Ideally it would be a few miles out of town. Something truly spectacular. They had one shot to establish a reputation. The first house would set the tone. Claudine decided that she would keep selling condos and houses—whatever listings she could get—until they found the perfect plot. She’d spend hours driving around Snowmass and Buttermilk. All around Red Mountain and Woody Creek. Not that she expected to find a fire sale, but she thought she’d discover something. The only thing she was learning was that big companies already owned so much. They needed another way in. A connection. She refused to be discouraged. Worked on her patience, which wasn’t easy. It would come. She’d find it. And until then she and Henry would gather the troops. Establish a stable of excellent hardworking local vendors. Meet the master masons. Befriend the top wood restorers. Find the best metalworkers.

Claudine knew early relationships with like-minded, ambitious, skilled contractors would be crucial when it became go time. The Alpine brothers were the best custom-home builders in the state. Always in high demand. The good news was Henry already knew them. Third-generation Aspenites, Jack and Bobby—the new generation taking over the business—had been a couple years older than him in high school. The currency that went with Henry’s local status got them the meeting, and the partnership was cemented over a dozen beers at Little Annie’s. When it did happen, it would happen fast. But they’d be ready. The key was to have a top core team to execute Calhoun + Calhoun houses, and they were on their way. She saw herself as a commodity trader, but instead of dealing with grain or gold, it was luxury, bespoke real estate. Everything new. Everything exciting. Years from now, she wanted Calhoun + Calhoun rolling off the tongue of anyone looking to buy in Aspen. It was during these early days when she learned that starting over came easy to her. She was good at it. Which would soon prove more helpful than she could ever know.

Henry

Maybe it was fitting that it all started with a ghost story.

It was Halloween, and they’d been sitting around the firepits outside the Little Nell, having cocktails and trying to scare each other.