Behind the Writing of Notice of Assignment: An Author Offers Insight

 Part 2 of Chapter One: Blue Ink, Hidden Clues, and Real Estate Truths 

NOTE: I was traveling and the audio was recorded in the Thunderbird Lodge at Grand Canyon National Park.  Sorry, but the audio isn't the best. 

In the world of real estate, a title closing table is where dreams are finalized. In a crime thriller, it’s exactly where the trap gets set.

Today, we are heading right back into the manuscript engine room for the conclusion of Chapter One of the upcoming Cal Brink thriller, Notice of Assignment. It's Friday, August 13th, 2010. The Great Recession is in full swing, and Cal is picking through the bones of a broken housing market to lock down a downtown Kansas City investment property.

But as the blue ink flows, author Chris Lengquist pulls back the curtain on the raw, deeply personal elements of his own life woven into these pages. From a tribute to the unsung, sharp-witted heroes running the country's title desks to a heavy, transparent reflection on family scars, miscarriages, and the distinct behavioral profiles that keep a marriage intact, this episode explores the thin line where a real life becomes fiction. Pay close attention—there is a subtle clue planted just 1,200 words into this book that you’re going to want to dog-ear for later.

In this episode, you’ll hear:

• The Heroes of the Closing Table: A look at why title closers are the most underappreciated, emotionally adaptive players in the entire real estate industry.
• The 1,200-Word Plant: A sneak peek at a single line about a D.C. lawyer that sets the entire trajectory of the Cal Brink files in motion.
• Simplifying the Page: The difficult creative decision of channeling the profound impact of four real-life children into a single fictional character.
• A Look at Human Behavior Types: Dissecting the high-D/high-C DISC profile system, the transactional "Done, Next" mindset, and learning to read the quiet warning signs we usually ignore when we are in motion.

Key Quote: “America’s answer to everything was to create more paper and longer words... Everything is fine. Until it’s not.”

Join the Discussion: What line from Chapter One landed the hardest for you? Head over to CalBrinkFiles.com to read along, see the full breakdown, and share your take in the comments.

Become an Early Reader: Don't wait until the official October launch. Head over to CalBrink.com right now to become an early reader and instantly unlock the first four chapters of Notice of Assignment.

New episodes of the Behavioral Detective Podcast release every Wednesday and Sunday.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:06

