Selling Murder House

Chapter 4 (Continued)

As I'd suspected, Winnie had broken his leg when he'd fallen into the storm strain. It would cost me somewhere between two and three thousand dollars to fix, which was two to three thousand dollars more than I had to my name.

Little did I know, that moment at the auto repair shop had been my first step across a major moral and ethical line. Once that line was crossed, it was broken, and there was no going back. Taking out that sleek black card and handing it to the mechanic, like it was no big deal . . . it had broken an incredibly important boundary I hadn't even known was there. That first time, with the mechanic, just made the next time that much easier. That next time, all the groundwork had been laid, all the hassle of justification was already there. All I had to do was open my wallet, and hand the vet the card.

It was that simple. The mental gymnastics had already been completed, with pointed toes and a perfect landing, and all I'd had to do was hand over the card. It was a problem for another day.

In the days that followed, I locked myself in my apartment and sulked. I left the house only to put in the bare-minimum at work and to carry Winnie down to the courtyard for bathroom breaks, and even then I was watchful, checking my back and jumping at any sudden sound or movement. Otherwise, I was vegging out on the couch, staring at the TV, practically catatonic. To an outside observer, it might've looked like I was the one with the broken leg.

In the end, I decided to take the real estate exam. I'd like to think it was some act of bravery that did it, that I was sick and tired of being afraid, feeling vulnerable, like this was my way of taking back my life. If I'm honest, though, it was the corporate credit card that did it. That, and all the House Hunters I binged during my cataonic days.

I now owed the Larson Group more than I'd make in my next two paychecks combined, and I still had rent to pay, groceries to buy. So, yeah, turns out money could motivate me, combined with the right amount of fear. Surprise, surprise.

The week of Halloween, I got the email that I'd passed. I forwarded the news to Leo and Lilian, and received an immediate response that made my stomach drop.

From: Lilian @ TheLarsonGroup.com

To: Mary @ TheLarsonGroup.com

Subject Line: Automatic Response: Out of Office

Hello! I will be out on leave and will return at the start of the new year. For immediate concerns, please contact Leo Larson at Leo @ TheLarsonGroup.com.

See you next year. ;-)

Lilian

My throat felt like it wanted to close. The thought of reporting to the office as a new agent without Lilian to back me up was practically unthinkable. Leo had made it clear he didn't want me around, at least . . . not in a professional setting. Lilian was my ally, my mentor, and I'd taken it for granted that she'd be there to guide me, to hold my hand a little as I learned the ropes of the trade. Another dreadful thought followed the initial panic: why hadn't Lilian told me she was going on vacation? Extended leaves of absence were pretty regular at the Group -- the money and the flexibility combined was what made real estate such a sought-after field -- but Lilian had never left like this without giving me a fair warning. It was a standard procedure, but it was also because she knew how much I relied on her.

My stomach twisted. Had word gotten to Lilian about what happened that night with Leo? Had Stassi told Lilian her version of events, the version of events that would certainly paint me in the worst light? My mind tortured me with the thought of what she must think of me now, a desperate tramp who got too drunk at a work event, tried to hook up with her brother, and left in tears. Pathetic. It would sound to her like I'd been the one pursuing Leo, had been pining after him for a long time, had been devastated when he'd politely denied me. These thoughts rushed through my head, and they all led to one burning question: