It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad... Real Estate World

For my son, Spencer Tracy, and a show about nothing

By Summer Goralik

Movie night at my house has always been eclectic. It could be an old Disney film like Peter Pan or Alice in Wonderland, or a vintage black-and-white Alfred Hitchcock short—some even silent.

My son went through a relentless Spencer Tracy phase, and that’s how we landed on the outlandish film It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. I suspect more people recognize the iconic title than have actually seen the 1963 movie. At least, that was true for me—until my son asked me to watch it with him one Friday night. He had already seen it several times, had some of the lines memorized, and I am pretty sure he’s drawn to the absolute chaos the film represents.

As memorable as the film is, if I’m being honest, it also makes me nuts. Its first crime is that it’s terribly loud. There’s a lot of shouting—especially from Ethel Merman and her blood-curdling screeches. But all of that noise and annoying chatter is more than redeemed by the all-star cast. There are stars galore, and many of the cameos are impressive: Don Knotts, Milton Berle, Jerry Lewis, and of course, the Three Stooges.

In other words, the star power alone makes the film a requisite addition to your cinematic résumé.

Okay, okay, okay. Let me get to the point before even I get annoyed.

In the film, a group of people learn about a $350,000 jackpot (remember, this is the 1960s, this is a fortune) hidden under what’s initially described as a “W” in Santa Rosita. Spoiler alert: We later learn it’s two tall palm trees that crisscross, forming the signature W. More importantly, they abandon their plans, their priorities, and, in some cases, their better judgment to chase the money.

Some form alliances, traveling by foot, car, over water, and by plane. It becomes a comical and outrageous contest of sorts to find the money. They, of course, become absolutely mad in the process—hence the title (containing four “Mads,” which always struck me as one too many). The bigger message is the lengths people will go to in pursuit of it.

You should know, I’ve been waiting to use this movie as a real estate compliance parallel for some time. I just hadn’t found the right moment—until now. Then something unexpected happened. Just as I was ready to launch into that discussion, to expose a similar and increasingly frantic race unfolding in real estate over listing data and brokerage consolidation, I completely lost my motivation. Or perhaps, another honest way to say it, I am no longer in the mood.

Instead, mid-article (or mid-intro, rather), I want to do something different. A 180-degree turn here. But I assure you, we haven’t lost any ground.

So, while you keep the title of this piece playing in the background—or simply don’t lose sight of the madness—I want to turn your attention to one of my favorite television shows, Seinfeld.

After watching all nine seasons at least a handful of times in my lifetime, it’s surprising that I haven’t written about any episode until now. If you are a Seinfeld fan—or even if you are not—I think you might appreciate the following exercise.

Unlike any other episode that ever aired, Seinfeld presented an episode in reverse. Its formal title was “The Betrayal,” but those of us who have watched it a dozen times simply call it the backwards episode. It’s genius. The episode begins with the ending credits. After each scene, a subtitle appears at the bottom of the screen: “1 hour earlier.” “3 days earlier.” Still with me? Before you know it, you’ve arrived at the beginning of the story, greeted by that iconic bass line.

Okay, I realize I have asked a lot of you…we went from an old Spencer Tracy flick to a sitcom. I call this an investment. And in all fairness, I will let you decide the payoff.

And in the spirit of this unforgettable Seinfeld episode—and with madness still playing on full blast in the other room—I present to you the real estate industry’s backwards episode.

July 2027

Before I have my first sip of coffee—arguably the most serene part of my day—my phone rings. It’s a plaintiffs’ attorney.

“Summer, I was given your name. We’re looking for an expert witness. The case involves a private listing network.”

According to the complaint, the sellers believe they were steered into an exclusive marketing strategy they never fully understood. They allege they received fewer showings, fewer offers, and ultimately less for their home than they reasonably could have obtained through broader market exposure. They also question whether the recommendation was influenced, at least in part, by the brokerage’s opportunity to keep the transaction in-house.

“Summer...this is a dual agency case.” The attorney repeats this point more than once.

I tell him I’ll check for conflicts and return his call shortly.

Before I can put my phone down, it rings again. More confused than annoyed, I glance at the digital clock on my stove and think to myself, What’s happening? It’s barely 9:00 a.m. This time it’s a broker.

“Summer...have you seen it?”

“Seen what?” I reply.

“The Department’s Accusation!”

Looking at my untouched coffee, now growing colder by the second, I answer, “No, I haven’t.” Within seconds, several people have already emailed it to me. I download it as fast as my Wi-Fi can manage.

The California Department of Real Estate has announced what many are calling a first-of-its-kind enforcement action. According to the Department, a broker allegedly breached the fiduciary duties owed to a seller by steering that seller into a private listing marketing strategy without fully explaining its consequences or adequately protecting the seller’s interests.

I read the Accusation twice—for good measure. I understood it the first time, of course, but I know everyone else is hanging on its every word.