Welcome back to the Behavioral Detective. Today we are putting our pens in blue ink and sliding back to the title closing table for part two of chapter one of my upcoming novella, Notice of Assignment. Last week we opened up the manuscript engine room to see how fictional stories get anchored by real-world truths. Today, we're dealing with a final stack of paperwork on a high-stakes real estate deal in downtown Kansas City on Friday, August 13th, 2010. But as an author, pulling back the curtain this week means getting incredibly personal. We're talking about the unsung, sharp-witted heroes who run the closing desks, the raw reality of picking through the financial bones of the Great Recession, and the deeply personal scars of marriage and family that never truly leave us, even when we try to simplify them for the page. I'm breaking down the line by line behind the writing clues. I planted just 1,200 words into this book. Clues you're going to want to dog ear for later. Let's sign on the dotted line. Here is the conclusion of chapter one, The Real World Street Science Behind It. Behind the Writing, Chapter 1, Part 2 of Notice of Assignment. There are personal stories embedded in this chapter. Today we continue with Chapter 1 of Notice of Assignment. I'm letting you inside how my mind was working as I wrote the debut novella. Well, how I wrote, rewrote, edited, and wrote again the first chapter. For the first half of this chapter, read last week's edition of Behind the Writing at calbrinkfiles.com. I will start today with reading our section from chapter one. Angie, our closer, came in a minute later and introduced herself to Shauna. Angie had the calm of somebody who sat at the same table through a thousand combinations of excitement, divorce, death, bad wiring, earnest money disputes, nervous first-time homebuyers, and people trying not to show each other what they were really feeling. She took our IDs, wrote down the license numbers in her logbook, then turned it around for us to sign. Cal, you know the drill, she said. Usually you're here as an agent. You want the full speech or you want me to just answer questions as we go? I'd used Angie before for a reason. Sharp, efficient, no drama, single mom, quick wit, could close a deal with buyers in the room or with signatures getting chased around three states and two time zones. She had once helped me close an investor from Dubai who purchased a home in Kansas City. He was a referral from a DC lawyer I hadn't spoken to in twenty years. I still needed to send him a thank you card. I'm good, I said. Roll them out. That's the thing about closings. If you've done enough of them, they start to feel less like major life moments and more like paperwork under a watchful eye. Receive the document, sign, initial, date, slide, next. Then Angie stopped one in front of me. Cal, I need you to sign your legal name. I looked at her. That is my signature. Legal name. Angie didn't blink. I'd heard that line dozens and dozens of times at closings. Still hated it every time. Blue ink, legal name today's date. Using blue ink was easy. Angie had the pens lined up like surgical tools. The legal name part was the problem. Somewhere back in school I'd developed a signature that looked like speed itself had signed, mainly because I had no patience for the ceremony. I signed my name, Calvin Brink. Then I glanced at the date. Friday, august thirteenth, twenty ten. Well, I said, when we moved up the closing date, I didn't realize it was Friday the thirteenth. I did, Shauna said. She didn't believe in luck. Good luck, bad luck, none of it. She believed in decisions, consequences, character, and whether the checking account could take another hit. Still, my mind went there for a second. We had Davis, sixteen, almost seventeen years old. That felt like good luck. We also had a miscarriage before him and one after. So if luck existed, it had a mean streak. Shauna still carried those scars underneath that personality that welcomed everybody, and everyone welcomed her. One meeting and she knew your name, your kids' names and birthdays, and more about you than I would have learned in six years. Angie presented a sheet that showed the loan terms. No interest. It's like you're buying a Ford, she commented. That's highly unusual. Hey, they called me. Really wanted to sell the house and get it off their books. I was bragging just a bit, and she knew it. Shauna knew it. People in KC knew I was doing well in the Great Recession, and I liked that. A few more documents went by, affidavit of title, settlement statement, the usual stack. I signed where she pointed and dated where she asked and thought, not for the first time, that America's answer to everything was to create more paper and longer words. More forms weren't going to fix the housing mess. Putting a few men in expensive suits in jail might have helped, but nobody asked me. Then Angie slid one more sheet in front of me. Last one, seller sent this over this morning, Angie mechanically said. I gave it a quick look. Something assignment ish, something lawyerly, something I hadn't expected but didn't think much about. All I noticed was it said the loan was being made by a solo del Sol Finance, and that for its own reasons it was assigning and servicing the loan to a third party. And on and on. I didn't really care who I sent the payments to. I didn't even read page two. Huh, I said. They really will invent a document for anything. I slid up page one, signed where it said on page two, and then handed the two pages to Shauna. That's it, Angie said. Then she looked at Shauna. Any questions? Shauna smiled, but it was that smile wives get when they are being polite in public and reserving the real conversation for later. No, I don't know half of what I signed, but he better. Angie laughed. I did too, but not as confidently as I wanted it to sound. Shauna meant it. She wasn't all the way bought in on this deal, but she was bought in on me. There's a difference, and any married man with a pulse ought to know it. She had gone through lean with me, she had stood by me through ideas that sounded smarter leaving my mouth than they did on paper. She loved me, believed in me. She was just ready for life to deliver a little more of the thick than the thin for once. Any closing usually ends with some version of celebration. Handshakes, smiles, congratulations, maybe even a gift bag if the agent is feeling generous or theatrical. This one felt different. I was the buyer and the agent, which made the usual ritual as ridiculous as the Missouri Real Estate Commission requiring me to sign a contract with myself to represent myself. I wasn't about to congratulate myself too hard for spending our money on a downtown Kansas City, Missouri house that still needed work. Lots of it. Any closing gift I might have earned was already spoken for in paint, flooring, fixtures, and whatever fresh problem waited behind the walls. Perfect, I said, standing. I leaned down and kissed Shauna on the cheek. I've got a buyer's appointment across the street. I'll see you around 430 and then I'll take you by the house. Afterwards, I made a reservation at that restaurant that you said feels like we are in a mob movie every time we eat there. It's just around the corner from our house. She nodded, but she didn't look convinced. Not angry, just unconvinced. There's a difference there too, and I should have paid more attention to it. Then Angie gathered the stack, Shauna picked up her purse, and just like that the room emptied out. A few signatures, a kiss on the cheek, one more house.

SPEAKER_01 9:12

At the time, that's all it felt like.

