The Craigslist rental listing was fresh, less than a day old. Gazing at the little cottage in north Georgia, I could practically see a halo around it. The area was rural but not too isolated, the streets tree-lined and hilly. At just 925 sq ft, it looked perfect for a singleton like me. The $700 deposit was also very manageable – much too low, in retrospect. But affordability was crucial for me as a self-employed writer whose income ebbs and flows.
‘I didn’t trust him. But I was curious about him’: how I made friends with my scammerRead more
You should know I was skeptical – it definitely seemed too good to be true. It was autumn 2021, well into this country’s pandemic real estate boom. Rock-bottom mortgage rates and ubiquitous remote working had unleashed a flood of new buyers at once. No matter where I looked for housing – in my personal network or with services like Smart City Locating – I just kept striking out. Eye-popping rent hikes were normal now, and landlords were cashing in.
This house’s owner appeared to be an exception, with that affordable rate. But he insisted on communicating by text only. “I don’t have time for Skype … Like I said, I’m here on a mission,” he wrote, explaining that he was preparing for a work trip and too busy for a phone call or meeting.
I know, I know. But did I mention that the house had not a single step, inside or out?
I’d been getting increasingly desperate for a place I could comfortably afford, that would accommodate my disability, and was devoid of hidden fees or shady brokers
Early in 2020, at my former warehouse job, I had a serious accident with a forklift. The resulting ankle injuries triggered an agonizing disorder called chronic regional pain syndrome, which left me using a cane and with huge limits on my earning potential and housing search. Any home had to meet my new accessibility needs, including parking near the door and absolutely no staircases.
Housing that’s both affordable and accessible is something of a mirage, with less than 5% of the housing supply fitting the bill. For the year leading up to discovering the ad, I’d occasionally peruse Craigslist ads from my parents’ house, where I’d been staying since 2017 to save money and build a writing career with low overhead. Leaving my native New York after college for my family’s new southern homestead was not how I’d pictured my mid-to-late 20s, especially not while concurrently navigating a global pandemic and a new disability.
After four years there, I was fresh out of patience. Despite my skepticism of this glowing ad and its hasty author, I’d been getting increasingly desperate for a place I could comfortably afford, that would accommodate my disability, and was devoid of hidden fees or shady brokers. I was losing hope that such a place even existed. Since the post was only hours old, I thought there was a decent chance I’d seen it first. Besides, there were no stairs! Anywhere! Hope is a hell of a drug.
My mother offered to drive so I could keep texting the landlord, and we rode to the address together.
skip past newsletter promotion
Sign up to First Thing
Free daily newsletter
Our US morning briefing breaks down the key stories of the day, telling you what’s happening and why it matters
Enter your email address Enter your email address Sign upPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
after newsletter promotion
The Ghanaian conman who fooled the elite: ‘He gave them excitement’Read more
The ruse unraveled as soon as we arrived, a shiny “For Sale” sign instantly confirming the fraud. This house was clearly for sale. But since we’d driven 45 minutes, why not peek in anyway? No one was living there, and its diminutive size meant we could see nearly all of it through the windows. The house charmed us even further with pretty hardwood floors, new appliances and west-facing french doors in the master bedroom.
But that sign could only mean one thing. We called the realtor’s number, but business hours were almost over and no one answered. Fortunately, the evening dog-walkers were out, an occurrence I later discovered to be the block’s wholesome daily ritual. Several passed by in a short span, curious and eager to chat. Because they knew the home’s true owner, the neighbors quickly corroborated our grim realization that the rental ad wasn’t authentic.
Real estate scammers often rip photos from brand-new, legitimate sales listings to make fake ads. Posing as the landlord, they try to extract a deposit before they’re discovered.
In this housing market, buyers and renters must move fast to secure a place, and predators capitalize on the need for speed
The most recent FBI Internet Crime Report counts real estate scams among the top 10 fraud types, noting a sharp uptick during the pandemic. In 2022 alone, the bureau counted more than 12,000 victims of real estate scams. That’s more than $400m in losses. It’s a boom time for fraud: according to the Consumer Affairs reporter Mark Huffman, “scammers are trying to take advantage of renters’ growing anxiety about finding an affordable place to live”. In this housing market, buyers and renters must move fast to secure a place, and these predators capitalize on the need for speed.
I wept on the ride back home, enraged by the duplicity, embarrassed by my naivety and mourning the quiet country life I’d let myself envision. I had no idea what I’d do next.
Brokenhearted by my plight, my mother had already begun racking her brain for ways to help. Suddenly, she asked me to check the listing price on Zillow.
She said, “I figured it was such a little house, it couldn’t cost that much. Then you looked up the price, and it was even less than I predicted,” given pandemic prices. Later, we realized it would be cheaper for me to buy this house, with my parents as co-borrowers. That way, I could lock in a reasonable $1,200 monthly payment instead of paying an inflated and ever-rising rent. So the whirlwind began.
Owning a home may be considered the bedrock of the “American dream”, but buying one for myself never really appealed to me. First, it seemed so labor-intensive (I really have to maintain everything myself?) and more than anything like a boring safeguard for financial health. I also figured I’d inherit my family’s home one day, so buying another seemed like a luxury to consider only if I struck it rich somehow.
While that definitely hasn’t happened, coming from a well-off family was definitely still a factor. I had parents who were willing and able to ensure my access to a mortgage and who trusted me enough to handle it. I had no student loans and owned my 10-year-old Toyota. Plus, I had a settlement from my accident that I could use for the down payment, and I managed to find the house while mortgage rates were still historically low, which together put the monthly payments within reach.
If it was still this hard for me to find somewhere to live, how is anyone else expected to? My path to home ownership has been a rocky one of obstacles and opportunity. Scams rarely conclude with happy endings. Just one wild and stressful month after I’d hoped to rent this perfect little house, I’d somehow managed to buy it.
By the time I went to report the Craigslist ad a few days later, it was already gone. I was relieved, of course, though a petty part of me wished I could have axed it myself. Looking back, I was feeling something like survivor’s guilt, and I couldn’t stop thinking of all the others in a similar situation. How many people have lost their whole savings this way? How many others are still searching for somewhere, anywhere to stay? I may have come out on top, but I’m not any smarter than those people, just luckier.
