1. Astrid
one
Astrid
About Three Years Prior
I never get sick of these moments.
That certain buzz when you sense you’re gonna close a fifty-million-dollar home sale.
The anticipation of millions in commission is within reach.
It’s a feeling that never loses its appeal.
Glancing through the marketing materials of my listing, a spectacular Hunts Point estate, I marvel at what an architectural masterpiece this place is. Clean lines, expansive glass windows, perched on the edge of Lake Washington with a view that sells itself.
But, I know even the most stunning properties need the right touch. A perfect story to bring them to life. To make the house irresistible. Plus, a little diversion on the way.
That’s where I come in.
My clients will be here any moment so I take a sec to reapply my lipstick and check my outfit—a vintage ivory wool tweed Chanel suit, tailored to perfection, paired with nude Louboutins. I put a lot of thought into the clothes I wear for showings. Expensive but not flashy. My style is carefully cultivated to make high-net- worth people take me seriously without being intimidating.
The telltale sound of the front door chimes means it’s showtime. Through the floor-length glass panel of my office, I see Connor McGloughlin and his wife, Ronni enter the lobby. They’re every bit the power couple—Connor, with his long, curly hair and rockstar swagger. Superstar actress, Ronni, with her effortless Hollywood glam.
Even though I cater to wealthy clients, it still gives me a little thrill to work with famous entertainers like them. I’m not intimidated, especially not today. It just so happens Connor and I have a shared connection.
“Connor, Ronni, so nice to see you again.” I offer a warm smile as I greet them. “Let’s get going, we have five perfect locations to tick all your boxes. Security. Seclusion. Serenity.”
“Yeah, we’re keeping it simple, we need privacy and peace.” Ronni clutches Connor’s hand.
I guide them to my pride and joy, the black Bentley Bentayga EWB SUV I treated myself to earlier this year when I hit the five-million-dollar commission mark. When I sell the McGloughlins the house I have in mind, I’ll be on track to have my best year yet.
Truthfully, I should patent the process I’ve developed to show homes. First, I start with what I call my “diversion” showings— stunning properties with a few subtle flaws. A breathtaking view but the layout feels cramped. A sprawling private estate with a dated master suite. Stuff like that.
Many realtors do it this way intentionally, but I meticulously plan the specific order of showings. Deliberately build up client expectations just enough. Then, when I finally show them the house I truly have in mind, it’s like a revelation.
“ It’s perfect ,” or “ Astrid, how did you know it’s exactly what we wanted ?”
All I hear is: Cha-Ching.
It takes nearly two hours to tour the decoy homes. When I’m spending a large chunk of time with clients, years of practice has taught me how to engage. I painstakingly research everyone’s background from news articles to social media posts. This way, my banter is never too personal or controversial. Rather than yammer on about their wealth or fame, my goal is to make them feel comfortable.
Reading body language is another super power. It always has been. I can generally tell how someone feels by watching them.
It’s helped me adapt my own interactions. Instinctively I know when to lean in with interest and when to pull back or even disappear. Don’t ever rush and don’t overstay your welcome. Chitchat is fine but don’t make it about you. It’s almost like a game. Watching people’s eyes light up as they let their guard down like I’m a trusted friend.
Anyway, the day is going as planned. The four diversionary houses have been viewed and rejected. We’re now on our way to the property I’m sure will be Connor and Ronni’s new home.
“Hunts Point is a tiny municipality, and extraordinarily private. It’s like living in an urban forest, yet every house has waterfront access to Lake Washington.” I turn down the two-lane winding road into the quaint neighborhood, passing mansion after mansion. “It’s arguably the most exclusive location in the Pacific Northwest. After we see the house, I’ll drive you through the commercial area. Lots of cafes and little shops. You’re also near a beautiful nature preserve. Many local celebrities call it home.”
Ronni’s face is practically pressed to the window. “What are the schools here like?”
“The best in the state. Whether you want your kids to go to public or private, one of my services is to help jump you to the top of the waiting list. If this place suits you, I’ll send some materials for the two of you to look over later tonight.” I turn down the long, paved driveway.