SPEAKER_00 9:18

Now before we go on to the behind the writing, part two of chapter one, remember if you want to get the first four chapters of Notice of Assignment, visit calbrink.com. I'm gonna read two paragraphs of what I just read, and then I'm gonna tell you what I was thinking behind it. Angie, our closer, came in a minute later and introduced herself to Shauna. Angie had the calm of somebody who had sat at the same table through a thousand combinations of excitement, divorce, death, bad wiring, earnest money disputes, nervous first-time buyers, and people trying not to show each other what they were really feeling. She took our IDs, wrote down the license numbers in her logbook, then turned it around for us to sign. And here are my comments. If you have ever bought a house, you've seen the closer. These are some of the most underappreciated players in real estate. You see them at the last minute, but behind the scenes, for at least the last month, they've been making sure you have the right to buy the house and they've been the chief liaison between the lender, buyer's agent, seller's agent, and their own title people. And they've seen every emotion possible. Sellers crying because they are leaving a home they raised four children in over the last three decades. Or buyers crying because at the last minute they've been informed they should have listened to their lender or agent when they were cautioned, don't buy anything between now and closing. Nothing. No cars, no jewelry, don't use your credit. And then they do it anyway. Then tears are in order for everyone who spent the last 60 days of working with them only to see all that work, not rewarded dime, because the buyer believed the car salesman when he said, Oh, don't worry, we won't run your credit until after you close. And of course, you've seen joy, so much joy, a first generation home buyer, a move across the country sale by the seller to take the dream job half a continent away. Real estate closers, or title closers in many parts of the country, deserve your respect. They have mine. They are the unsung heroes of real estate transactions. Lastly, they know more than most buyers and sellers realize. It's just that it isn't really their place to say out loud what maybe should be said. Usually you're here as an agent. You want the full speech, or you want me to just answer questions as we go? I'd used Angie before for a reason. Sharp, efficient, no drama, single mom, quick wit. Could close a deal with buyers in the room or with signatures getting chased across three states and two time zones. She had once helped me close an investor from Dubai who purchased a house in Kansas City. He was a referral from a DC lawyer I hadn't spoken to in 20 years. I still needed to send him a thank you card. I'm good, I said. Roll them out. That's the thing about closings. If you've done enough of them, they start to feel less like major life moments and more like paperwork under a watchful eye. Receive the document, sign, initial, date, slide, next. My comments? That line about the DC lawyer? I planted it twelve hundred words into this book. I won't tell you why yet, but when you finish notice of assignment, come back and read this paragraph again. And have you ever been so confident in yourself that you overlook something that should have been an obvious warning?

SPEAKER_01 13:09

Yeah. Me too. Continuing.

SPEAKER_00 13:16

Then Angie stopped one in front of me. Cal, you need to sign this with your legal name. I looked at her. That's my signature. Legal name? Angie didn't blink. I'd heard that line dozens of times and dozens of closings. Still hated it every time. Blue ink, legal name, today's date. Using blue ink was easy. Angie had the pens all lined up like surgical tools. The legal name was the problem. Somewhere back in high school I'd developed a signature that looked like speed itself had signed. Mainly because I had no patience for ceremony. I signed my name Calvin Brink. Then I glanced at the date. My comments? This has been a pet peeve of mine forever. Doesn't matter who the closer or company is, I'll just leave this right here. In the manuscript it says Friday, August 13th, 2010. Well, I said, when we moved the closing up, I didn't realize it was Friday the thirteenth. I did, Shauna said. In real life, this would be my wife and I. When I'm focused on something, I don't see the details. My wife absolutely would have noticed this. She even said so. Back to notice of assignment. She didn't believe in luck. Good luck, bad luck, none of it. She believed in decisions, consequences, character, and whether the checking account could take another hit. Still, my mind went there for a second. We had Davis, sixteen, almost seventeen years old. That felt like good luck. We'd also had a miscarriage before him and one after. So, if luck existed, it had a mean streak. Shauna carried those scars underneath that personality that welcomed everyone, and everyone welcomed her. One meeting and she knew your name, your kids' names and birthdays, and more about you than I would have learned in six years. I'm going to be very personal here. This section was hard to write. In real life, we have four children. Two were natural and two were adopted from the foster care system. How many children do I write into this book? All four? One? In the end, I decided to write one child to keep a reader focused and, frankly, to simplify myself from having too many moving parts. But for the record, let's be extremely clear about this. Each and every one of our children have made me who I am today. In some form or fashion, they contributed to my learned skills and behaviors. Human behaviors. There is much more to the story that one day I will share, but not now. Just know I would have been nothing without them all. And the non viable pregnancies? Painful. If you ever do meet my wife, she will truly be interested in you. She's a special woman. Angie presented a sheet that showed the loan terms. No interest. It's like you're buying a Ford, she commented. That's highly unusual. Hey, they called me, really wanted to sell the house and get it off their books. I was bragging a bit, and she knew it. Shauna knew it. People in KC knew I was doing well in this Great Recession. I liked that. In truth, in the Great Recession, all sorts of financing was going on. Banks were desperate to work with people that had cash and good credit. In real life, I did help some of my buyers get deals that could never happen today. The banks won, the buyers won, I won by selling another house. It's one of the good things that came out of the Great Recession for some of us. But make no mistake, it did feel a lot like picking through the bones of someone's dreams. Back to notice of assignment. A few more documents went by. Affidavit of title, settlement statement, the usual stack. I signed where she pointed and dated where she asked and thought, not for the first time, that America's answer to everything was to create more paper and longer words. More forms weren't going to fix the housing mess. Putting a few men in expensive suits in jail might have helped, but nobody asked me. Alright. That was definitely my opinion written into that last sentence. When I wrote putting a few men in expensive suits in jail, I meant and mean every word of it. America, we got fleeced. Then Angie slid one more sheet in front of me. Last one, seller said this over this morning, Angie mechanically said. I gave it a quick look. Something assignment ish, something lawyerly, something I hadn't expected but didn't think much about. All I noticed was it said that the loan was being made by a solo del Sol Finance, and that for its own reasons it was assigning the servicing of the loan to a third party. And on and on. I really didn't care who I sent the payments to. I didn't even read page two. Huh, I said. They really will invent a document for anything. I slid up page one, signed it on page two, and then handed the two pages to Shauna. That's it, Angie said. Then she looked at Shauna. Any questions?

