Let the record show that this agent stood in silent complicity while an EIGHT-YEAR-OLD conducted what can only be described as unauthorized moisture archaeology, pointing her tiny finger at the heavens like some sort of preschool home inspector while her mother desperately attempted to gaslight her own child about the nature of ceiling discoloration. The Court has seen this before, this particular shade of bathwater amber, this unmistakable hue that Reginald privately calls "Negligent Ochre," and I once had a similar stain in my own dining room that I blamed on a previous owner for six years before discovering I had been over-steeping my tea directly beneath a compromised wax ring, but THAT IS NOT THE POINT. The listing agent's accusation that the child somehow manifested $22,000 worth of subfloor rot through the sheer force of her curiosity is the kind of logic that makes The Court want to adjourn permanently and become a maritime attorney. You knew what that brown cloud meant, you watched a second-grader become the most competent person in that split-level, and you did nothing to stop her from asking the questions that NEEDED ASKING. The sellers' disclosure claiming no water damage when you could apparently perform finger surgery on the subfloor is a matter for another docket entirely, but THIS Court holds you accountable for allowing a minor to do your job better than the inspector. Reginald must now go water his plants before he forgets again.