"We sent it" is not an answer.
A title company doesn't want to know an email left your building.
They want to know it arrived, and that somebody opened it.
For most of this industry, proof of delivery is a sent-mail folder. Which is the digital version of watching a letter vanish down a chute and assuring everyone it went somewhere.
So we built the messaging spine early. Two halves.
Half one: the notification center. A bell with an unread count. Every notification is scoped to you, prioritized, and clickable — click it and you land on the exact order it concerns. Mark one read. Or mark forty.
There is one button we deliberately never built. Delete.You can acknowledge a notification. You cannot make it stop having happened. In a business where somebody may one day ask who knew what and when, the record is the point.
Under that bell, one event fans out three ways at the same moment:
→ a durable record, in a list you can go back to next March
→ a browser push, so it reaches you at the operating-system level with the tab shut
→ a live update inside the app, if you happen to be looking at it
Same event. Three routes. Nobody plugging in cords.
And nothing but a nudge crosses that wire — no balances, no owner data. Just: the thing you're reading has changed, go and read it again.
Half two: email history.
Every email the platform sends is recorded, and then keeps updating itself as the outside world reports back. Processed. Delivered. Opened. Clicked. Or bounced, dropped, flagged as spam — with counts, and the machine it was read on.
That last branch isn't a nicety. A bounced delivery email means a title company is waiting on a package that technically already exists.
Proof of delivery is a feature.
Not a log file somebody excavates after the closing has already slipped.
Next: the least glamorous thing we built, and why a document company ends up obsessed with shelving.