Once Upon a Time in NY: January 2026

“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 mrspookiebear@hotmail.com.

I did not need to ask for proof of funds.

Fake Buyers

In New York real estate, fake buyers are part of the ecosystem. Legally and ethically, we can’t simply ignore them or dismiss them outright, even when every instinct says otherwise. There are fair housing laws, REBNY codes of ethics, and brokerage policies that require agents to respond and show reasonable intent. Even when it feels absurd.

Because sometimes they are testers. Individuals hired to probe agents into saying the wrong thing, steering improperly, or violating fair housing. As if the job were not complicated enough already. So I take steps to make sure the interest is real. Proof of funds, face-to-face conversations before anyone ever steps foot in a home, and clear, ongoing communication with the seller or listing agent.

My personal rule is simple. I respond to everything. I treat everyone with kindness and respect and I give 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 and talks like a duck, odds are it’s a duck.

And sometimes, 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. One random renter yields ten buyer referrals. But if it seems too good to be true, it usually is.

Fake buyers in New York are a particular breed. They tend to arrive with urgency and emotion, often when the market is slower and they sense opportunity. Some are looky-loos. Some are nosy neighbors. Some enjoy the thrill of catfishing brokers for sport. And occasionally, there are some more nefarious than that. Which is why you always have to be careful.

The Long Con

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.” He had a strange name, something vaguely European, vaguely drag. 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 a property. 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.

But sometimes, you truly never know. Which brings me to the story of a fake buyer who turned out to be a very recognizable public figure. All details have been changed for anonymity.

The Plot Twist

It began exactly like the others. Outrageous criteria. Odd availability. Inconsistent communication. The name was Joe Smith. Normally, that would have been the end of it, but something in my gut told me this one was different.

The property he sent me helped. A gorgeous Tribeca penthouse. Twelve-foot ceilings. Designed by an AD architect. And his questions were smart. Specific. He asked five different ways about security and privacy. I proceeded with caution. But 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 the voice. I just couldn’t remember from where.

Then came the NDA. Pages long. And the name on it took my breath away.

We toured four apartments the next day. And they say never meet your idols, but I’m happy to report there are exceptions to the rule. She was lovely. 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? And why me?

The answer was simple. “I was referred by David.”

Just David.

David who, exactly, I still have no idea. I searched my texts, emails, Instagram followers. Nothing clicked. 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 changed it. I take NDAs very seriously.

That “fake” buyer is now a very real, very loyal client. 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.

It can be a soul-sucking, heart-wrenching game of chicken.

But then again, so is living in this city.