The Court has reviewed this confession and frankly, Reginald needs a moment because THIS IS EXACTLY THE KIND OF SELECTIVE AMNESIA THAT KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT. You saw the letter. You REMEMBER seeing the letter. You even had a THOUGHT about the letter, which means your brain processed it, filed it under "problematic," and then your conscience apparently went to lunch and NEVER CAME BACK. This Court once forgot where it parked at a Trader Joe's for forty-five minutes but I did not forget a TWELVE THOUSAND DOLLAR SPECIAL ASSESSMENT, and I was under significant emotional duress because they were out of the cookie butter. The appraisal came in low and you got busy, you say, as if chaos is a legal defense, as if the roof assessment was going to politely wait in the corner while you haggled over price like a man at a flea market trying to lowball someone on a vintage lamp. That woman looked at you like you put a hole in the roof because FUNCTIONALLY YOU DID, you just used negligence instead of a hammer. She still closed, which honestly makes this worse because now she owns a condo AND a grudge, and every time her name pops up in your system that stomach drop is not guilt, it is your career sending you a small invoice for the trust you incinerated. The Court rules that your memory is not to be trusted with important documents, with minor documents, or frankly with a grocery list, and Reginald must now adjourn because Order the Roomba has gotten stuck under the witness stand again and someone has to maintain decorum around here.