The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL with the audacity on display here. Three minutes. THREE MINUTES on an inspection report while conducting what The Court can only assume was a call about literally anything other than your sworn duty to your clients. You scrolled past page 12 like it was a terms of service agreement for a free app, and now there is WATER in someone's BASEMENT because you treated a legal document like a CVS receipt. Reginald once read a 47-page HOA covenant about acceptable mailbox heights IN ITS ENTIRETY because that is what PROFESSIONALS do. The inspector buried it on page 12, you say, as if that absolves you, as if page 12 is some kind of unreachable frontier that only Lewis and Clark could access. Your child had strep, and The Court is sympathetic, truly, because The Court's own nephew once had strep and it was A WHOLE THING, but your clients now have forty thousand dollars of foundation problems and a lovely story about how their agent was too busy being a parent to be a fiduciary. The phrase "technically disclosed" will be carved on your professional tombstone. This Court hereby sentences you to read every inspection report aloud, in full, standing in the basement of the property in question, until the day you retire or the day Order the Roomba finally achieves sentience, whichever comes first. CASE CLOSED, Reginald must now go lie down.