The Sociopath

From Home Grown: Welcome to J-Pod

It took me over 10 years to figure out I was living with a sociopath. His good looks, sweet demeanor and charm made it that much more difficult.  I remember telling a friend, “If he were a major asshole it would be a lot easier to call it quits.” As I had been urged to do by family and friends because of his other shortcomings, mostly not being able to make a living.

I was starting out in real estate and Evan’s Dad had been a Broker and Appraiser.  Evan had a rental house that had been left to him and another he was lease/purchasing and rehabbing when we met. He was good at all kinds of things remodeling-wise and, again, his charm, twinkling eyes and smile, coupled with his southern sweet-T sweetness, and my feelings for him, made me turn a blind eye to many of the red flags that came up along the way. At 39, I didn’t think I’d find “it” again.  This was my chance at a real relationship, especially since I was older now and wouldn’t make the same mistakes I had made with boy-men in my 20s.  Surely in my 40s, I’d do better.

Evan was very encouraging when I was faced with a career change and helped me get my real estate license and some sales under my belt. He had many friends in his local area of Marietta, GA and counties further north.  I was introduced to lots of blue collar guys he worked with on his house(s) and in his former work as a bodyman.  He had a go-to guy for just about everything and would work deals and trades as he could.

Wow!  I was such a prime target.  I had good credit, assets, no kids.  Now doing my research on what a Sociopath looks for, I fit the bill.  He used to say how much he admired my independence, drive and work ethic.  Hell, I’d been working since I was 16!  Building what little I had, I was proud to have some money in the bank, no debt and a really good credit score. I was a working girl.  Always had been.  Making the best out of not finishing college and had been a homeowner since my 20s.  Even before I got into real estate, I was into it and knew the importance of security, assets, not paying rent!

The prospect of flipping houses was very appealing.  Making $20k, $40k or more, even better!  I was ready to do this!  It was a chance for a new life, with a partner, someone to help build it with.  I had been single and roommates with my awesome Mom for most of my 30s.   God! Oh how I wish I never would have taken that leap of faith with Evan!  Why did he have to be so damned handsome, smooth and sexy.  I still remember after our first whirlwind dates, my mom and I sat scratching our heads and asking ourselves out loud, “What is wrong with him?” He seemed too good to be true, too perfect.

Evan was the deal maker.  Everyone trusted him. He was a good guy, had a kind face.  He was always helpful.  He loved his mother and sister.  He was kind to animals.  He didn’t seem to have many vices as I tried to make my logical list of pros and cons assessing the relationship early on…still trying to figure out what was wrong with him and what just didn’t quite add up. He didn’t drink or smoke (just wine with dinner), no drugs whatsoever, didn’t watch sports or go out with the boys, wasn’t into porn.  

We (my Mom and I) just couldn’t put our finger on it.  But we knew it was something.  I tried to be skeptical at first, the seasoned single girl who had been burned in the past.  But like I said, a deal breaker like infidelity, fighting, yelling or getting physical, just wasn’t there. So, my list weighed heavy on the pro side and we continued on.

As a team, I felt we could do well.  We leveraged my lines of credit to Home Depot and Lowe’s to the tune of $40k and were working on a foreclosure to flip. Evan expressed interest in keeping the house for us and after the sale of my house. I relocated my Mom out of state to be close to my sister and rolled up my sleeves to get this house done!  Mom was excited to have her own place for the first time in a long time, and I was excited to be starting my new life with my new relationship and new man. The future looked bright! But dark clouds loomed on the horizon.

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The bright future with Evan started to dim when the shining light of my Mom left the picture.  She was so great. Always positive and upbeat. Always my champion, cheering me on from the sidelines and there to celebrate my accomplishments.  She was proud of me becoming a realtor. She had a great aesthetic and was an artist. She was there at the beginning to help with the flip house and even helped get the loan for it.  It was to be a team effort.  But after the walls were torn out, the kitchen gutted, all the carpet removed with only the sub floor remaining, we were living in the construction zone for weeks that became months!  It was rough.  And I just couldn’t subject my 80 year old mother to it any longer. Evan’s attention deficit disorder started to rear its ugly head. 

I was working and doing well with my real estate. Moving up the ranks, making a name for myself. I’d aligned myself with a top Alpharetta broker and found my niche selling Equestrian properties and homes on acreage.  I’d go from being in Country Club of the South where celebrities like Whitney Houston, Falcon’s football Andre Risen, Justin Beiber, Bernie Marcus and others, to Grey Stone where Brave’s John Shultze’s home was currently for sale for $6 million.  That’s where our office was, in Grey Stone, in the terrace level of my broker’s home. 

My broker, Bob, was a mainstay in Alpharetta, had been for 20-30 years before I came along to work as his listing coordinator and an agent with the firm. Bob was the God Father of Alpharetta real esate…upscale homes, McMansions, high-end developments and horse farms.  Now, he is another story in and of itself! A firecracker of a man, Italian, in his tight polo shirt and starched khaki slacks, with a strut of a walk with his chest bowed out.  For a man of smaller stature, he had an undeniable presence and his low voice was strong and authoritative. 

Bob had his regime every day of getting up early, working out, showering/shaving and dressing, then at his opulent desk or pacing back and forth with talking on the phone, he was surrounded by the beautiful décor splattered with all of his accolades…real estate awards when he was with ReMax, photos with politicians, the Pope, his beyond beautiful wife and daughters, and of course his dogs…the Dobermans, Rogue I, II and III, the two Rat Terriers, and the Collie. Advertisements and magazine with him and his listings on the covers were everywhere.  Rolls of plats and surveys on the huge 12 seat conference room table/pool table.  The large rec room and opulent bar serving as our break room. 

