Every month someone brings me a contract they signed six months ago and asks what it means. The honest answer is usually: what it says, and not what the other side told you it meant.
Thirty minutes of review before signing costs less than one paragraph of a dispute afterward. That is not a sales pitch, it is the whole reason the review exists.
Why attorneys stall on LinkedIn
You know visibility drives referrals. But at your billing rate, an hour writing a post costs more than most marketing, and generic ghostwritten content under a lawyer's name reads as exactly what it is.
There's also the risk: one careless sentence about a matter, a client, or an outcome is worse than silence. So the safest move has been posting nothing, while colleagues who post consistently become the name people remember.
What it posts for you
PostAgent learns your voice from what you've actually written: screenshots of your LinkedIn profile and posts to start, plus anything else you have (a chapter you wrote, CLE talks, firm bio, articles). Then it writes and publishes on your schedule. Posts like:
- Plain-English explanations of the questions clients actually Google before they call anyone.
- Your view on developments in your practice area, stated the way you'd say it to a colleague.
- The judgment calls and misconceptions you see every week, with no client details, ever.
None of it reads like AI. Your readers have learned the tells (the em dashes, the stock phrases, the cadence that sounds like everyone and no one), and a post that reads as generated does more harm than no post. PostAgent carries your rhythm and your vocabulary instead of the model's defaults, and strips the tells on the way out.
Writing and checking are separate jobs, and this is not one prompt producing a post; it is a series of them. After a draft is written, a separate reviewer reads every claim against your material and the public record, corrects anything wrong and holds back anything it cannot vouch for, before you see the post. Being wrong in front of your own audience is the one thing you cannot take back. Nothing that identifies a client or matter: you set the off-limits list once and it is enforced on every draft.
Not a prompt in a trench coat. A desk that works for you.
A prompt tool asks you to type an idea and hands back text. Here the work is on the other side: it starts from what you have already written, every post is checked before anyone sees it, and you decide how closely you want to watch.
Give it your work
Screenshots of your LinkedIn profile and a handful of your own posts, straight from a phone. It reads them once, keeps only your words, and writes the first three posts in your voice within minutes, before a single question. Books, guides, talks and notes can go in after. Grade the three with a thumb up or down; that is the whole calibration.
Every post goes through the desk
A writer drafts from your material. Then separate reviewers read every claim against that material and the public record, a verifier rules on anything disputed, and an editor makes the smallest correction and sends it back to be read again. A post the desk cannot vouch for is held, not published. That is the difference between this and a prompt, and it is why a post takes a few minutes instead of two seconds. The roles are listed below.
See the week's posts ahead of time
Before anything publishes, the coming posts land in your inbox, already written and already checked. Read them over coffee once a week, or whatever cadence suits you: a thumb up moves a post to the front, a thumb down pulls it and teaches the agent, and silence means they run as planned. Nothing waits on you, and nothing goes out that you did not have the chance to see.
It publishes on your schedule
Connect LinkedIn through LinkedIn's own sign-in (never a password), pick the days and times, and it runs. Pause any time. If a connection ever expires you get one email, the posts wait, and they go out when it is reconnected. Set it up once, in about fifteen minutes.
Between posts, it asks you one question
Every week or so you get an email with a single question about your work: what a client got wrong, what changed, what you argued about last week. Answer in a sentence from your phone, or skip it. It keeps writing either way, but the answers are where the posts only you could have written come from. A prompt waits to be fed. An agent comes back and asks.
What happens before a post publishes
Most AI content tools are one prompt in a trench coat: one model, one instruction, a post in two seconds. Generating is easy. Catching is the product. Here a post moves through a desk the way a newsroom's does, writer to editor to fact-checker to standards, each with one job, and every one of them works on the most capable model we can get, never a cheaper tier.
- The writer works from a brief built out of your own material: your posts, book, talks, uploads and answers. Never from a one-line description.
- The reviewer reads the draft the way a senior peer in your field would and checks every claim in it, against your material first and against the public record where the material cannot settle it.
- The second reviewer reads the same draft, briefed to disagree with the first.
- The outside reviewer is a different AI vendor entirely, reading the same draft, so a blind spot one model line shares with itself does not pass.
- The verifier rules on every disputed passage against the primary source. Only what it confirms counts.
- The editor makes the smallest correction that fixes it, and the post goes back to be read again. A post that still cannot be vouched for does not go out.
- The art director turns the finished post into an image concept before any image is made.
- The final pass strips the tells that give AI writing away.
The honest part: no prompt stops a model from inventing a plausible detail. In 2025 two major newspapers printed a summer reading list in which most of the books did not exist; a model had written it and nobody checked, because plausible text is the whole job of a bare model. Anyone who tells you their prompt prevents that is selling you the prompt. So this system assumes it will happen and is built to catch it before anything publishes. It catches errors; it does not promise zero. It is built for people whose readers can check the claim, where made-up is not embarrassing, it is fatal.
That is why a post takes a few minutes to arrive instead of two seconds. The time is the evidence the desk exists. We have not found another tool in this category that does a fraction of this work. When it's your name on the post, we think the minutes are worth it. Being wrong in front of your own audience is the one thing you cannot take back.