The Day I Almost Lost a ₦3.5m Commission Because of a Missing Wallet

Last Thursday afternoon, around 3:47 PM, I was standing outside a half-completed duplex in Ajah, sweating like a frozen chicken left in the sun.

I had been a real estate agent for over 10 years — seen failed deals, fake landowners, stolen documents, miracle clients, and spiritually-questionable landlords. But that day?

That day humbled me.

I had been trying to close a major property management contract for weeks — a beautiful 4-bedroom smart home with automated lighting, luxury fittings, and the kind of marble floors that reflect your sins.

The landlord, Chief Ade, was the kind of man who believed “time is money,” but ironically showed up late to EVERYTHING.

I refreshed my phone again.

Still no message from him.

My assistant, Ada, looked at me and whispered:

“Oga, relax. At least breeze dey blow.”

“Yes,” I replied, “but this breeze no dey pay agency commission.”

She laughed.

I didn’t.

Because if this property didn’t get leased soon, I was in trouble — financially, emotionally, and spiritually.

Then suddenly, a Bolt pulled up.

A lady stepped out.

Black dress.

Simple sandals.

Laptop bag.

She looked focused… and tired. The tired that comes from paying rent in Lagos.

She walked toward me.

“Hi, are you the agent?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” I replied, trying to sound professional while wiping sweat from my forehead like someone confessing to a crime.

She smiled. “I’m Amara. I saw the listing for the luxury smart home for rent. The photos were… wow.”

“Thank you,” I said. “We try. Shall we go inside?”

We started the tour.

And honestly? I was selling that house like my destiny depended on it.

I pointed at the kitchen:

“This is a fully equipped Italian-style kitchen — quartz countertops, soft-touch cabinets, high-end finishes.”

She nodded.

Living room:

“Open-concept layout, perfect for content creators, modern families, or anyone who loves premium aesthetics.”

She nodded again.

Master bedroom:

“Walk-in closet… rainfall shower… balcony view… perfect for morning routines or Instagram stories.”

She smiled this time.

Good sign.

Then she asked:

“Why is this house still vacant? It’s beautiful.”

I swallowed.

Because the landlord had insisted on a rent that could buy three cows and one goat.

But I couldn’t say that.

So I answered:

“Well… the right tenant has not shown up yet.”

She held my gaze for a moment.

Then she said:

“I’ll take it.”

Just like that.

No negotiation.

No pricing war.

No “let me think about it.”

I almost fainted.

“Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to check other properties?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to negotiate?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to pray about it?”

She laughed. “God led me here.”

I blinked twice.

This woman was either my miracle client or my biggest problem for the year.

But I smiled anyway.

We stepped outside to finalize payments.

She opened her bag…

…and froze.

“My wallet… my bank card… everything. I left it in the Bolt.”

My blood instantly turned to iced zobo.

We both spun around.

The Bolt was gone.

This is how agents run mad.

She panicked.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—”

“Calm down,” I said. “Just call the driver.”

Phone ringing…

Driver not picking.

Phone ringing again…

Still nothing.

She sat down on the pavement holding her head.

I felt bad. I sat beside her.

Then she said something weird:

“Maybe this is a sign I should give up.”

“Give up what?” I asked.

“Life,” she whispered.

I turned fully to her.

Her eyes were red. Not from crying — from exhaustion.

“Look… I just left my ex-fiancé. He wanted me to move into his house. He controlled everything. My job, my income, my friends. This is the first time I’m choosing a home for myself. And now this happens.”

I sighed deeply.

Ten years in real estate had taught me that many clients are not just looking for a house — they’re looking for a fresh start.

So I said:

“Amara, listen. Houses can wait. Life cannot. You’re stronger than you think.”

She looked at me with a small, tired smile.

Then her phone rang.

Unknown number.

She picked.

“Hello?”

A male voice said:

“Hello, madam. I’m the Bolt driver. Someone dropped this wallet in my backseat earlier. I checked and found your ID inside. Please send me your address.”

She gasped.

I shouted “PRAISE THE LORD!” louder than I intended.

We both laughed.

The driver dropped it off.

She paid for the property.

I collected my commission.

But that wasn’t the twist.

The twist came two months later.

I got a message from Amara:

“Can you come to the property? There’s something I want to show you.”

I went.

When she opened the door, the house looked DIFFERENT.

Warm lighting.

Indoor plants.

Bookshelves.

Candles.

Soft music.

She had transformed the smart home into a literal Pinterest board.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

She nodded.

Then she smiled and said:

“I want you to manage all my real estate investments.”

I blinked.

“Investments? As in… plural?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “I own three more properties. I didn’t tell you earlier because I wanted to see how you work.”

I stood there.

Speechless.

Shaking slightly.

Trying not to faint again.

“You’ve been promoted,” she said playfully.

I exhaled.

Then she added:

“And… thank you. For that day.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For reminding me that a home is more than a building. It’s healing.”

I smiled.

Because she was right.

And that’s when it hit me:

Some clients don’t just change your career… they change your life.