Connor looks up at the thirty-foot-high trees surrounding us. I hear him whisper to Ronni, “This neighborhood is class .”
Yep. It is.
At the end of the drive is a clearing where a sprawling, modern prairie-style home takes center stage. It sits on two acres and the juxtaposition is incredible. The road to the house feels like you’re in the middle of the wilderness but as we emerge, everything opens up. Full waterfront access lined with manicured lawns and sleek stone walkways.
We get out and I lead them up the intricate chevron-patterned driveway and glance over at Connor, who used to run his family’s construction company before he was a rockstar. Sure enough, he’s impressed.
“ Jaysus , this is something else.” Connor runs his hands along the heavy steel panels embedded into the old-growth wood front door. It’s twice as tall as he is, and he’s a giant . “I’ve never seen workmanship so beautiful.”
“Everything you’ll see is custom. From the finishes to the paint. There’s nothing in this house you could buy off the shelf.” I unlock the door and step aside so they can get the whole effect.
The second Ronni crosses the threshold, I know it’s a done deal. “Astrid, this place is incredible,” she gushes, her eyes wide with excitement. “I can’t wait to see the rest.”
“Let’s do it.” I launch into my practiced spiel, guiding them through the house.
It takes about an hour to show the entire place and point out all the incredible features. The foyer leads into a sun-drenched living area, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a front-row view of the lake. I make sure to emphasize the modern, open-concept design, the custom stone fireplace and the chef’s kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances.
Connor stays a few steps behind me, he scans the space with a critical eye. I’m unbothered, though. I expected a high-level scrutiny from a prior professional.
Ronni, on the other hand, wears her emotions on her sleeve. Her delight is infectious and I find myself unexpectedly warming to her. She’s down-to-earth in a surprising way, given her uber-celebrity status.
It’s easy to see how she and Connor make such a terrific pair. Her sweetness balances his intensity. They move in synchronicity and you can tell they’re deeply in love.
They’re #relationshipgoals for sure.
“Astrid, tell me this. Will the owners sell the furniture and art with the property?” We’re at the end of the tour and Connor glances around the impressive “whiskey” room, which is more like an old-time gentleman’s lounge.
I pretend to type a text into my phone. “Let me check. Do you have any other questions for them about this property?”
Connor and Ronni give each other “the look” and he takes her hand. “Nah. Astrid, love. I think this might be the place for us.”
“Spectacular.” I finish my pretend text without looking at him.
“As we mentioned, we’re all-cash buyers,” Ronni jumps in nervously.
Now’s the time to secure the sale. Operation “make it seem unattainable.”
“There’s one thing to discuss. As you may have heard from Jason Deveraux, I pride myself on my ability to be discreet.” I lean forward on my elbows and deliberately make eye contact with both of them as I name-drop Seattle’s biggest tech billionaire, who happens to be the father of Connor’s bandmate—and the man who referred them to me.
Ronni leans back in her chair. So does Connor.
He glances between us. “Go on.”
“How do you intend on purchasing this property?” I look directly at Ronni, who’s been in the news quite a bit lately.
Ronni, clearly uncomfortable, tucks her hair behind her ears. “Why do you ask?”
“Privacy. The residents in Hunts Point are scandal-averse.” Occasionally I look at Connor, but I know Ronni’s the most vulnerable on this subject. “You’re both well-known in your own professions and have rabid fan bases. The residents here shy away from, well, controversy. If you were to look up property records, most of the homeowners here hold their property in an undetectable LLC or a family trust. If you haven’t set up one yet, we likely won’t get through the Homeowners Association approval before this place sells.”
Of course, I already know they have a property trust set up, but my purpose for bringing it up was to make sure they realize their neighbors share their dedication to privacy. This little tidbit is going to seal the sale.
Visibly, Ronni relaxes. “We do, and it’s a relief to hear our potential neighbors feel the same way. We want to raise our kids in a quiet, secure location.”
“Aye.” Connor nods. “This place is perfect. I’m excited for us to have a water view again. It helps us escape from the madness of our lives.”
