When You’re Erased From Your Own Work

Behind the Mandates: A quiet betrayal, a paper trail, and the lesson I won’t forget

📝 Editor’s Note

This post is part of my Behind the Mandates series—where I share real, unfiltered moments from life as a rural estate agent in France. These stories aren’t polished or promotional—they’re human. They’re here to remind you that even in the most scenic villages, trust and truth still matter.

Some sales are lightning bolts—quick, electric, and unforgettable.
Others… leave a bruise you don’t see coming.

A while back, I sold a home to a woman I’ll call Claire.

She’d been hunting desperately for a very specific property—one that had just fallen through when she rang me. By some twist of fate, I managed to get her a visit within 24 hours. The offer was accepted, and the compromis signed within 48. It was one of those crisp, clean sales that leave both sides smiling.

She was kind, grateful, and effusive about how fast and professional I’d been. So when she got in touch some months later and said, “I know someone looking to sell,” I listened.

🎭 Enter: The New Mandate

A man—I’ll call him Mark—rang me directly. Within minutes, he was pressuring me to drop my fee to match what a local agency had offered. I stood firm. I knew what I brought to the table. We parted ways politely.

Roughly six months later, he came back.
Same property. Still unsold.
This time, his tone had changed.

I agreed to take it on—on my terms. We signed the mandate.

From the start, the energy was off. His partner (Sophie) was polite but detached. Their expectations were high, their flexibility nil. At one point, she even tried to leave me in charge of her sick child during a key buyer visit. I declined, of course—but the request stuck with me.

Still, I gave them my best:

• Photos
• Listing text
• Viewings
• Consistent follow-up

Eventually, the file became so heavy I escalated internally. My coordinator was incredibly fair—we agreed I’d transfer the file to another agent, but that I’d retain a share if it sold. That felt right. I stepped back, but I did not abandon my role or value.

🧨 And Then...

Not long ago, I saw the listing go live again.

Same house. Same description.
Same photos I’d taken.
But now—a brand-new mandate. My name? Gone.

And the agent now attached to the file?
Claire.

Yes. The same Claire whose house I had pulled a miracle for.
The same Claire who once told me I was “the most responsive, professional agent” she’d ever worked with.

Apparently, she had joined the agency not long after her purchase. And somehow, she had slid herself into the file I had sourced, prepped, and delivered—without a word. Without a heads-up. Without acknowledgment.

💬 Reflections

This isn’t a story about commission.
This is a story about professional erasure.

About the quiet kind of betrayal that isn’t loud or public—it’s subtle.
A line here. A name removed there.
The kind that makes you question if the relationships you’ve built are only solid when they serve someone else.

Not every thank-you is sincere.
Not every referral is a gift.
Not every colleague plays fair.

I’m rattled—but I’m also clear.
I gave more grace than was ever given in return.
I honoured the process. I stepped back when I needed to.
But I will not be erased again.

Because I may have let go of the file—but I did not forfeit my integrity.
And I won’t silence my story to protect the comfort of those who never protected mine.

Next time?

I’ll listen to my gut sooner.
I’ll get every agreement in writing—and I’ll make sure it stays visible.
Because a paper trail isn’t about distrust.
It’s about dignity.

I’ll trust actions over charm.
And I’ll never again assume that someone who once smiled in gratitude isn’t capable of rewriting the story with me cropped out.

It won’t happen again.
Not because I’m harder now—
but because I’m wiser.