The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the cascade of horrors contained within. Let Reginald be clear: when a seller swears on her mother while twelve thousand dollars in mold treatment receipts sit in the garage like a confession written in spore form, we are not dealing with mere negligence — we are dealing with BOTANICAL PERJURY. The Court once dated a woman who claimed her condo had no moisture issues, and three months later I was sleeping in what can only be described as a terrarium with a lease agreement. You, Agent, stood in the blast radius of a mold volcano and somehow emerged holding the listing like a participation trophy from a disaster. The HVAC guy knew. The second guy knew. The mold knew. Even the crawl space, that damp cathedral of secrets, KNEW. And yet here you sit, phone silent, reputation fermenting like the very fungus that consumed this transaction. The buyer walked because buyers have INSTINCTS, unlike sellers who apparently have amnesia and garage receipts. This Court hereby declares you guilty not of growing the mold yourself, but of failing to recognize that some listings are simply nature's way of saying NO. Case dismissed — Reginald must now go inspect his own crawl space, which he has been avoiding since 2017.