Your digital estate, handed over only when it should be.

When someone dies, the family is often locked out of everything at once: the email that resets every other password, the photos, the bills, the subscriptions quietly draining the account. Grief plus a locked phone is a cruel combination.

You name a digital executor — and, if you want, separate delegates for separate things. The right person gets the right access: your sister handles the photos, your solicitor handles the accounts, no one gets the lot just because they got there first.

You want your people to be able to get in if something happens — but not today, and not just because they asked. A handover that can be triggered on a whim isn’t a handover, it’s a back door.

Release can be put behind a time-lock and a check-in you keep answering. If you stop responding for the period you chose, and only then, the handover begins — with a notice window so a false alarm can be stopped.

Handing one person the keys to your whole digital life asks a lot of them, and of your trust. One coerced, careless, or compromised individual shouldn’t be able to open everything.

You can require a quorum: several trusted people each hold a share, and an agreed number of them — two of three, say — must act together to open the vault. No single person, including us, can do it alone.

Access without context is half a gift. Your executor opens the vault and finds a wall of logins with no idea which matter, what your wishes were, or who to tell.

Everything is end-to-end encrypted on your device before we ever see it, and you can attach plain-English instructions to each item: what it is, what to do with it, who to contact. We store ciphertext we cannot read.