Part 3:
To Buy a Foreclosed Condo

My original plan was to hire an attorney to handle the acquisition of the foreclosed real estate. I was referred to an elderly lawyer. Having taken a retainer's fee and some preliminary work done, however, my lawyer dropped my case. It was out of blue and he said he didn't want to work for me because I did not trust him. When pursued, he pointed out that I have asked too many questions. I was a bit impatient perhaps but all I wanted to know was where I stood in the entire processes. His accusation that I didn't trust him was a great surprise to me but more shocking was the idea that asking questions was a sign of not trusting. This lawyer may have been an exception and our discord may have stemmed from his personal idiosyncrasy than something to do with his profession. When I went to another lawyer, this time the husband of my college friend, however, I was given the impression that he wanted to stay away from a client who'd had difficulty with another lawyer. He instead handed me an instruction to do it myself. To my surprise, the Tokyo district court, which oversaw the sale, was quite helpful with a well-thought out system developed to assist any lay person; I received, via fax, all the necessary information and forms to fill out attached with an example to follow. This is an example of Japanese bureaucracy par excellence, I cried out. I didn't need a lawyer after all. Within a month the title was transferred to my name, making me the legal owner of the condo in Minato Ward.

I was eager to move in but there were problems. The family who no longer owned the unit still lived there, in fact they've been there for more than two years without paying anything but the electricity bill. I had to go back to the court in order to secure its order that tells the squatter to vacate, which was ignored. Since the law seemed to be on their side, I suggested: can I change the lock so that the squatter had no choice but to leave? That's what American property owners would do, I said to the court clerk to whom I brought my problem. No such an outrageous act can be done was his response. The next step I could take was to hire a professional to remove the content of the unit to store it all at my expense, a rather costly proposition in Tokyo. This is outrageous, I complained; what about my right, I whined.

Then, my squatter approached me with a proposal. He wanted to meet with me to discuss the matter and stipulated an oddly late hour to do so. I took a precaution in seeing him at a terminal station where many people were still around. He wanted 20,000 dollars in exchange of vacating my house. He claimed he needed that much in order to move―two months rent for deposit and key money each in addition to moving expense. I knew renting a new place is an expensive venture in Japan, but the demanded sum seemed outrageous. By the time we met for the second time I've learned that his demand was not so ludicrous, that many people in my position would succumb to paying. This was what my friend meant by the risks and problems of buying foreclosed properties, I discovered belatedly. I was left with no choice but to rely on my own ingenuity.

I was determined to negotiate with my squatter, who now tried to mobilize my sympathy: his business failure, his longtime joblessness, his shame. I was nearly moved but in the end my sense of legality and my regard for my own rights took upper hand. When I suffered from self-doubt for moments and wondered if I was callous and devoid human compassion, I reminded myself of the phrase in the U.S.

My American Series