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who is a step ahead of them, unlocking the home’s front door.
    â€œTwelve-nine. And I’ll tell you something funny about the real estate market. Nobody prices their home at thirteen million. Just like the way hotels skip the thirteenth floor. Triskaidekaphobia, it’s called. So, if you’re unfortunate enough that the comps indicate that your house won’t fetch fourteen, you have no choice but to price it at twelve-nine. What that means for you is that it’s a real investment opportunity. If the market goes up two percent next year, it can be listed at fourteen million, and so it’s an easy way to flip it and make a cool million for yourself.”
    Jonathan is tempted to correct Harrison’s math, but instead he smiles as if he fully understands. What Jonathan hears loud and clear, however, is that Harrison is conjuring the same type of smoke and mirrors that Jonathan pushes on his clients.
    â€œThis place was built five years ago by Bachman Architects,” Harrison says as they enter the large foyer, which has black-and-white marble square flooring that seems to go on for a hundred feet. “Kat Bachman is the gold standard for modern houses on the East End. He’s done about five or so out here, and now he’s involved in much bigger projects, which is only going to increase the value of his homes. It’s still top secret, so don’t tell anyone, but he’s going to do the new building for the New York City Ballet, and when that happens? The sky’s the limit.”
    Inside, the place is absolutely beautiful, but in a minimalist way. The color scheme is neutral, with virtually all-white furniture.
    â€œIt’s being sold furnished,” Harrison says, “but I tell you, it would go for exactly the same price unfurnished. They just don’t want the hassle of having to empty it out.”
    Harrison leads them toward the back of the house, where the Long Island Sound comes into view. “We’ll look through the whole house in a minute—and I know you’re going to love it,” he says. “Five bedrooms, four fireplaces, you know, all the bells and whistles. But Natasha told me it was very important that you wanted a view, so I thought it made sense to start out back.”
    It’s ten degrees colder on this side of the house, with the wind whipping up from the water. A sandy beach about ten yards wide runs the length of the property, beyond which gray-green water stretches as far as the eye can see.
    â€œThat the Sound?” Jonathan asks, although he knows it is. He’s asked the question simply to register out loud that it’s not the Atlantic Ocean proper.
    â€œThat’s right,” Harrison answers. “And it’s the best piece of property on the Sound because, as you can see, the view goes on forever. With some properties, you can see the North Fork on the other side. It’s a matter of preference, of course, but Natasha told me that you expressed a desire to be on the ocean, and so I thought that this would be appealing because it captures that same sense of infiniteness.”
    â€œOr we could get something, you know, actually on the ocean,” Jonathan counters.
    Harrison smiles and takes a step toward Jonathan. For a flicker, Jonathan reacts as if it’s an aggressive gesture, but when Harrison gets within arm’s length, rather than taking a swing at the client, he puts his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and says, “Look, I want you to understand something, just to manage your expectations. I’m as good as there is out here, so the last thing I would try to do is tell you that a house on the Sound is the same as a house on the ocean. It’s not. No way, no how. So, if you only want a house on the ocean, and you only want East Hampton, we should leave this place right now, and let me show you some inventory I have that meets your specifications. But let’s be real here, something