Where their story lives.

In Australia. The recordings, transcripts, photographs, and every artefact we make from them are stored in Sydney, in private, encrypted storage. Nothing sits on a public link: there are no open URLs to a recording or a book, only short-lived signed links created at the moment the right person asks for them, behind their private access.

The live conversation itself passes through our voice-call provider while it happens, as any phone or video call does. As soon as a conversation ends we bring the recording into our own Australian storage, and the provider's temporary copy expires. The lasting copy is ours, held here.

No editors, no transcribers, no reviewers, no story coaches. The interviews are conducted by machine, the chapters are drafted by machine, and the quality checks are run by machine; when something needs judgement, the system asks the storyteller, never a stranger. Revere is run by its two founders, and the only human eyes that can fall on interview material are ours, in the course of making Revere better at its work. A story never leaves the company.

The machines are named partners with narrow jobs: a voice-call provider carries the conversation, an AI writing partner drafts the chapters from the transcripts, and a voice partner builds the audiobook narration. Each processes the material solely to make this one memoir. None of them is permitted to train their general models on anything identifiable from a story.

A cloned voice is only ever made with the storyteller's own recorded consent, given by them personally before the interviews begin, never by the person who bought the gift. Declining costs them nothing: the memoir, the Living Memoir, and the printed book are made exactly the same.

When an audiobook is made, the voice model is built from the storyteller's own interview recordings, used once to narrate their book, and then deleted from the voice provider, along with the audio it was trained on. We do not keep a standing clone of anyone's voice, and a voice model is never used for anything except narrating that storyteller's own memoir.

Story materials are kept for the hosting term (five years on every edition, renewable), so the Living Memoir keeps working for the whole term. The printed book and everything downloaded are the family's forever, regardless, and the whole Living Memoir can be downloaded at any time as one self-contained file, voice and photographs included, that needs nothing from us to open.

The storyteller can ask us to delete any of it, or all of it, at any time: recordings, transcripts, photographs, the voice model, the finished artefacts, the account. One email is enough. We confirm in writing when it's done, and deletion means deletion from our storage and from our processing partners, not a hidden archive.

If a breach ever touches someone's story, we will tell them promptly, plainly, and personally: what happened, what was exposed, and what we have done about it. No burying it in legal language.