There are rare moments in my practice when I must refuse a Feng Shui Audit, even when the request comes from the wealthiest of clients. One such moment arose when I was invited to assess a breath-taking villa in Sandhurst, South Africa—an enclave of grandeur where the ultra-rich reside in opulence. This villa was no exception; it exuded wealth, beauty, and luxury. Yet, beneath its immaculate surface, something far darker lurked. No fortune, no amount of luxury could protect the inhabitants from the invisible threat I sensed the moment I arrived.
The villa stood at the end of a panhandle road, with the road hitting directly onto the building from the Northwest. Immediately, I felt the weight of danger. This was no ordinary energy—this was lethal. I refused the job without hesitation.
The client’s face betrayed his confusion, his disbelief. “Why not?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. The fee he offered was substantial, but this was not about money. This was a matter of life and death, and no sum could convince me otherwise.
Reluctantly, I began to explain. A panhandle road striking the building from the Northwest brings disaster, specifically targeting the father or patriarch of the household. The energy it carries is like a hidden blade, poised to sever the life force of the man who resides there. This isn’t something that can be waved away or easily remedied. The danger was real, and I would not be complicit in whatever fate had already begun to take shape.
What happened next sent a chill through the room. The client, his voice quiet and subdued, confirmed my worst fears. His father had been present during the villa’s renovation when tragedy struck. The trusted labourers he had hired turned on him, brutally attacking and killing him. The villa had already claimed its first victim.
The air grew thick as the client spoke, heavy with the weight of the energy I had felt from the start. “This is not new to me,” I said, my voice steady but grave. “The numbers never lie, and the energies are far more real than most people understand.”
As if the floodgates had opened, the client revealed even more chilling details. The house had been part of a deceased estate, sold at auction after the violent death of its previous owner—a well-known judge. The story read like something out of a nightmare. The judge had been murdered by his wife and her accomplice in a twisted plot for his inheritance, fuelled by her fury over his sex scandals, which had taken place in the very home. The pool, ominously located on the right-hand side of the front door, further magnified the sinister energies at work.
To the client, these revelations were a shock. But to me, they were not. “A house is not just a structure of bricks and wood,” I explained. “It absorbs the energies of those who lived—and died—within its walls. The roads that surround it are channels for these forces. Some places carry a curse that cannot be undone.”
The panhandle road, the dead-end, the T-junction—these are more than mere architectural quirks. They are conduits of energy that can either nourish or destroy the lives of those within. And in this case, the message was crystal clear. Nothing I could do, no Feng Shui adjustment, could stop what was already in motion.
As Grand Master Yap taught, certain conditions are beyond the reach of even the most skilled Feng Shui practitioner. If a panhandle road, a T-junction, or a dead-end directs its energy toward a building, Feng Shui can only delay the inevitable. We may improve the health, wealth, and relationships of those living there, but there will come a year, a month, a day when that energy strikes, and someone will die.
Imagine a world-class marksman hitting an apple on a person’s head 1,000 times without fail. But on the 1,001st shot, he misses, and tragedy strikes. So it is with these dangerous energies—they will claim a life eventually. As a Feng Shui master, I know not only who will die in the home, but also when. How could I, in good conscience, conduct an audit and look this family in the eye, knowing I could have prevented the tragedy?
It is never easy to turn down a job, especially when significant sums are involved. But in this case, I told the truth. The client listened—and wisely chose not to build a new villa on that land. I take pride in knowing I may have saved his life.
With a stern warning, I left the villa, fully aware that its history—and its future—was sealed. There are forces too dark, too deeply rooted in the very fabric of a place. And some fates, not even a Feng Shui master can change.