SPEAKER_01 18:57

Alright, my comments on this?

SPEAKER_00 18:59

Um you may wish to dog ear this page. Shauna smiled, but it was that smile wives get when they are being polite in public and reserving the real conversation for later. No, I don't know half of what I sign, but he better. Angie laughed. I did too, but not as confidently as I wanted it to sound. Shauna meant it. She wasn't all the way bought in on the deal, but she was bought in on me. There's a difference, and any married man with a pulse ought to know it. She had gone through lean with me, she had stood by me through ideas that sounded smarter, leaving my mouth than they did on paper. She loved me, believed in me. She was just ready for life to deliver a little bit more thick than thin for once. Any closing usually ends with some version of a celebration. Handshakes, smiles, congratulations, maybe even a gift bag if the agent is feeling generous or theatrical. This one felt different. I was the buyer and the agent, which made the usual ritual as ridiculous as the Missouri Real Estate Commission, requiring me to sign a contract with myself to represent myself. I wasn't about to congratulate myself too hard for spending our money on a downtown Kansas City, Missouri house that still needed work. Lots of it. Any closing gift I might have earned was already spoken for in paint, flooring, fixtures, and whatever fresh problem waited behind the walls.

SPEAKER_01 20:35

Alright. Marriage is buried in that section. Tell me I'm wrong. Perfect, I said, standing.

SPEAKER_00 20:45

I leaned down and kissed Shauna on the cheek. I've got a buyer appointment across the street. I'll see you around 4 30 and then I'll take you by the house. Afterwards, I made a reservation at that restaurant that you said feels like we're in a mob movie every time we eat there. It's just around the corner from our house. She nodded, but she didn't look convinced. Not angry, just unconvinced. Then Angie gathered the stack, Shauna picked up her purse, and just like that the room emptied out. A few signatures, a kiss on the cheek, one more house. I'm going to confess, this is me. Done. Next. In fact, it's one of the reasons I don't stay mad too long. It's over, move on. But it's also one of the reasons I can be a bit transactional. If you are into the disc profile system, I'm a high D and high C. Have some fun. Investigate the behavioral types. Sure, I can adapt for a while, but then I always come back to being direct and wanting things the way I want them. And by the way, that mob reference, you might file that away or look into Kansas City's history. In the manuscript I wrote, at the time, that's all it felt like. In real life, if you ask anyone that works with me or for me, I have a saying. Everything is fine until it's not. Everything is fine until it's not. If you've spent a day in real estate investigation or marriage, you know exactly how fast that line can turn on you. As a high D and C on the disc profile system, my instinct has always been done next. I don't stay mad, but I can get transactional, moving straight to the next house or the next file. Writing this chapter was a confession, a reminder of the times we get so confident in our own motion that we look right past the obvious warnings and the quiet, unconvinced looks of the people who keep us grounded. I want to hear what hit home for you today. Head over to calbrinkfiles.com and drop your thoughts in the comment section. And if you haven't done it yet, beat the October Rush. Go to calbrink.com right now to secure early access and read the first four chapters of Notice of Assignment. Until Sunday, keep your eyes on the details, pay attention to the signs you're ignoring, and stay sharp. You've been listening to The Behavioral Detective. This is, of course, a Chris Wrights LLC publication. Not legal advice, not professional guidance, and do not imitate tactics. Fictionalize, composite, altered details, and no identification intended. Copyright 2026, Chris Wrights LLC, all rights reserved.