I can’t contain my smile and pretend to glance at my phone. “Oh, cool! I heard back from the owners. They’re willing to sell the furniture. Should we write up an offer?”
Half hour later, over lunch at John Howie Steak, we celebrate the sale. As we finish up, I decide to broach a topic which might cross a “discreet” boundary I religiously live by.
“Would you mind if I asked you a somewhat personal question, Connor?” I pull out my black AMEX to pay the bill.
His eyebrows raise. “Uh, I’m not making any statements about the status of my band.”
Shit. I totally forgot Connor’s in the middle of some band drama. Rookie fucking mistake.
“No, no. Of course not, I’m sorry.” I wave my hand in the air to try to erase what I said. “I’d never ask you about…” I stumble over my words. “Uh, this is completely on a different topic. I was actually wondering about your brother Brennan.”
Connor squints at me. “May I ask how you know my brother?”
“I went to high school with him.” I feel my cheeks redden as I try to regain my professional composure. “I have something of his I’d like to return. How about this. If I give you my card will you pass it on to him? Let him decide?”
He leans back and crosses his arms. “Surely you have alternative ways of getting ahold of him?”
Goddammit. I’m losing all semblance of credibility. I’ve got to abort the mission.
“Forget I said anything. It’s stupid. Of course I can figure it out…” I tuck my business card back in my purse.
“It’s fine.” Ronni grips my wrist lightly. “Give it to me, we’ll get it to Brennan.” She tilts her head at Connor. “It’s not like she couldn’t have asked Jason.”
Connor’s toothy smile creeps over his face. “Ah, you’ve piqued my interest, Miss Astrid. I was feckin’ with you and all your ‘pride yourself on being discreet’ shite. Of course we’ll put you in touch. Hopefully he’ll tear himself away from his computer to respond, but no promises.”
“Brennan’s such a genius, but he’s so focused on his company, he doesn’t make time for a social life.” Ronni winks at me.
Connor chuckles, shaking his head. “Brennan’s single by choice. Don’t get any bright ideas, wife.”
I keep my expression neutral, but inside, I’m piecing together the picture of the Brennan I vaguely remember with the guy they describe. It makes sense. He was always on the periphery, observing but never quite participating. And now, he’s channeled his focus into building a company into one of the biggest brands in the world.
What catches my attention, though, is Ronni’s comment about him not dating much. Considering how successful he’s become, it’s oddly reassuring to consider he hasn’t gone to the dark side. Many of my tech clients are the opposite. Self-important know-it-alls with a chip on their shoulder. I’ve seen some treat women like accessories, or worse.
I’m not interested in romance with Brennan though, so I need to shut the idea down. “I appreciate you putting me back in touch. I promise I’m not trying to date him.”
We make our way back to the office and finalize the closing items. Once they’re on their way, I stare out of my office window at Mt. Rainier and think back to high school.
I envied families like the McGloughlins and how close they were. Six brothers who had each other’s backs through thick and thin. They went through tough times together. Though I didn’t tell him this, Connor was somewhat of a hero in our school, and not because he’s a rockstar. My research confirmed my recollection. After his father’s accident, he sacrificed a football scholarship and his own college degree to make sure his brothers could finish their own schooling.
Talk about selfless. He’s a fucking legend.
My family is the complete opposite, with parents who worked themselves to the bone and scraped by to make ends meet. Me and my two older sisters were mostly unsupervised, and while I was the responsible one, they ran wild. Nora’s been in and out of rehab at least four times. Lark doesn’t feel compelled to hold down a job, but has three kids with three different men.
I broke the poverty cycle, thank God. The one daughter who made something of herself. But my success has come with a price. I’m essentially estranged from all of them because they resent me. Though guilt gnaws at me, especially when I send money to help out, being around them isn’t conducive for my mental health. So I stay away.
On my way home, my phone pings. I glance down and see it’s from Connor—texting Brennan’s number.
My stomach flutters nervously at the thought of contacting him for some strange reason. I’m not even sure we spoke to each other in high school, as far as I can remember. It’s entirely possible he’ll have no idea who I am.
It doesn’t matter. This is something I have to do.
I owe it to him.
It’s time to right a wrong.