The Times Magazine 13It seems the deal will be OK. But it leads
to some interesting small talk. While Cable
has to offer counselling, Alex Moisii doesn’t.
His sales technique is more uncompromising.
“People try to screw you over all the time
when a deal is closing. You have to be ready
to have a serious conversation,” he says.
Cable sighs and says Moisii is a “dick-
waver”. He gets away with an arrogance that
no woman would. “I’m arrogant because I’m
pretty good at what I do,” he says. “I guess
you could call me the bad boy of real estate.”
Everybody has had an adverse estate-agent
experience at some point in their lives. The
agent who rhapsodises over the master
bedroom while stumbling into a broom
cupboard. The agent who fakes a rival bid to
hike up the price. My worst experience was
a guy who rented me a flat in Brixton, south
London, in the Nineties. He said the landlord
was looking for someone responsible and
flexible. On my first day home from work in
the new flat I found a man drinking a cup
of tea and using the washing machine in the
kitchen. He was the landlord. He said his new
place didn’t have a machine and this was what
he meant about being flexible.
No wonder there have been attempts to
“disrupt” the property-buying process. In the
past decade the company Purple Bricks has
pioneered a hybrid model where you sell via
its online portal for a flat fee. More recently
the US company Zillow pioneered “iBuying”.
Using a sophisticated algorithm, the companyoffered homeowners an estimate (known
as a “zestimate”) of their home’s value. The
company itself then bought the home for cash
and, after doing an upgrade, tried to sell it
on for a profit. It didn’t work. Zillow stopped
buying houses in November 2021 and laid off
2,000 staff after losing a lot of money.
So, no one has so far managed to change
the game. Even Tyron Ash’s model is quite
old-fashioned. There’s no innovative use of
data; just creative social media backed by
hungry agents who work commission-only.
However, that commission is 2.5 per cent. On
a £4 million property, that is £100,000. Tyron
Ash keeps half of that, with the agent taking
25 per cent for listing the property and the
other 25 per cent going to whoever sells it.
“You eat what you kill,” says Ash. “We are
working-class outsiders in this game and what
you get is that hunger and energy. We are
busy closing [the deal] while everyone else
is sitting in an office on their arse.”
David Mamet’s classic play Glengarry
Glen Ross portrays extraordinary venality and
rivalry in the world of Chicago property sales.
The agents plot and fight over the best “leads”.
It’s no different at Tyron Ash. In one episode
Leigh and Moisii have a blazing row over a
prospective sale in Cornwall. Moisii says he
found the client. Leigh claims she closed the
deal. “I tried to help you,” he cries. “Why are
you such a prick?” she demands.
The anger is born of ambition, maybe
even a sense of desperation. All the TyronAsh agents I speak to see this as their big
break. They performed badly at school.
They’ve done a lot of crap jobs. This is their
chance. Chloe Cable grew up in Warsash, a
village between Portsmouth and Southampton.
Aged 13 she got work in a nail bar and, after
that, a tanning salon. When she was 15 she
bought herself a Gucci belt. Her dad went mad.
“He said, ‘What a waste of money,’ but
I always liked nice things. And when I saw
Million Dollar Listing [a US reality TV show
about property], I thought, ‘I could do that.’
But my dad was like, ‘Don’t kid yourself. Not
everyone gets paid that well.’ ”
Cable was working as a local estate agent
when the pandemic struck and she was laid
off. Tyron Ash contacted her on social media
and within months she had sold her first
luxury property and taken home a £20,
commission. In 2021 she became a partner
and now leads a team of six.
“I hammer my guys to perform because
when they sell, I get an extra 10 per cent,” she
says. “My plan is to pay off my dad’s mortgage
for him.”
Tyron Ash expects each agent to knock on
150 doors each month. What’s it like for the
girls, I wonder, dressed to the nines, cold-
calling at multimillion-pound properties?
“Mostly people are respectful,” says Cable.
“You have less than two minutes to add value
to that initial conversation. But people want to
sell their houses and so they welcome a deal.”
However, she admits that one time a
boxer lost interest describing his bathroom
and asked her to be the bikini-clad “ring girl”
at his next fight. Another man texted her
after a viewing and invited her to accompany
him on an all-expenses trip to Los Angeles.
“It doesn’t matter if you have a £10 million
property to sell, you have to be professional.
It’s disgusting.”
Sophie Leigh has had bad experiences too.
“You chat and it seems OK, but then very
occasionally you get a message asking for
extras.” She sighs. “I do think it’s easier for
men in this game. They don’t get that hassle.”
I sit down with Alex Moisii in the
penthouse office. He swivels in a high-backed
chair while I flip through my pad and try to
ask questions. It’s like doing a property deal.
“I can’t give you everything about my life
because I’m saving my story for a book,” he
says. Moisii oozes confidence and machismo.
He reminds me of Al Pacino playing Richard
Roma in the 1992 film version of Glengarry
Glen Ross. Wily, fast-talking, looking for the
angle no one else can see.
In 2018 Moisii had a great business
idea. He developed “edible gold”, a health
supplement that contained gold nanoparticles,
which he sold for £39.99 a pop in Northampton.
After that he became a chef at the Food Plug,
a local takeaway.‘IT’S A WORLD OF EXCESS. OUR CLIENTS LIKE TO SHOW
OFF. OUR JOB IS TO BE A PART OF THAT PERFORMANCE’
Tyron and Reis Ash
arriving for a valuation