What we can see, in a list

Every figure you enter, and every word you attach to one. These are encrypted in your browser with AES-GCM-256 before they are sent, under a key we never receive.

• Amounts, quantities, unit costs, balances and valuations, on every asset and every debt.
• The names you give things: a holding's label, an account's nickname, a property's address, a company's name.
• Notes, and anything else you type into a free-text field.
• Your target allocation percentages, your expenses, and the assumptions behind your projection.

Structure has to stay in the clear for a database to be a database. We list it rather than glossing over it, because a disclosure page that claims everything is encrypted is a disclosure page that is lying.

• Your email address, because it is how you sign in and how we would reach you.
• Row identifiers and foreign keys, because a row has to be findable and has to point at its parent.
• Dates, because ordering and history are computed from them.
• The kind of each record — that a row is a crypto holding rather than a mortgage — because the app has to know which screen it belongs on.
• Your dashboard layout: which widgets you kept, in what order, at what size.

We can see that an account exists, who it belongs to, that it holds seven crypto positions and two properties, and that one of them changed last Tuesday. We cannot see a single number. Not the quantity, not the coin, not the value, not the total. A subpoena, a rogue employee and a stolen database backup all get the same thing: structure, and ciphertext inside it.

A compromised device or browser can read what you have unlocked, because at that moment you have unlocked it. A recovery phrase kept in a note on a synced phone is only as private as that phone. And if you lose the phrase, the figures are unrecoverable by anyone, including us — that is not a gap in the design, it is the design. Encryption on your side of the wire is not a substitute for a locked laptop.