We signed one too.

In August 2026, my wife and I flew from Colombia to Las Vegas. I was there for an AI conference; we added a few vacation days around it. On one of those days, we said yes to a timeshare presentation.

The pitch was in Spanish. That detail matters. Nobody made us struggle in a second language: the presentation, the numbers, the friendly pressure, all of it came in our own words, from people who understood exactly where we were from. After several hours, we signed.

I build AI systems for a living. That night, back in the room, I sat with the contract and a chat window and tried to work out what we had actually agreed to. What the financing added. Which fees would keep coming after the loan ended. Whether a cancellation clock was already running, and until when.

It was harder than it should have been, not because the tools were weak, but because at that hour, tired and a little embarrassed, you don’t know what to ask. The problem wasn’t language, and it wasn’t intelligence. The careful, independent read you’d want before signing simply isn’t offered anywhere near that room.

Nevada, where we signed, describes a five-calendar-day cancellation period for covered sales. Other states count differently, but every window is short. Most people fly home first and read later. By then, the window their state gave them may already be closed.

I started building MiraPact that same week, from Las Vegas, and kept going after we got home to Popayán. It does the one thing we needed that night: it reads the pages you upload and shows what you bought, what it really costs, what’s missing, and what your state’s law says about the window, with every number linked to the page it came from, in Spanish and in English.

We made our decision with the real numbers in front of us. That’s what this tool is for: seeing what you signed while your options are still open. It won’t push you to cancel. Some people run the numbers and keep it, eyes open.