The call came on a Sunday at eight in the morning.
“Ilan, I found something amazing in Bucharest. Three rooms, third floor, a developing neighborhood. The seller is a woman in her seventies who inherited the property from her parents. She wants to close quickly. The price is twenty percent below market. I want in.”
I knew that tone. It is the tone of someone who has already decided, and is now looking for someone to say “great, go ahead.”
Rani is a senior executive at a high-tech company, one of those who live inside percentages and numbers and know how to analyze risk. He had already done one deal in Poland that turned out well, had read a great deal, and had heard dozens of stories about properties bought from Bucharest families who want to get rid of them quietly. He knew what he wanted. He just didn't yet know what he didn't know.
“Send me the property details,” I said. “I'll ask for the registry extract.”
The documents arrived a few hours later. I opened the extract.
The property was registered in the names of two people. Not one.
When I called Rani and told him, there was a brief silence. “But she said she's the owner.”
“She's an owner. One of them. According to the registry, the property belongs to her and apparently to her brother, in equal shares.”
“So I need to talk to the brother too?”
“First you'll have to find him.”
It turned out the brother had left for Canada twenty-two years earlier. The family hadn't spoken with him in recent years. The sister had a feeling he was in Toronto, a phone number that might still work, and confidence that he would agree, because “he hasn't been interested in this property for years.”
I explained the reality to Rani. In Romania, as anywhere with an orderly land registry, a sale of a property that belongs to two owners cannot be carried out without the signature of both. Not the signature of one. Not a general power of attorney signed ten years ago. An actual signature, on this transaction, after he has been explained what he is signing.
“How long does it take?” Rani asked.
“It depends. If he agrees immediately - a few weeks. If he starts asking questions, wants to check what the property is worth - months. If he doesn't respond at all - the deal can't happen.”
Silence. “And what about the price?”
“The price she offered is hers. The brother will receive half of the consideration. Right now he doesn't know about the price. He hasn't agreed to it.”
The sister found the brother. It took her three days.
He answered. That was the good side of the story.
The less good side: when he understood that an Israeli wanted to buy the apartment he grew up in as a child, something in him woke up. He hadn't visited Romania in fifteen years. He hadn't thought about this property. But the moment someone else wanted it, suddenly it had a different value.
He hired his own lawyer in Bucharest. He asked for an independent appraisal.
The appraisal came back with a price eight percent higher than what had been offered to Rani.
Suddenly the “deal twenty percent below market” became a lot less of one.
Rani called me after receiving the update. His voice was no longer the voice of Sunday morning. “Ilan, I'm not sure this is worth all the complication.”
“I understand. But now we have someone to negotiate with, and something to negotiate over.”
We negotiated. The sister had an interest in closing; she wanted the money. The brother had a different interest. He doesn't live in Romania, doesn't know the market, and suddenly understood he had a property that might be worth more than he thought. That he didn't have to rush. That he could wait.
I tried to create a situation where both sides gain from a quick closing - the sister gets what she needs, the brother gets a sensible price, and Rani gets a property that still makes economic sense. It took time. More conversations than I had planned. A few days in which I didn't know whether the brother would agree at all.
Eight weeks later we reached closing. Not at the original price, but at a price Rani could live with.
The day we signed he sent me a message. “Did you know it would be like this?”
I answered him honestly: “I knew there was a brother. I didn't know what he would decide.”
That is exactly the point. Bucharest is full of properties like this. So are Athens, Nicosia, Lisbon. Inheritances that remained registered in the names of two brothers, three heirs, sometimes more. Families scattered across five countries who had no reason to sort out the paperwork until someone arrived who wanted to buy.
These properties usually come with an attractive price, and not by chance. The seller sitting across from the buyer wants to close. He doesn't always tell you there is someone else in the picture. Not because he is a fraud. Sometimes because he is sure his brother will agree. Sometimes because there has been no contact between them for years and he didn't check. Sometimes because he simply wants you to move forward, and the rest of the details will get settled.
Before you enter a deal with a seller who inherited a property, ask one question: who else is registered on the property? Not based on what the seller tells you. Based on the registry extract.
It takes less than a day's work to check.
And it can save you eight weeks, a price change, and sometimes, a deal that falls through.
Stories are based on real situations, with identifying details changed. Not legal advice.
Translated from the Hebrew original. עברית