Every home inspector has a hatful of well-rehearsed war stories he’ll tell without provocation, and I’m no exception. Nasty crawl spaces, nasty dogs, nasty homeowners, after this long in the business I’ve seen ‘em all - at least I thought I had. What happened to me a few years back is the first home inspector war story I’ve heard, that actually approached warfare.
I did an inspection for a very nice client in the summer of 2002. The condo was in
Three months later I got a call from my client, Ms. Happy Homebuyer. It seems Mr. Disgruntled Homeowner began to stall and eventually refused to proceed in the transaction after finding out he could have got more money for his unit. They went to court and my client won. The owner was forced to proceed with the sale and they were scheduled to close in six weeks. During this time, she had received several threats of physical harm in writing and over voicemail from the owner. The Boston Police Dept. had already locked him up once and criminal proceedings were underway.
One of the threats he made was to damage the unit in such a way that would not be apparent until causing my client great harm several weeks after closing. The other unit owners had received similar threats, and though they were scared, they all thought he was a harmless nut. My client said she was terrified, but for reasons I still can’t begin to understand, she still wanted to buy the place. She asked me to be present for her final walk through on the morning of the closing and look for more damage that this lunatic might have done. I explained to her that this kind of thing is way beyond my field of expertise, but she persisted and since I guess I have a soft spot for Damsels in Distress, I told her I would do my best, I could provide no guarantees and it’s going to be expensive. She said money was not an issue (hadn’t it become the only issue?) and she would sleep better knowing I’d look the place over, so I agreed and we arranged a date.
I had barely got out of the driveway heading toward this forensic inspection (specifically scheduled for 9:00-11:00 am by court order) when my cell phone rings at about 8:00 am. My client tells me that a locksmith is supposed to meet us there and change the locks during our inspection. The owner has moved out all of his belongings, but had said that he intended to violate this court order and remain in the unit until the locksmith leaves. She went on to say that there is a 50/50 chance that he will make the inspection impossible and in that case, she’ll write me a check for my 2 hour minimum, and send me home. Her attorney and the seller’s attorney were going to be in the unit at 9 am sharp to try and convince this fellow to leave peacefully and comply with the court order. She then instructed me to proceed to the inspection, park my truck nearby, but out of sight of the unit and wait to be contacted. It was beginning to sound a little clandestine, so I asked her if we should synchronize our watches and give each other code names and if so, I’d like to be called Agent 86. She laughed a nervous laugh and we hung up.
I got there plenty early and parked around the corner, not quite 150 yards from the front door. By 9:30 am, I hadn’t been contacted, so I called the cell phone number she’d given me, but a guy answered. I thought I might have the wrong number, but I gave him my name and asked to speak with my client, and after a short pause, he handed the phone to her. She explained that the locksmith was a little late, but the lawyers and the listing real estate agent were there, and the owner was yelling at everyone. “By the way”, she asked, “Where are you parked?” I told her where I was and described my truck. Thirty seconds later a midnight blue Pathfinder with tinted windows swoops in behind me and a tough looking guy in a long coat leaps out of the driver side and opens the back door, letting my client and a geeky-looking fellow out. It took me by surprise, but I got out of the truck and met them on the sidewalk, where, if this doesn’t sound too dramatic, I was debriefed.
It turns out the geeky-looking guy is my client’s friend from
She told me that the court order allowing me to do this inspection expires at 11:00 am, and since I asked for 2 hours to do this inspection and we were going to get off to a late start, she didn’t want me to run out of time should the owner try to throw us out at 11 on the dot. Would I mind starting the inspection now, with the nutcase in the unit, as long as the attorneys and the listing agent were there as well? I told her I couldn’t do my best work while I was concerned about getting clobbered from behind, and she reluctantly agreed. Ten minutes later, the surveillance guy radios the bodyguard and after a short discussion he looked at me and said: “Good call on waiting for this guy to leave. The nut job just threw the listing agent down the front stairs of the brownstone, into the street, and the Boston Police are on their way.” Four cruisers containing five officers swarmed the front of the building within minutes.
The listing agent declined to pursue a criminal complaint because if the seller were arrested and sent to jail that morning, he couldn’t be there for the closing (translation: “No commission”), so the cops just told the owner to leave. While this was being sorted out, the wannabe boyfriend suggested we wait in a nearby coffee shop. The bodyguard whisked us away and we sipped our $4.00 coffees to a symphony of cell phone rings, and the obvious annoyance of everyone in the store.
