I've noticed something peculiar about real estate transactions: everybody seems to be making money.

The seller gets $500,000 for a property he bought for $300,000. He's delighted. The buyer believes he's getting a bargain. He's delighted too. The agents collect commissions. The lender collects fees. The title company gets paid. Inspectors, attorneys, appraisers, everybody gets something. Champagne all around.

But wait a minute. Where did all this money come from? The building hasn't changed. The tenants haven't changed. The roof still leaks in exactly the same place. We've spent thousands of dollars moving ownership from one person to another.

Now, an economist would tell me that both parties can benefit. The seller values the cash more than the property. The buyer values the property more than the cash. Fair enough. A property in better hands may become more productive. A buyer may renovate it, improve management, or find a better use for it. That's real value.

But what if he doesn't? What if he simply holds it for three years and sells it for more? And the next buyer does the same? At every transaction, somebody gets paid. And every buyer is betting, at least partly, on what somebody else will eventually pay.

Here's where it gets strange. Ownership isn't a physical quality of a building. It's a legal relationship between people. The deed changes. The building doesn't. Yet that legal relationship can be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Of course, ownership matters. It gives me control, the right to collect rent, the ability to borrow against the property, and the responsibility to maintain it. Those are real economic advantages. But sometimes I wonder whether we've become so fascinated by what a property can be sold for that we've forgotten to ask what it actually does.

I'm a lender. I participate in this machinery myself. I get paid when transactions happen. So I'm hardly standing outside the casino criticizing the gamblers. And I'm not suggesting that appreciation is imaginary. A new school, better transportation, growing demand, or a shortage of housing can change what people are willing to pay.

But here's my uncomfortable question: How much of my profit comes from making something more valuable, and how much comes from owning something that other people have made more valuable? And if everybody involved in the transaction is celebrating, perhaps I should ask one more thing. Who created the value we're all celebrating?