It may be too good to be true

Forty years of debt was lurking in my future, but I felt like a million bucks.

The offer had been signed, faxed and accepted for $2,000 below asking price. After a stressful month-long hunt, I had officially become the first in my circle of friends to buy.

It was the middle of February and if the builder stayed on schedule, I'd be hosting a housewarming party in my new north Cabbagetown condo by month's end – or so I thought, but I'll get that to that later.

After the obligatory call to the people who brought me into the world, I phoned my landlord to give notice, then kicked myself for not doing it sooner.

I'd have to pay the dreaded double rent for two months. Although on the glass-is-half-full side, it would be nice to pack and paint at a leisurely pace.

While the realtors and lawyers started fiddling with legal stuff, I debated whether crimson walls would work in my narrow living room.

I bought a bottle of my favourite wine and spent that Saturday night rooted to my couch, notebook in hand, absorbing an endless stream of design shows. Buttered toast, coffee and Tylenol in hand, I was back at my post – in front of the TV – the next morning.

Red would definitely work, as long as my accents were light.

Then my perfect little homebuyer bubble burst.

I was at work about to head for lunch when my cellphone rang. It was my lawyer, Jamie Helm.

"I have a few concerns about the agreement that I want to go over with you. Nothing too major, but some things that need to change," he said in a reassuring tone.

Over the next half an hour, Jamie calmly ripped apart virtually the entire offer. This wasn't a typical resale condo, he explained. Since the building wasn't registered – this would happen in a few months – I wasn't buying an individual unit, I was actually buying the investment in the condo building with an agreement that once it registered, the unit would transfer to my name. Confusing? Imagine me, pacing the hallway outside the Star's cafeteria.

The problem was that the current wording of the offer had me paying the seller $256,900 for the unit and then repaying the builder once it registered.

"And you probably don't want to pay half a million dollars right?" he joked.

What we needed was to draw up a proper Assignment Agreement. It was the reason I had decided to go with Jamie in the first place.

Most in the industry have very little experience with them.

My realtor, Stephanie Nause, had never done one before and I gathered the seller's camp also had limited experience, if any. Stephanie asked around and found about half a dozen lawyers in Toronto that are familiar with these types of deals.

I was living in Assignment Hell. The deal had to be completely rewritten. A draft was done. Revisions were made. Every five or so days, the previous contract would expire and then we'd have to meet up again and sign an extension.

And just when I thought things were getting sorted out, there was more bad news.

"Okay, don't panic," Stephanie started. "This will work out. I just think (someone) is confused."

Apparently, the seller may be asking for an additional $10,000 to cover an initial deposit he put down with the builder. There was now some confusion as to whether our agreed price included that money.

"Are you serious?" I half screamed, half wept. "I can't afford that. I won't be able to pay. And now I'm already in pretty heavy with the lawyer."

"As far as I'm concerned that deposit is included in the price," she said. "Try not to worry. We'll figure this out."

What made things sticky is that other units in the Star of Downtown building had started popping up on MLS. Others were selling for above asking, well into the $260,000 range. Was the seller regretting he sold early? Was he trying to squeeze more cash out of me? I pictured an evil Scrooge McDuck character, perched atop a mountain of gold coins, plotting against me.

Both Stephanie and Jamie told me not to worry, but I started to brace myself for a major letdown. I quit telling people I'd bought. I started scanning MLS again. And gave up fiddling with furniture layout on the floor plan.

It had seemed too good to be true – a 700-square-foot, two-bedroom unit, parking, balcony, the works – and now it seemed like it was.

Now this is the part where I fell in love with my realtor.

For about the next week she hounded to the point of harassment every party involved – their lawyer, the seller's realtor, even my lawyer – often sending me hourly updates. Not bad for someone I found on a random Internet search. "Okay, everything's settled," she reported back finally. "It was just a mess up – 256-9 is the final price."

Signed, faxed and accepted, a deal all the lawyers were happy with was finally done. I picked up the keys on March 14, but I still cringed every time my cellphone rang for the next week.

NEXT WEEK: Fire alarms at night, elevators that don't always work, and a view covered in scaffolding. What life is like living on a construction site.