Next, my client gets a call from her parents, who are en route to the scene. She tells them in a very loud and agitated voice that under no circumstances are they to go to the property. When she hangs up, she confessed to us all that her father has a permit to carry concealed weapons in his home state, but not
If that isn’t enough drama for you (keep in mind this was also Friday the 13th), read on. My client had to close on the property she was selling in order to purchase this property. That closing was scheduled for 9am this same morning (my client had signed her papers in advance). But her buyer got seriously ill and wanted to delay the closing, an otherwise reasonable request, except it would have blown the pending deal completely (not such a bad thing, as it turns out). So, my client had another attorney chasing this woman’s signatures down in
We were in the coffee shop for about an hour and a half, getting regular updates from the surveillance guy, attorneys, and other interested parties. I even called home for a reality check because I was starting to feel like I was in a scene from a movie, when my client’s cell phone rings for the umpteenth time. “No!” she shouts. “Are you kidding me?! I told you not to go there, you have to get out and meet us in the coffee shop NOW!” (expletives deleted). Mom and (vigilante) Dad were calling her from within the unit while the BPD were removing the owner from the scene. I silently thanked
Having met during the original inspection, I exchanged pleasantries with her folks and they thanked me for coming out again. They said it made them feel better to have me there, but I couldn’t say the same. After maybe 10 minutes or so, the PI doing surveillance reported that although the owner was not arrested, the cops had taken him away to cool off. The scene was deserted and secure and we could come on over, so we did. It was now nearly 11, and the closing was scheduled for 1:00. When we got there, we noticed the owner’s moving van was still parked a few doors down. That meant he would have to come back at some point, it was just a question of when.
So off I go to start my reinspection. The thing was: the place was locked and only the seller’s attorney had the keys. My client called him, and after a long and heated cell phone conversation (he said she blew her chance to do the inspection at the appointed time, regardless of the fact that the owner was there), he had the listing real estate agent come back to the scene to let us in. Still smarting from his ride down the stairs, he limped back up, opened the doors, and hobbled away. It was 11:30. By now, several frightened occupants of the building had gathered in the unit to make sure this guy was gone and gather what gossip they could. They sure seemed glad to meet my client.
After an hour and a half of looking for any signs of tampering with any of the systems, I couldn’t find a thing. The PI’s were in the unit with us the whole time, covering the front and back doors, which seemed like overkill to me until…..
Just as I was explaining to my client I had done everything I could think of and found nothing, the surveillance guy at the front door says loudly and calmly: “He’s ba-ack!” Down the street comes Mr. and Mrs. Disgruntled Homeowner, walking their teensy little dog. The wife had been a spectator all morning until now. Someone called the BPD, who showed up in record time and confronted him. They were shouting in the sidewalk as I gathered my things and readied to leave. Walking down the sidewalk towards my truck, I couldn’t help peering into the windows of his moving van, where his wife and dog were cowering in shame, when I heard footsteps right behind me, and coming faster. I was carrying a heavy toolbag on one shoulder and a 6 foot stepladder on the other, so I was an easy target. I casually turned my head to see who was coming, and don’t you know, it was him!
I honestly don’t know if he even knew that I was involved with the situation or not, because I don’t think he had ever seen me, but given my defenselessness and the level of tension throughout the morning, it was unnerving. It turns out, the cops let him go again and he was just returning to his truck, but my heart was pumping at top speed.
So, I loaded up my tools, and hopped in my truck to head home. But I waited until I was a few blocks out of sight of the whole scene before I figured I was safe. The bodyguard emailed me the next day to say that the rest of the day was uneventful. The whole entourage was at the closing, which went smoothly. The bodyguard remained involved for a little while loner, though, since now that my client owns the property, her “friend” is having security cameras installed on the front and back of the exterior and having the locks changed again, just to be safe. He went on to say that Mr. Disgruntled Homeowner is an unemployed architect with no criminal history, but has had 7 addresses in the past ten years and shows a complete disregard for the authority of the legal system. The PI’s best guess is that this guy’s life is in a downward spiral and they haven’t heard the last of him. I sure hope I have.
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