Finally taking a sip of my long-cold coffee and walking over to the microwave, I say aloud to my eleven-year-old, who never looks up from his iPad,

“Wow...the DRE finally did it.”

Without looking up from his iPad, my son asks,

“Mom, can we watch Mad, Mad World tonight?”

“Sure,” I reply, smiling.

Suddenly...four Mads doesn’t seem like enough.

Two Months Earlier

Several news outlets are reporting that federal and state fair housing authorities have launched a coordinated initiative examining whether certain private marketing practices have disproportionately limited housing opportunities for protected groups.

The question is no longer whether anyone intended to discriminate.

The question is whether the cumulative effect of these practices quietly narrowed access to the marketplace.

Wendy Gilch, a well-known and highly respected consumer advocate, is interviewed on a major news network. She calmly explains that the Consumer Policy Center and other fair housing advocates have been raising these concerns for well over a year. While they are encouraged by the coordinated efforts, they are hardly surprised.

Within hours, clips of the interview are circulating across LinkedIn, Instagram, and every real estate group imaginable. Some dismiss it as alarmist, while others say it’s long overdue.

Later that afternoon, one of my neighbors catches me outside while I’m watering my lawn.

“Hey, Summer,” he says. “My broker referred me to everyone. Is that what this new class action lawsuit is about?”

I smile.

Before I can answer, I find myself yelling at my son, who’s barreling barefoot down the middle of the street armed with a ridiculously oversized Nerf gun.

25 Days Earlier

“Another class action lawsuit captures the industry’s attention.” That’s the headline dominating my LinkedIn feed.

As I read it, I whisper under my breath, Here we go again.

Consumers allege they were referred to another real estate licensee without ever understanding that the referral generated compensation for the referring broker or agent. The complaint argues that the financial incentive itself wasn’t the problem. The problem was that consumers never knew it existed and, therefore, couldn’t evaluate whether it may have influenced the recommendation.

At first glance, the lawsuit appears to be about referral fees. But I know it isn’t. It’s about disclosure—and the compliance obligations that have been ignored for far too long.

Before long, I’m fielding calls from attorneys representing both brokerages and consumers. Although the facts differ from case to case, the conversations almost always find their way back to the same question:

“Did you, or did you not, disclose the referral fee to your client?”

I can’t help but be amused. After years as a DRE investigator, I still find myself asking the same question.

Only now, people are paying me to ask it.

Two Months Earlier

My calendar has gone crazy again. Almost every call begins the same way.

“Can you review our office policies?”

“Can you look at our listing presentation?”

“We received a letter.”

“Can you help me with a DRE investigation?”

Several state real estate regulators have begun sending inquiry letters to brokerages participating in or operating private listing networks. They are requesting advertising materials, listing agreements, office manuals, broker supervision policies, consumer disclosures, training records, and internal guidance regarding marketing practices. No enforcement actions have been filed. Not yet. But the temperature in the industry is changing.

Then the phone rings again. A sales agent is on the other end.

“Hi, Summer. I need your help. The DRE wants to see my text messages with a client I urged to list their house privately.”

“Okay,” I reply. “Do you have them?”

The agent hesitates before answering.

“Yeah...but I don’t want to hand those over.”

I tell the agent what I would tell anyone.

“Listen, there’s a good chance the DRE already has them. Clients save everything. And your broker should already have copies of your material communications.”

Another brief silence follows. I can hear the breathing on the other end quicken.

Then the agent asks:

“How much do you charge?”

Thirty Minutes Earlier

My phone rings. It’s a homeowner.

“Summer...can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“My daughter sent me a house she found on Redfin. I can’t find it on Zillow. Then my agent told me there are other homes that aren’t on either website.”

Silence.

“How is that possible?”

A long pause. I look out my office window.

That’s the question, isn’t it?

January 2027

Another regulatory advisory lands in my inbox. Then another.

Several state real estate regulators issue consumer alerts after receiving a growing number of complaints involving AI-powered real estate chatbots and virtual assistants. Consumers report receiving inaccurate information about agency relationships, disclosures, financing, or their legal rights during real estate transactions. Some believed they were communicating with a licensed real estate professional when they weren’t.

The regulators’ message is remarkably consistent: artificial intelligence may assist licensees, but it cannot replace them. Existing licensing laws, supervision requirements, and consumer protection obligations still apply. Brokers remain responsible for the conduct of the technology they choose to deploy.

Within days, my calendar is full of AI consultations once again.

“What can our AI actually say?”

“Can it explain dual agency?”

“Can it answer disclosure questions?”

“Who should be supervising it?”

After what feels like an entire day trapped in my office, my son comes stampeding through my locked office door at about 4:00 p.m. with a big announcement.

“Mom, I just finished my first official horror screenplay using ChatGPT. You want to read it?”

(Camera zooms in on Summer’s face. She looks concerned.)