We could take breaks out by the fabulous pool, which Bob often did.  He loved to sun bathe and stay a golden brown.  Still a handsome man, even with the comical toupe, with beads of sweat coming down the back of his neck from underneath as he sat in the lounge chair in his speedo basking.

Bob would reminisce about the days gone by, peppered by what car he had at the time…the Bentley was his favorite. He talked about the house on Dorris Road.  When his daughters were in Pony Club.  What development he was working on at the time.  His investors in Cleveland.  He liked telling me stories.  With every property he had a story… about the former owners, the new owners, what it had been before and so on.  Since a lot of the sales had been predicated by divorce, he was really in the hub of all the dirt and drama going on in Alpharetta, aka Milton, the hot northern affluent suburb of Hotlanta….now known for past infamy of residents like The Chrisleys, Bobby and Whitney and the Housewives of Atlanta.

So, I would come back to the sh*t hole, torn apart house, after showing upper end properties and presenting myself as such a together professional.  (Clothes and hair are the keys.)  Back to that dumb house in the armpit of an area called Acworth, prime with its trailer parks, lower budget communities and meth central.  Don’t get me wrong, Acworth’s not all bad, but they did film a lot of Ozark there, if that tells you anything! 

It’s got some nice suburbs, Woodstock is nearby with its better area called Towne Lake and Kennesaw College is right there.  This area where we were was just a pocket of red necks and what was left of the older, lower budget and depressed properties.

It was all new to me.  I had lived just OTP (outside the perimeter) for my whole time in Atlanta…since the 1990s.  When I then migrated north from Cobb County into Cherokee, I didn’t really know where I was.  It was country, sure, but up and coming.  All the undeveloped land was being snatched up and developed.  Golf and lake communities.  More McMansions for Atlanta athletes who wanted to be out of the city, but not too far and not up into the mountains.  It is very beautiful country.  Lush and green.  And next door if you headed Northeast was Alpharetta and Roswell, very nice areas stemming out of Sandy Springs, Dunwoody and the affluent Buckhead.

The Acworth house was a cedar contemporary in a neighborhood of the same style of homes, but mixed with cape cods and traditional homes. I thought it was “different” to say the least.  Definitely not my style.  But, Evan loved it!  Remember, this was supposed to be a flip.  He loved the house and the area was close to where he grew up in Marietta/East Cobb.  Plus the house had a pool.  Whoo hoo! 

My eyes were opened to the array of different people I met. Friends of Evan’s, people he had worked with, people from high school, new friends…he made them wherever he went and the invitation to the “cement pond” was always open.  I had reservations because the house was still in shambles inside, but we always had the excuse that it was being worked on/rehabbed.  After a year, the excuse started to wear thin.

Looking back, I remember the discussions I would have with Evan.  That I did not want all these “friends” of his coming around.  I was a more private person.  I was not used to having people over, especially in a less than ideal environment.  Maybe when the house was finished.  Sure, I’d like to have a dinner party, if the kitchen cabinets were not still sitting on the floor, the counter tops not in, no carpet and the staples still sticking up. I tried to adapt, but after I got my Mom out of there, I had to do something.

Being part of the horsey Alpharetta set, driving those beautiful roads with the white or black board fencing, green pastures rolling by and horses cantering over the hills, I wanted that.  I dreamed of having my own horse farm.  I had gotten my dream horse, a dappled grey arabian, with one of my commission checks.  I had been into horses when I was a young girl.  I was bound and determined to live my dream.  I had my dream guy, dream horse and now…

I happened on “my farm” one day after showing clients homes in Alpharetta, I followed these for sale by owner signs and came upon this beautiful horse farm, sitting back on a rise, surrounded by 100 year old oaks.  It was breathtaking.  The house, not so much…but the property was incredible.  The fencing lined the drive with a nice pasture up front.  You couldn’t even see the house because of all the foliage.  It was July.  Canopies of green leaves.  Gorgeous!

I called the number on the sign and a very nice southern gentleman said come on up and he’d be happy to show me around.  The grounds were even more beautiful behind the house and around the barn.  The barn had an apartment and screened porch on the side, overlooking the pool area and riding arena.  Established plantings were everywhere.  Magnolias, Roses, Rose of Sharon, Crepe Myrtles.  He explained that they had been here for over 30 years and it was just getting too crowded now with the Woodmont golf community development, Hawk’s Ridge and others. They had over 20 acres and his son’s home as well next door, but whoever came forward first to buy could cut the property line wherever they wanted.

He toured me down the rolling pasture to a lovely pond, explaining how he would bring his church group over for fishing and they would have a big fish fry with the catfish and bass they would catch out of the pond.  Plus ride the horses around it or on some of the trails in the beautiful woods in this back corner.  It was such a beautiful piece of property and tucked away just right around the corner from shopping at a prime location that I knew was going to be a good investment.

He skirted me around the house, which was a more rustic style rancher, but still with its own charm.  He said his wife wasn’t prepared for visitors but I could come back to see inside another time.  It looked do-able but needed some work!  Either way, regardless of the house, I was pretty much sold when I drove up the drive!  I would often tell my clients, you can change the house but you can’t change the land or location.  I used that line on myself!

This was a time when real estate values were high.  This was the bubble that was about to burst.  (But we had another year or two before that happened.)  I was doing well with my sales and working with Bob on the listings.  My heart soared at the thought of the farm and having my horses at home!  I had to get out of the Acworth house!  My credit score was (still) good and I went for it!  I signed my life away that day, but little did I know the price I would pay.

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