward. I left a lot of valuable things behind, but if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair right now, and I wouldn’t be able to help you. Or myself. I’d be stuck in the past, and I would have ended up resenting the whole package. Not just the bad things, but the good ones, too.”

Robert and Marie share a look. My stomach is clenching, both from the shock of spilling my own guts to them, and with the fear that doing so won’t actually mean anything after all. But then, Robert turns from his wife and smiles at me.

“You may be young… but you are not wrong. I have my memories, and now it is time to allow a new family to begin making theirs. I will sign the papers.”

I have to choke back a cry of joy. Marie smiles at me, squeezing her husband’s hand. “Thank you,” she mouths. I smile and nod back.

The actual signing, and the rest of the day that comes after it, is a blur. The Sanchezes sign off on the sale papers, I send a copy to the new owners and their agent for review, and then, with no idea what to do with myself until I get a response, I spend the afternoon furiously tidying my tiny office. Boxes move from one corner to another, files get reorganized, and I even hang a few pieces of stock art that I find gathering dust in a corner.

Then comes the chime from my laptop: New Mail. A quick click, and…

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I’m practically shrieking, but I don’t care. The sale is locked in and finalized. I made my first sale!

“I did it!” I’m bouncing with excitement, and I shimmy like a dancer, celebrating, spinning around -

“Oh! Mr. Jacobs, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

And he is there, staring at me with something approaching disgust on his face. “The last time I checked, we don’t pay Junior Agents for their dancing abilities.”

“I’m sorry.” I have to bite back my anger and embarrassment. “I was just excited.”

“Excited about what, exactly?” He’s in my office now, arms folded, still unimpressed.

“Ah… the Sanchez account.” I extend the file towards him. “I closed the deal a few hours ago, and the sale is set to go through.”

This, at least, gets me a surprised look. “You closed the Sanchez account?”

“I did.”

“The one I handed you yesterday? That account has been in flux for months now, and you’re telling me you closed it in less than forty-eight hours?”

“Yes. I had them in for a meeting this morning, and we were able to sort out the last few issues getting in the way of closing the sale. Maybe it just needed a fresh set of eyes after all this time.”

“Maybe it did.” Jacobs takes the file from me, and only then does a thin smile cross his face. “This’ll be a great win for me. Thanks.”

“Wait a second. Win for you? The sale was mine - ” The euphoria is draining out of me at his words. He’s going to take this and pass it off as his own. Motherfucker.

I know I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s how things work. Shit flows downhill, and praise and accomplishments flow uphill. But, still. It’s quite a blow.

“-And you work for me. Did no one bother to tell you? That means anything good you do belongs to me, and any fuckups land right back on your desk, Junior Agent.”

By now I’m smoldering – the nerve of him to actually spell out to me what I already know, as if he’s gloating about it – and it takes most of my energy to keep myself from screaming in this asshole’s face. But I hold it together, keeping my voice low.

“The sale is mine. I deserve the credit for it.”

“Then you should’ve taken it in the first place, sweetheart.” Jacobs brandishes the file. “Because now I’ve got it, and your time’s up. Go back to work.”

I’m trying to decide if I should do exactly that, or just punch Jacobs in the throat, when we both hear another voice. “Sounds like something exciting is going on over here!”

It’s Mr. Drive, dressed in a sharp suit, with an inquisitive look on his face. Shit. My chance to really earn some cred, and now it’s well and truly blown. I can’t say a word in front of him without seeming like a juvenile tattletale begging for attention.

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Mr. Drive’s handsome eyes sparkle, and even as angry as I am, I still have to fight to keep from getting distracted by them.

“Sure, boss.” Jacob’s tone is cool and collected, completely vacant of the dark and threatening threads that he’d just directed at me. “It’s just that the Sanchez papers came through. The sale is final.”

“The Sanchez account? Really? You’ve been trying to close that account for months now. I was surprised to see them in the building earlier today, let alone to hear that progress has been made. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir. They were wonderful clients to work with. And Mariah was sure a big help organizing their files for me.”

“I’m sure. Now, Jacobs, if you don’t mind, I actually need a word with Mariah here.”

I can tell Jacobs doesn’t want to, but he nods and gracefully exits.

“May I come in, Mariah?” Mr. Drive waits patiently in my doorway.

“Of course, Mr. Drive,” I hear myself saying, “What can I do for you?”

He steps in, a smile warming his face. “Just checking to see how you’re settling in here at the company. I know it’s only been a few days, but I hope they’ve been good ones.”

“Of course.” I return his smile.

Now’s your chance. Spill. Tell him that Jacobs snaked that sale credit right out from under you.

I really do want to…but the feeling that it’d just be a fruitless exercise in tattling doesn’t go away. Something in my gut tells me, take the hit. Lose the battle, win the war later. These are all my dad’s words, seeping into my brain.

“And Jacobs is treating you well?” Mr. Drive asks.

“Well enough.” I can’t keep eye contact with Mr. Drive when I give voice to that particular lie. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good. As he should be. Did you have a chance to interface with the Sanchezes before their sale closed?”

Here, at least, I can tell the truth, or part of it. “I did! They were really wonderful. Kind and easy to work with.”

“Good to hear.” He moves as if to leave, then pauses. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“A client is only as good as their agent, Mariah. You should be proud.”

Wait, does he…? He knows! How does he know?!

As it turns out, that doesn’t matter, because the next thing out of his mouth is, “In fact, we should celebrate. Let’s have drinks tonight after we’re done for the day. What do you say?”

Now that, I wasn’t expecting. Making a sale is one thing, but being invited out for drinks one-on-one with the head of the company on the same day? It feels almost too good to be true. And when something seems too good to be true - it only makes sense to take advantage of it, just in case it’s real.