The security guard squinted at Randy. "And you are?"
Randy kept up appearances. "You blind? I'm Randy Osborne."
The guard stayed deadpan. "ID, please."
Randy exploded. "I need an ID to enter my own freaking house?"
"Sorry, sir. If you're impersonating him and I let you in, I'll get fired," the guard insisted.
Grumbling, Randy yanked out a wallet. "See this? Designer leather. Costs more than your salary."
He flipped it open to reveal a stack of cards. "Credit cards. More than you've ever had."
The guard repeated flatly, "ID, please."
"I forgot my damn ID, okay?" Randy spluttered.
Erica came out of the car, marched over, and slapped Randy's ID into the guard's hand.
"Happy? Open the gate," she said.
The guard meticulously compared Randy to the photo and pulled out a scanner.
Debra chuckled, "High standards for your family."
"Yeah," Erica teased. "Not just anyone gets through those gates."
Randy kicked a pebble. "Too many stupid rules here. Made me ditch the mansion for a condo."
Debra studied the sprawling, meticulously maintained estate. Though modernized, its bones screamed old-money tradition. "People say the Osborne family is the weakest among the Four Great Families. But you've sailed smoothly for a century. Safer than the rest of us."
Randy sighed, "Better safe than sorry. That's our motto."

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