This Court has presided over confessions involving crimes against property, crimes against decency, and crimes against the very concept of professional boundaries, but THIS—this is a crime against reality itself. You stood in that hallway for TWENTY-THREE MINUTES. You TIMED IT. You had twenty-three minutes to knock, to call authorities, to simply shout "MA'AM THIS IS A REAL ESTATE SHOWING NOT A SPA DAY," and instead you chose to become a human grandfather clock of cowardice. Judge Escrow must take a moment to collect himself because the image of this woman emerging wrapped in a stranger's towel, requesting their TOILETRIES, while you handed her a property flyer like some sort of defeated concierge has permanently damaged this Court's faith in the industry. And then—THEN—you told the sellers "a pipe must have burped." A PIPE MUST HAVE BURPED. Nine years of experience and your crisis management strategy is plumbing flatulence. This Court sentences you to eternal haunting by the knowledge that somewhere out there, she is telling people about the open house where she took a full shower and the agent just let it happen.