Your life makes information all day long. Today other people collect it and cash it in. Your agent banks it for you instead: kept by you, spent only on your say-so, working for you.
Free for every American. Nothing about you is ever for sale.
Your money is safest in a bank, but the bank never owns it. It guards it, moves it only when you say, sends you a statement, and hands back every cent the day you ask. Everyone on earth understands that deal.
Nobody has ever offered you that deal for your information. Your sizes, your budget, the seat you like, the causes you give to: today a thousand companies each keep their own guessed-at copy, and none of them answer to you.
🤫 Private Agent One is that deal, for everything about you. One place, yours. Deposits happen on their own as it runs your errands. Nothing moves without your yes. Every look lands on your statement. And you can close the account and walk out with everything, any day.
Setting up should feel like being handed keys, not configuring software. No forms, no credit card, nothing to tune.
The Google account you already use. One tap, and you are in.
Your own computer and phone. Your information lives with you, and never has to leave to be useful.
It runs on computing and subscriptions you already pay for, your own or the ones work provides. For you it is free. Not free for a while. Free.
The chasing, the comparing, the forms, the renewals, the follow-ups nobody enjoys. Your agent runs the errands and hands you back finished work: money saved, junk stopped, the right person nearby found and introduced.
And every finished job banks a little more. It asks you one small question only in the moment the answer matters, you answer once, and you are never asked again. There is no form to fill in anywhere. There never will be.
A streaming service, a forgotten trial, an app you meant to quit. Money back every month, with an undo for each.
Your no is broadcast for you, everywhere you go, because you should only ever have to say it once.
Say what you need the way you would say it to a neighbor, and get back a named local person who can actually do it.
A store you shop with can ask to see your sizes. The ask says exactly what they would see, what they would not, what you get in return, and when the permission ends. They can look, not keep.
Saying no takes one tap, costs you nothing, and tells them nothing. And nobody is ever made to feel strange about what is in their bank: people who need a number get a range, and what your inner circle may know is never what the world may know.
Who looked, when, what for, and how long the permission lasts, in words anyone reads at a glance. The asks it turned away for you are listed too, so you can feel it standing between you and the noise. If it is not on your statement, it did not happen.
The receipts underneath this already run in our consent system today; the statement you will read is being built on top of them.
In your home, on your own computer and phone, like your photo albums. Not on some company's servers.
Only the people you say yes to, and you can change your mind any time with one tap.
Nothing, ever. It runs on computing you already have, and for you it is free for good. Nothing about you is ever for sale.
One tap, and everything goes with you. It was always yours.
That is the whole deal. If any answer on this page ever stops being true, hold us to it.