A resale package can be eleven documents from five different places.
The buyer wants one thing.
Everything in between is a packing bench.
Three steps do the packing.
First, Watermark. It stamps a diagonal, semi-transparent mark across every page — one file, or a whole folder and everything nested inside it. Non-PDFs it leaves alone, because there is no dignified way to stamp a spreadsheet.
Why bother? So a buyer can read a package before paying and still can't use that copy at a real closing.
A preview you can read but can't close on.Second, Zip. It squashes a whole folder tree into one archive.
We had to write an explicit guard to stop it putting the archive inside itself. A box that contains itself is a bad box. It has been spoken to, and I would like that on the record.
Then the Bucket, which is the actual bench.
It copies files from every wired source into the order's own folder. Copies, not shortcuts. So when somebody re-arranges the deliverable at 4pm on a Friday, nothing whatsoever happens to the originals sitting in the accounting system.
It lays them out the way the person who designed the package decided they should be laid out. Folders, order, names — dragged into place once, applied to every order after.
And it waits. Some sources are still producing when the bench is ready for them, so it checks back up to fifteen times before it gives up on one.
Then it mints the share.
Not a login. A link. The title company is not a user of our software and is never going to become one.
One folder. One link. One tidy thing.Instead of eleven scattered ones and a covering email that says "see attached (3 of 5)".
Next: the two places we stop this machine dead, on purpose.