This afternoon I completed the most depressing, disheartening listing appointments of my career. It wasn’t the first time I met with a seller facing foreclosure but it was the first time when I felt there was nearly no chance of getting a sale in time.
I did everything I could to let the owner know we’re taking a shot in the dark … with a trustee sale looming in just over three weeks, the odds of me finding a buyer at a price that will allow her to pocket something are almost nil.
But it might happen. And how could I tell her that I wouldn’t take the listing? How could I say that while that there’s no hope of a minor miracle, even if that’s almost certainly true?
This wasn’t a victim of greed or of poor timing or of biting off more than she was able to chew. It was a good person who got herself into a bad situation that extends well beyond her home’s four walls.
How I can help her get out of the situation I don’t know. But I couldn’t say I wasn’t going to try. I just couldn’t.
