The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the phrase "that's not even my job technically" — oh, is it not, counsel? IS IT NOT? Let Reginald tell you what is also "not technically" anyone's job: stopping a runaway shopping cart in a parking lot, yet we DO IT because we live in a SOCIETY. You saw a comp from a neighborhood with a COMMUNITY POOL being used for a neighborhood whose only amenity is, and I quote, "just houses," and you thought "someone else will catch it" like you were watching a toddler wander toward traffic at a Costco. The Court once ignored a suspicious mole for six months because "surely the dermatologist would mention it" and now Reginald has a scar shaped like Delaware AND a profound understanding of personal accountability. Your sellers are living in a HOTEL because you played comp sheet Russian roulette with their equity, and that listing agent's screaming is the sound of chickens coming home to roost in a subdivision that, notably, DOES NOT HAVE A POOL. The Roomba has rendered its verdict by repeatedly bumping into the defendant's chair, and Order knows guilt when it senses it.