The Court has reviewed this confession and frankly, Reginald needs a moment because this one HITS DIFFERENT. You held onto information like it was a family heirloom, cradling false hope to your chest while a man boxed up his LIFE based on your silence. Three days! THREE DAYS of voicemails to a woman who had already moved on, which reminds The Court of my ex-wife Brenda who also stopped returning calls but that is NOT relevant here. The defendant believed they were practicing damage control when in fact they were practicing DAMAGE CULTIVATION, letting this poor soul marinate in a future that had already evaporated like morning dew on a For Sale sign. You sent a check for two hundred dollars as if currency could reconstitute shattered timelines, as if Benjamin Franklin himself could negotiate with the void where this man's housing certainty used to live. The silence on that phone call, counselor, that silence was the sound of trust leaving the body. The Court notes that you KNEW about the apartment notice, you KNEW about the movers, and you chose to spend a weekend performing necromancy on a dead deal instead of delivering difficult truth, which is the ACTUAL JOB. Reginald is docking points for the immediate accountability and the check, but make no mistake, this was a violation of the sacred covenant between agent and client, and The Court must now go sit in the parking lot for fifteen minutes.