Could your person run your life for 48 hours if you couldn't speak? Answer twelve plain questions the way things stand today — not the way you mean them to be someday — and get a verdict in hours, with every gap named.
Every gap the test finds becomes a filled-in worksheet in the kit: the First 48 Hours sheet, the money map, the people tree, the handover walkthrough. It lives on your own computer and in your own hands — no account, no subscription, and we never see a word of it.
Because the first two days are when a missing plan does its damage. After that, families improvise systems; lawyers get called; routines form. But the locked door is a tonight problem, the medication list is a first-hour problem, and the pet is a twelve-hour problem. How the verdict is scored — the weights, the floor, and what the bands mean — is published in full, because a verdict you can't inspect isn't worth much.
Answer "Partly" when the truth is partly. A plan that exists in your head is partly. A person you've chosen but never told is partly. The test is kindest to the truth and most useful to it, too.