Meeting

PROLOGUE The Shaman sat cross-legged at the bottom of the gorge. The Aztec stood 1,200 feet above the Shaman, unseen by the Shaman, watching. The Aztec could feel the air moving gently from the heat of the desert to the south, up the gorge, traveling the face of the cliff over his body. It was the end of the longest day of the year by the Aztec’s calendar. As the sun began to touch the western horizon, he watched the Shaman at the bottom of the gorge stand; extend his arms east to west. He watched the small rocks around the Shaman rise from the floor of the gorge, circling the Shaman. The Shaman brightened as the sun continued its western drop. The Aztec heard a rumbling begin at the mouth of the gorge - solidify to a thunder as it moved closer. The rocks swirling around the Shaman became pieces of light, adding to the Shaman’s illumination of the gorge’s walls. As the sun dropped further into the horizon, the light sped faster and faster around the Shaman, revealing the drawings on his body as they began to dance. The thunder became louder; the Shaman’s light became brighter, circling faster, faster. The drawings on the Shaman’s body lifted into the forming vortex; spinning around him in the tunnel of air and light. The movement of the air increased, swirling up the granite face of the gorge over the bracing Aztec. The roaring became visible to the Aztec as it engulfed the Shaman. In a moment of crashing thunder; in a flash of blinding light; all was still. The Aztec watching from the top of the gorge expected to see the Shaman dead; crushed against the granite wall of the gorge. The Shaman stood as he had, uninjured; undisturbed; his eyes closed, his arms extended. Amazing, the Aztec thought. The Shaman had swallowed the power. The Aztec smiled, raised himself up and stepped off the cliff, settling quietly in front of the Shaman. He stared at the Shaman, his arms still stretched east to west, eyes closed, perfectly still. The pictures had returned to the Shaman’s skin. This power the Aztec had not seen, even among his own kind. This power he must have. He took the Shaman. Left him dead at the bottom of the gorge. Chapter 1 Something was different, changed. I felt it when I woke. Not good…not bad…just different. The feeling had been with me all day. It was with me as I stood in the cold on the sidewalk in front of my office. My office is in one of the oldest buildings in a City of about 35,000. Newport was founded in the early 1600s; a building being old means something in Newport. Our address is on one of the most desirable Avenues in the northeast. The Avenue at our end has two narrow lanes. Parking is allowed on one side until it crosses south to the ‘mansions’. Not McMansions. Mansions built in the 1800’s and early 1900’s as summer ‘cottages’ by names like Vanderbilt, Astor and Belmont. Our end, the north end of the Avenue, northeast side, still has the rough marble double steps to its buildings. A remaining practicality from the unpaved, mud, cobblestone, horse and buggy days. The only parking for our office or any of the businesses on our block is the parallel parking directly on the Avenue or down one of the narrow residential side streets. We were always negotiating for a couple of the parking spaces behind the building that belong to the residential condos above us. The price was holding things up. The price always does. The location of my office was intentional. A bit of a requirement for me to actually put the business in a serious storefront. The location had been my dream from the beginning – more than 5 years ago. Our business is real estate. Technically all aspects - or so it says on the incorporation papers. But all of us prefer small commercial and large residential sales. I try to work with buyers exclusively. They are my Clients. It is what I do best. The other Brokers in our office go where they choose. We have been called a boutique office. Intended as a negative, under the breath comment. I find the label a complement. We are independent and small. That is also intentional. Keep it small, tight, split commissions fairly. My Brokers get to keep eighty-five percent of their commissions when they Close, sell. The business gets fifteen percent. There are exceptions. I have six Brokers including myself and our Administrator. She carries a Broker’s License but spends her time keeping us alive. A real estate business without an administrator is like an army without logistics - pure chaos. Someone needs to manage all the paper; there is a ton of paper. Someone also needs to know who is doing what to whom. My original business plan, mostly in my head when this started, based the business on a few large transactions a year to cover overhead and as many smaller transactions as came together. I do not put my Brokers in a do-or-die situation. The business standard for most agencies: sell a million a year or you’re out. That type of pressure takes the fun out of the business. If you can’t enjoy your work you shouldn’t be doing it. If the business runs short, I supplement. The Plan seems to be working. My Brokers are as happy as brokers ever get. A good year is very welcome. A normal year is always welcome. A slow year is, well, a slow year. I’ve had them all and been in the business long enough to know they always come and then always go. Most people don’t understand that real estate as a career requires a personality with a kink. Most successful agents play outside the corporate box to be happy. It’s a mentality. Most of us have done our time inside and it drove us nuts. So we left. Frankly, I would rather be unemployed than return. Yeah, the corporate world is a steady paycheck. What it costs a good agent in sanity isn’t worth it. At least it wasn’t for me and apparently it wasn’t for the people in my office. I refer to the agents in my office as Brokers because they are. Each agent has a Broker’s License. No Salespersons allowed. The implication of a Broker’s License is independence; self-motivation. A broker can walk the agency with license in hand if they choose. Salespersons must always work under a ‘Principal Broker’. To even begin the process for a Broker’s License the salesman must have held a Salesman’s License for a year; take additional classes, additional exams, purchase more extensive, more expensive Errors and Omission’s Insurance. I rarely look at a name on a request to join us if the Broker’s License is not confirmed. If I do, it’s a courtesy. I don’t care if the salesperson has a twenty-year record of consistent multimillion-dollar sales. Infact, I wonder who really earned the money. Odds were that someone in their office held their hand repeatedly. Would I be interested in the hand holder? No way. They weren’t savvy enough to figure out the implications. The business isn’t on their resume. That’s the other thing I look for; savvy in the business. Savvy doesn’t always show up in resume dollars so I have to talk to them. Not my favorite thing. I would rather be talking to a Client, my Buyer.