I watched my father throw my clothes, my books, and the last photo of my mother into the fire like my life meant nothing. Then he looked at me and said, “This is what happens when you disobey me.” I said nothing. Six years later, I called him and whispered, “Check your mailbox.”

People trusted me because I showed up when I said I would, finished what I started without leaving corners unfinished that I hoped nobody would notice, and treated the men who worked for me as people worth talking to rather than problems to be managed. A retired couple in Bexley hired me to rebuild their back porch after finding me through a county contractor directory, and they recommended me to their realtor when the job was done. The realtor’s name was Sandra, and she introduced me to a real estate investor named Paul who had a portfolio of distressed properties he couldn’t place with any of the contractors he usually worked with.

Water damage. Bad wiring. Structural problems — a collapsing porch, a failed foundation corner, joists that had been compromised by moisture and needed to be sistered before anyone put weight on the floor above. Code violations that had accumulated over years of neglected maintenance. Tax liens. Problem titles. The inventory of things that made a property difficult to sell and easy to bid on at a steep discount if you knew what you were actually looking at.