Before her divorce, Milly began her education in real estate — the hard way.
The white-walled room had no furniture other than the plush, dark couch she sat on. Rows of dark little machines with bright lenses hung along the top of each wall.
Milly wore VR glasses. “Why aren’t your transmitters working?”
The banker’s image was distorted and multiplied like a kaleidoscope. He said something unintelligible in her earbuds.
There's no getting inside Milly’s head.
“No, I can see and hear you perfectly,” Milly said. “It’s just annoying to use glasses when we have a whole room for this. So, what do you mean, cash out? Where is the cash?”
There was a pause and a mumble.
“How much is this mortgage?” she demanded. “Why can’t you give me information just because it’s in Damien’s name? I’m his wife.” She hung up, pursing her lips in frustration.
Milly took off her glasses and pressed a button on her couch console. The room changed in a swoosh of color. Colors settled into shapes. Shapes grew details. The glass doorway of “First Virtual Title” appeared before her. Milly stood and pressed. The door undulated like a placid lake tapped by her fingertip.
A young man greeted Milly.
“Can I see the deed to my home?”
He smirked. “The title, you mean?”
“Yes.🎵”
The company couldn’t provide it.
Milly’s eyes darted around. “But I was right here when we bought our house!”
“Calm down. I wasn’t here then.” He shrugged. “There was a merger. Did you actually sign?”
“I don’t remember! Damien said he was taking care of everything because I don’t have credit.”
A classy-looking, blonde-but-graying lady in her fifties opened a door. “I’ll handle this, Elaijah. Take a break.”
Elaijah disappeared.
“He mansplains just like a real person,” Milly said.
“I know, the AI is too good.” She waved Milly over. “Come into my office, hon. All title companies look the same these days. Let’s find out what happened.”
Milly sat down. The room changed again in an instant.
The title lady’s desk appeared in front of her. “I’ll pull up a title search.”
Milly rolled her eyes. “How much does that cost?”
“Nothing. It’s public record.” The title lady paused, taking a deep breath. She spun the screen toward Milly. There was no money left in the house. Even if there had been, only Damien’s name was on the title.
The lady offered her arms for a hug.
Milly leaned in. Her chin passed right through the lady’s holographic shoulder.
The title lady dipped her virtual fingers into Milly’s back with a tepid series of taps. “Ohhhkay …”
Milly pulled back. “That was weird.”
“Will there be anything else?”
“No.”
The title lady smiled. “OK, have a nice day.” She touched the air. The room flashed. The desk was gone. The lady — hair frizzy and unkempt — sat on her couch. There was no office at all. Her clothes were dirty. “Oh shit,” the lady said. Next to her sat a plate of half-eaten pasta. “I must have pushed the filters, not the connection. These VR rooms — I’m still getting used to them. How embarrassing!” The lady faded from view. “Thank you for working with First Virtual Title.”
The room swooshed back to bare white. Sitting wide-eyed on her couch, well, Damien’s couch, Milly snarled, then smacked her hand on the cushion. “I can’t believe I believed him!”