Don’t ask me if it’s broken. Ask me how many dollars you have to spend to fix it.
I’m Ethan C. Morrison.
For the last ten years, I’ve walked through newly built homes — some worth over a million dollars — and told the people holding the check exactly how much it would cost to fix what the standard inspection missed.
Not if it needs fixing.
How much.
That’s the only number that actually matters at closing. And it’s the one number most buyers never get.
What I actually do
I’m a licensed Professional Engineer (structural), a Certified Cost Professional (CCP), and I hold a state home inspector license that I rarely mention — because standard inspections are a checkbox, and I do the math they don’t.
My day job is pre-purchase due diligence and repair-reserve analysis for buyers and investment firms walking into $1M+ new builds. I produce cost audits that make builders’ warranty managers squirm and closing attorneys raise eyebrows. I don’t just tell you the drywall is cracked. I tell you whether the slab is out of tolerance, what it’ll cost to fix it in today’s labor market, and whether the builder’s proposed “repair” actually solves the problem — or just kicks it past the one-year warranty.
Before I went independent, I spent five years as a field engineer and estimator at a major commercial general contractor (the Turner / Bechtel tier). I priced seven-figure change orders and learned exactly how contractors bury cost overruns in contract language. That world taught me one thing I’ve never unlearned:
If you can’t put a dollar sign on it, you don’t actually understand it.
Who I am outside the hard hat
I live in Austin, Texas — which means I spend half my professional life on expansive clay soils that move more than most foundations can handle, and the other half explaining to buyers why that matters.
My wife Sarah teaches high school math in Austin ISD. She’s also the unofficial quality control on my spreadsheets — she catches rounding errors with a red pen that would make most project managers blush. We have two kids: Liam (17, a junior who’d rather be fishing than looking at floor plans) and Ella (13, who draws better site sketches than some architects I’ve worked with). And then there’s Ranger — our 3-year-old golden retriever who has attended more site walks than most builders’ project engineers.
On weekends, I’m in the backyard with my offset smoker, slow-cooking brisket at 225°F and reminding myself that patience isn’t just for barbecue — it’s for due diligence, too. I restore antique hand planes in my woodshop, and when I really need to clear my head, I’m standing in a Hill Country river with a fly rod, watching for risers.
Why this blog exists
I started The New Home Skeptic because too many buyers are walking into the biggest financial decision of their lives with a 50-page PDF from a general inspector and a false sense of security.
That report tells you what’s wrong.
It rarely tells you what it costs.
This blog is the antidote.
Here, every finding has a dollar sign attached. Every builder upgrade is run through a cold cost-benefit analysis. Every red flag is connected to a repair reserve number — not a vague warning.
What you won’t find here
I’m an engineer, not an attorney — so you won’t get legal advice or contract interpretations.
I audit houses, not portfolios — so you won’t get investment tips, flipping strategies, or macro housing takes.
I name patterns, not people — so you won’t see me calling out specific builders or developers by name. Lawsuits are expensive, and naming names doesn’t help you protect your wallet. Identifying the shortcuts does.
And this isn’t a diary — so you won’t find personal emotional essays. Sarah, Liam, Ella, and Ranger show up here because they’re part of the life that keeps me grounded, not because I’m writing a memoir.
The bottom line
If you’re buying a new home and you think “new” means “problem-free,” I’m here to recalibrate that expectation.
If you’re looking at a builder allowance sheet and suspect it’s fiction — it probably is.
If your agent tells you the basement is “a bit damp” and you want to know whether that means $5,000 or $50,000 — you’re in the right place.
Don’t ask me if there’s anything wrong with the house.
Ask me how many dollars you have to spend to fix it.
That’s what I do. That’s what this blog is for.
— Ethan C. Morrison
Austin, Texas