15 Minutes Earlier

My son interrupts me while I’m on the phone, sliding a handwritten note across my desk asking for my ChatGPT password.

I write back on the same notepad:

No.

August 4, 2026

My LinkedIn feed becomes impossible to ignore today. Nearly everyone seems to be sharing the same article. This time, it isn’t written by a broker, an attorney, or anyone inside the real estate industry. A nice change, actually.

It’s published in TIME.

In the article, Derrick Johnson, President of the NAACP, argues that the next fair housing battle won’t simply be fought in neighborhoods—it will be fought online. Private listing networks, the article suggests, risk creating a modern form of digital redlining—not necessarily because they are intended to discriminate, but because they may quietly reduce equal access to housing opportunities.

One passage immediately stops me:

“Transparency is not a luxury. When buyers can compare homes, prices, and time on market, they can make informed decisions. Sellers reach more potential buyers, and the market works more fairly for everyone.”

Further along, I linger on another eloquent but striking passage:

“Now, a modern form of digital redlining threatens to emerge. This is more than an industry dispute. This is a civil rights issue.”

I lean back in my chair.

Great article. I hope people are listening.

November 20, 2025, 12:01 a.m.

That’s it.

“Caught a hanger, Sarge.”

I’m using the film Rounders.

November 19, 2025, 11:45 p.m.

It’s late. I can’t sleep. Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone and start scrolling.

There it is.

The National Association of REALTORS® Delegate Body has voted against a proposal that would have amended the Code of Ethics to require REALTORS® to disclose referral fees and other financial incentives to consumers. The proposal had previously received overwhelming support from the Board of Directors but ultimately failed to gain approval.

I stare at my screen for a long moment.

With Sitzer | Burnett barely in the rearview mirror, I struggle to understand why. Or how.

Some nights you choose the article. But then there are nights when the article chooses you.

I open my laptop.

The cursor blinks.

Before I type a single word, one thought rises to the surface:

Legal referral fees aren’t the issue.

Disclosure is.

Consumers deserve to know when financial incentives may influence the advice they receive.

Almost instinctively, my mind starts searching for a movie...

(The camera slowly pushes in. The only light in the room is the glow from the computer screen reflecting off Summer’s face. The time in the corner of the screen reads 11:45 p.m.)

June 2016

I have an announcement.

“I’m starting my own business.”

There isn’t much fanfare around the dinner table. My husband looks at me for a moment and asks a question that, at the time, I found both offensive—but fair.

“Is anybody really going to pay for compliance?”

I laugh at the absurdity of his question and confidently reply, “I think they will.”

Truthfully...I wasn’t nearly as certain as I sounded. What I did know was this: staying home with my son for more than a year probably wasn’t sustainable—certainly not financially.

A few months later, I’m sitting at my desk, just beginning my consulting practice, co-authoring an article on referral fee disclosures for my former employer, the California Department of Real Estate.

The premise is remarkably simple: Real estate licensees are required to disclose referral fee compensation to their clients.

The article isn’t exactly embraced by the industry. After all, common practice has long fallen short in this area. The reality is that referral fees often go undisclosed.

(Summer doesn’t know it yet, but this article quietly begins a years-long crusade to educate clients and real estate professionals about the importance of referral fee disclosure.)

January 2010

“I’m sorry...how do you pronounce your last name?”

I point to my government badge and slowly say my name.

(The badge reads: Summer Bakotich, Special Investigator. Department of Real Estate.)

The broker looks a little embarrassed, realizing she had butchered it earlier. Then she asks:

“Will you let me know when the investigation is complete?”

“Yes, of course,” I reply.

I gather my files and the broker walks me toward the door.

Before I leave, she stops and says something I’ll never forget.

“Summer...if you ever leave the Department and go private, give me a call. I’d hire you in a heartbeat.”

I smile and thank her.

As I drive home, I can’t help but think...

The private sector, huh? That’s an interesting idea.

(Roll opening credits.)

Author's Note: This essay combines real experiences with fictional future scenarios to explore emerging issues in real estate and consumer protection.

About Summer

Summer Goralik is a Real Estate Compliance Consultant and licensed Real Estate Broker (#02022805). Summer offers real estate brokers a variety of consulting services including assistance with California Department of Real Estate investigations and audit preparation, mock audits, brokerage compliance guidance, advertising review, and training. She helps licensees evaluate their regulatory compliance and correct any non-compliant activities. Summer has an extensive background in real estate which includes private sector, regulatory and law enforcement experience. Prior to opening her consulting business in 2016, she worked for the Orange County District Attorney's Office as a Civilian Economic Crimes Investigator in their Real Estate Fraud Unit. Before that, Summer was employed as a Special Investigator for the DRE for six years. Among many achievements, she wrote several articles for the DRE, which still live on the Department's website today. Prior to her career in government and law enforcement, Summer also worked in the escrow industry for nearly five years. For more information about Summer's background and services, please visit her website.