The Problem With Fake Buyers

“Hello Mister,” the email began. “I would like to look at this property and also other similar properties with a pool, a garage, and a bathroom in the Upper East Side, SoHo or Long Island.”

This was an inquiry on a $700,000 studio in Greenwich Village. The email address was mrspookieduck@hotmail.com.

I did not need to ask for proof of funds.

Fake buyers are part of the ecosystem of New York City real estate. Every broker has stories. The challenge is that unlike most professions, you can’t simply ignore inquiries that seem suspicious. Fair housing laws, brokerage policies, and basic professionalism require that every inquiry be treated seriously — even when every instinct in your body is screaming otherwise.

So I’ve established a few rules for myself over the years: Have a real conversation before anyone steps foot in a property. Verify with proof of funds. Communicate consistently with sellers and listing agents. Respond to every message. Treat everyone with kindness and respect. Give people the benefit of the doubt.

But never at the expense of my client, their property, or the integrity of a deal. If it walks like a duck, talks like a duck and emails like mrspookieduck, it’s probably a duck.

And, every so often — rarely, but just often enough to keep anyone with an anxious attachment style like me hooked — a cold lead becomes a whale. An entry-level budget triples. A renter becomes a buyer. One random inquiry leads to 10 referrals.

I once worked with a buyer for eight months during COVID. We never met in person. It was long phone calls and Zooms, virtual tours and endless time reviewing floor plans together. His criteria kept changing. Two bedrooms. No, four. Maybe a terrace. “What about Brooklyn? I hear that’s an up-and-coming neighborhood.”

His name was something vaguely European, something along the lines of Loro Divine. He even provided proof of funds. On paper, everything checked out. Still, I never fully trusted it.

This went on for longer than I care to admit. Eventually, he wanted to see things in person, so I suggested we meet for coffee first and tour a few neighborhoods before seeing any properties.

We’d set a date. And every single time, the morning of, he would cancel. A life-threatening illness. An immobilizing injury. A full soap-opera family emergency. The excuses became more elaborate each time.

By that point, I had invested so much time that walking away felt almost worse than continuing. It was COVID, the market had slowed to a crawl, and if nothing else, it was keeping me busy. There was always the fear he’d suddenly become real for someone else at the finish line.

But I knew this was going nowhere, so I pulled back. Eventually, I stopped responding, which only seemed to excite him. Every six months or so, he still pops up. It’s one of the most consistent relationships in my life.

Which is why you can never be completely certain.The problem with fake buyers is that sometimes they’re real. Which brings me to a fake buyer who turned out to be a very recognizable public figure. (All details have been changed for anonymity.)

It began exactly like the others — outrageous criteria, odd availability, inconsistent communication. The name on the inquiry was Joe Smith.

Normally, that would’ve been the end of it, but something in my gut told me this one was different. The property helped. A gorgeous Tribeca penthouse with 12-foot ceilings and interiors by an Architectural Digest-featured architect. And the questions were smart. Specific. He asked five different ways about security and privacy. I proceeded with caution.

After my last heartbreak with Ms. Loro Divine, my spirits were low. Then my phone rang just after midnight on a Monday night. A 310 area code. I recognized the voice instantly but couldn’t place it.

Joe wasn’t a he. Joe was a she. Warm, intelligent, measured. No personal details shared. Just thoughtful questions about the market, the process and the properties. I knew I knew that voice…

Then came the nondisclosure agreement (NDA), which was pages long. And the name on it took my breath away. We toured four apartments the next day. They say never meet your idols, but I’m happy to report there are exceptions to the rule.

Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask the question that had been nagging me since we first spoke. How did you get my information?

“I was referred by David,” she said. Just David.

David who, exactly, I still have no idea. I searched my texts, emails, Instagram followers. Nothing. Too many Davids (or too few). I couldn’t trace it. And, given the nature of the client, I couldn’t exactly start calling every David I knew. So I stayed quiet, hoping David would reveal himself. He never did.

To this day, I do not know who David is. I like to think of him as an anonymous benefactor, or perhaps just someone who casually mentioned my name without realizing what it would lead to.

Either way, if you are out there, thank you. (Your name is not David, obviously. I take NDAs very seriously.) That “fake” buyer is now a very real, very loyal client.

The frustrating thing about fake buyers is that there is no formula. The person who wastes eight months of your life often looks remarkably similar to the person who buys a $15 million penthouse. 

And it reinforces a frustrating but important lesson in New York real estate: Sometimes, you never know. You chase the leads. You do the work. Treat people with kindness and respect. But you always trust your gut. There are ways to protect your license, your sanity, and, most importantly, your clients, while still staying open to possibility.

You never really know who’s on the other end. It can be a soul-sucking, heart-wrenching game of chicken. But, then again, so is living in this city.

Mike Fabbri is a residential real estate agent and founder of the Mike Fabbri Team at The Agency.