mint·mark, n.
Personal finance that proves itself.
Bring your statements, exports, bank feeds, years of mess. It becomes pending work you review and settle, reconciled to the cent — with an agent that learns your language and asks before it acts.
Named for the mintmark — the tiny stamp a mint strikes on a coin to certify it was struck true.
How the money moves through it
What owning this feels like
“What's still pending on my Amex?”
You ask, in words. Six charges, one grouped as a return, the rest clean. “Settle them.” The agent summarizes the batch and waits for your yes. One message — the same actions the screens use, driven by a sentence.
A chart you keep
“Show me dining out by month.” The agent writes the query, renders the panel, and pins it to your home screen. Next month the chart updates itself — a versioned definition in your book, not a one-off image that vanishes when you close the window.
A statement nobody wrote a parser for
You drop a PDF the system has never seen. The agent reads the layout, writes the extractor, shows you the code. You settle it. Every future statement with that layout uses the same parser — your code, reviewed once and reused from then on.
The system quiets down
You tag a Starbucks charge as “coffee.” The system writes the rule. Next time, the charge arrives pre-tagged — citing the rule that proposed it. Guesses you confirm become heuristics; heuristics that hold become rules. Your vocabulary grows; the questions shrink.
It becomes yours
You pin the net-worth chart to the home grid and drag the dining panel beside it. The tagging model runs cheap because it gets your categories right; the extractor-author runs strong because writing a parser is harder. The home screen, the vocabulary, the model per task — all yours to set.
What it isn't
Not a budgeting app. No streaks, no nudges, no gamified goals. Your book, kept properly, working while you sleep and asking for you only when a real decision needs an owner.