Chapter 67: Just That Straightforward

“Sir, this house was built less than three years ago. It’s still new. If its owner wasn’t urgently in need of money…” The real estate agent smiled knowingly. “It might not even be on our sale list.”

This era is like that—everyone feels they deserve respect and attention. Behind every demand lies a huge market, so whether it’s a bank, real estate company, or other service industry, every salesperson is called a manager.

Client managers are the most common, followed by after-sales managers. Few consider what it feels like to call them or receive their calls.

But people like it. Having a manager to provide me personalized service is always something to boast about.

The house in front of Lynch is in a newly developed middle-class neighborhood, actually built only two years and ten months ago.

It has separate front and back yards; the backyard even has a modest swimming pool.

The main building is three stories above ground, one underground, covering 220 square meters—not including the yard.

Lynch had saved about 200,000 Sol. It’s hard to imagine that just last month, he was rejected by Katherine’s parents for being unemployed and broke up with his girlfriend, yet this month he made what many might never earn in a lifetime.

Fate is funny. But more so, it’s about individual ability. Not everyone can do what Lynch did—only him.

With money in hand, living above that small bar no longer suited him. He needed a house to hide certain private matters, so he chose this place.

The middle-class community was still socially active. About half the residents were newly risen middle-class families. Their greatest need was expanding social networks.

Community socializing was a prime way to make connections. They enthusiastically met everyone, always considering how others might benefit them.

Years later, that enthusiasm would fade because most neighbors had nothing to do with each other—only exchanging morning, noon, and evening greetings with no deeper interaction.

But now, everyone was active, meaning enthusiasm and responsibility. When Lynch needed help, these well-meaning, somewhat naïve people would eagerly assist and spread news to help him.

“Open the door, I want to take a look…” Lynch gripped the rounded handrail on the steps; the smooth texture was comforting. He glanced back at the agent and made his request.

Her expression shifted slightly, then she plastered on a smile and sashayed up the steps.

Summer, such weather makes everyone wish they could go without clothes—wet clothes from sweat feel terrible.

Once inside, the agent invited Lynch in. The house’s design was impressive—the previous owner must have hired a good designer.

Practical, beautiful, modern, simple yet elegant, with excellent lighting and ventilation—no musty smell typical of unused homes.

Most things were moved out, leaving an empty shell. Lynch checked every room, even the basement, and was very satisfied.

Unlike some designers who compact rooms to increase their number, this wealthy original owner gave each room ample space. Living here, one wouldn’t feel restricted or confined—something Lynch appreciated.

“How much?” Back on the first floor, Lynch asked the agent, who couldn’t hide her delight.

No one fully understood the current big city situation, but in Sabin City, economic and social problems were becoming obvious: unemployment rising, jobs harder to find.

Years ago, wealthy clients didn’t care about land or construction costs; agents made money easily.

Now it was difficult. To close deals, agents had to dine with clients, shop with them, help them relax, sometimes involving unspoken arrangements.

The industry was becoming risky, with reports of scammers using house sales to cheat money and favors. A once-envied field was turning dangerous.

Some criticized the agents’ morals, but who would sacrifice their dignity if it meant survival?

The agent discreetly adjusted her already-short skirt and tugged her clothes. “48,000 Sol, sir. It’s worth every penny.”

Her company’s bottom price was 42,000. A large part of the difference was her commission, and her asking price wasn’t high.

For non-self-built houses, design and basic renovation are extra expenses.

Spending 3,000 to 5,000 Sol on design for a 50,000-Sol house was normal. Poor people in cheap rentals might think it’s wasteful, but the middle class didn’t see it as a problem.

Spending nearly half the house price on design and renovation was becoming standard, even a mindset.

Lynch shook his head. “Too expensive. 40,000. I can pay now…” He pulled a check and pen from his pocket.

Her breathing quickened. She brushed her hair to hide a fleeting gleam and said modestly, “Sir, there are some things about this house you haven’t seen yet. Want me to show you?”

It was a clear hint. Lynch had toured inside and knew everything relevant to the house. If there was something unknown, it wasn’t about the house itself.

Unknown secrets are like black holes attracting most men’s curiosity. Lynch was not one of them.

“I won’t sleep with you. Give me a 500-Sol discount, or maybe I’ll talk to your boss directly?”

She rolled her eyes but preferred Lynch sleeping with her. “800 Sol. I need the money!”

“Deal!”

This was irregular but no one cared. Lynch saved time, since exploring secrets takes time; she preserved her dignity despite revealing the low price.

Later, Lynch signed the contract with her. The real estate company breathed easier—they were not unhappy with the sale price.

For a company holding many properties, these houses were a burden. Even below cost, they wouldn’t hold on.

Their funds came partly from bank loans, partly from social investments. With slow economic growth, funding gaps were huge. Selling quickly was smarter than waiting.

All contracts completed within half a day. Looking at the house, Lynch was extremely satisfied.