Mr. Clayton nodded, not bothering to hide his irritation, and before she could wonder, he said, “My attorney, Tony Collins, will be here shortly to mediate on both our behalves—to answer any legal questions you may have and act as a notary should we sign the agreements this morning.” He sighed, looking back at Arne. “For Hell’s sake, Arne, sit. You know how anxious I get when you stand behind me.”
Arne sat, leaving one empty chair for Tony Collins. She didn’t have time to wonder if he was as callous as Mr. Clayton because just then a short, round, bald man ran to the door, umbrella over his head. He shook it beneath the awning, closed it, and then opened the door, shivering inside his expensive-looking trench coat. He eyed Mr. Clayton, then Elizabeth as he closed the door. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. Though he spoke to Mr. Clayton, his eyes remained on Elizabeth. “This is quite a town you have here, Henry.”
Mr. Clayton appeared annoyed as he interlaced his hands on the table. “I’m not paying you to sightsee, Tony.” The subtle exchange between the two men’s eyes hinted at his double meaning.
Tony took the seat next to him, half-smiling. “You can’t expect me not to look. It’s taken me fifteen years to convince you I was worthy to see this town.”
“There was no convincing on your part. I needed you here.”
Tony waved it off, as though he was used to Mr. Clayton’s arrogance. He met Elizabeth’s eyes again, offering his hand. “You must be Elizabeth Ashton.”
She gave it a solid shake. “How do you do?”
“Been better, honestly. You’ve met my client.” He threw a sidelong glance at Mr. Clayton and Elizabeth smiled, even though she tried not to.
Mr. Clayton ignored them both, passing the first few pieces of paper to her. They were thick and heavy, the same expensive kind of paper Mr. Vanderzee used to use. At the top of the first paper were the words “Oregon Seller’s Property Disclosure Statement” and below it, heaps of small, black print. That print continued on the next five pages, where Mr. Clayton had checked some boxes in a checklist.
“This is the real estate disclosure statement, where I’m required by law to tell you everything I know about the condition of the house, as honestly as I know. And honestly, Ms. Ashton, there’s not much I know about it anymore.” He was right. In most sections, about the plumbing, the roof, etc., he’d marked the “unknown” box. “In most cases—and I’d support your decision to, since it’s your right as the buyer—you would hire someone to do a professional home inspection, to resolve any underlying issues that may change your mind—”
“I won’t change my mind.”
His mouth was still open, since she’d foolishly interrupted him. “I didn’t think you would.” He threw her a warning look beneath his severe brow, the condescending stare she hated. “Anyway, the home inspection, and/or appraisal, would make a difference on the asking price. However, if you agree to take it as is, sign this disclosure that verifies you are aware of the unknown condition of the home, and decide to forgo the inspection, my asking price will stay low and reasonable. You are free to make counter offers, Ms. Ashton, but the longer—”
“How much?” She’d done it again, interrupted, and she wanted to shrink.
“Twenty thousand.” Her brow lifted. She had expected he would mark it up at least twice what it was worth, and a daunting battle would ensue. But apparently Mr. Clayton was full of surprises. “Let me assure you, even for a measly five-hundred-square-foot home, that price is a steal.”
“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Clayton. For the sake of saving time, though, do you mind explaining briefly what’s in the disclosure statement—why you’re asking such a low price?”
“The last time I set foot in that house was ten years ago. Back then the pipes were fully functional and the wiring top-notch. I’m asking a low price because I simply don’t know its condition anymore, Ms. Ashton, and honestly, I don’t care enough to find out. I’m asking a low price because the shorter we can make this meeting the better. The lower the price, the more likely you are to accept, and the more—”
“That’s fine, Mr. Clayton. I accept.”
He, Arne, and Tony—who’d been quiet thus far—watched her. “Just like that?” Tony said.
“Yes.”
He looked back and forth between her and Mr. Clayton. “You…don’t want to read through it, talk more details on the agreement?”
“That would be fine, but my answer won’t change. It could need all new pipes and I’d still take it. Especially at that price.”
“And you…trust Mr. Clayton is being honest with you?”
She looked the man in the eyes, the man with a slight comb-over and pock-marked cheeks. “Do I have a reason not to?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then yes.” She found Mr. Clayton’s eyes, which appeared more attentive than they’d been in the past five minutes. “I trust you, Mr. Clayton.”
He barely nodded. “Very well. As far as earnest money—”
“There’s no need for that.” She swallowed hard at the way he narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry to interrupt again. You said you wanted this to be quick, and I don’t want to waste your time. I have the money. I’ll be paying upfront, right now.”
Tony and Mr. Clayton exchanged a look. “That’s fine,” he said. “Once the check clears—”
“That won’t be necessary either.” She opened the flap of her purse, pulling out the new envelope with the pressed money. “I will be paying in cash. And if it’s all right by you, Mr. Clayton, I’d rather not wait the five to seven days to close. If we can strike this deal, and you have the money in your hand today, I’d like to sign the Sales Agreement so I can get the title as soon as possible.”
He and Tony exchanged another look, and Mr. Clayton nodded. With a sigh of hesitation, Tony reached into his own briefcase, and Mr. Clayton looked back to Elizabeth. “I had Tony ready the Sales Agreement as well, for a case such as this. I also have the title and keys in hand.”
Elizabeth tried not to show the excitement that made her sit taller.
“Can I just…throw something out there?” Tony said, sliding the Sales Agreement—another four-page contract—to Elizabeth. “Ms. Ashton, Henry might be the one I look out for, but I’m here to answer any of your questions as well. I’ve seen situations like this end messily. To avoid the mess, I say wait it out and be patient. Have the home inspection, get an appraiser, make a proper written deal, and wait the seven days to close. That way, both your asses are covered.”
“You’re worried about the validity of the money, aren’t you, Mr. Collins?”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. With a shifting jaw, he said quietly to Mr. Clayton, as though she wouldn’t be able to hear, “Henry, it’s illegal to discriminate based on a person’s gender. Now, I know you’ve always been more than logical when making business decisions, but this is just rash.”
“You think I’m making this deal because she’s a woman?” His voice wasn’t hushed like Tony’s.
“I think you’re making the deal because she’s an attractive woman.” He looked at Elizabeth, whose eyes narrowed. “No disrespect, Ms. Ashton.”
Mr. Clayton seemed unaffected. “I’m making this deal because Ms. Ashton and I don’t see eye-to-eye, and dealing with her gives me a headache, quite frankly. I’d like to make this as short as possible. For her sake and mine. That way we can move on with our lives.”
At least they saw eye-to-eye on that.
“The money, Henry…” His voice turned hushed and secretive again, his lips tight.
Mr. Clayton looked at Elizabeth, his eyes penetrating. “Ms. Ashton?”
She had already paper-clipped her money into ten $10,000 sections, and she pulled out two of those now, placing them before Mr. Clayton.
Tony shook his head. “I don’t feel good about this, Henry. What woman carries that kind of cash?”
“It’s no one’s business but my own how I handle my money, Mr. Collins.” Mr. Clayton and Elizabeth studied each other, a strange sort of trust passing between them. It was new, and though she still didn’t respect the man much, it felt nice. In that brief moment, she felt like his equal, rather than a peasant beneath his shoe. And though her next words brought the return of her shame, at least she could speak them with honesty. “The money is legal, Mr. Clayton.”