Chapter [15]: [NON-LINEAR RETURNS]
Freelancing turned out to be nothing like the stories.
No freedom montage. No sudden sense of control. Just emails that went unanswered, clients who wanted miracles on shoestring budgets, and the constant, low-grade anxiety of not knowing which week would be thin and which would be empty.
Ethan set up a simple routine anyway.
Mornings for outreach. Afternoons for work. Evenings for research. Nights—when he could—for Maya, or at least for being present enough to talk to her without his attention fracturing.
Routine wasn't stagnation. It was scaffolding.
His first real freelance job came from a small nonprofit trying to rebrand after losing a major donor. They needed printed materials, some basic layout help. The pay was modest, but immediate.
Cash flow mattered more than prestige.
While files exported and proofs rendered, Ethan kept an eye on the market—not obsessively, but consistently. Bitcoin continued to chop, small rallies followed by sharp retracements. New participants arrived faster than infrastructure could handle them.
Non-linear returns, he thought. Effort scaled unevenly. Risk did too.
One afternoon, his phone buzzed with an unfamiliar number.
"Ethan Cole?" a man's voice asked.
"Yes."
"This is Daniel Hargreaves."
The name landed with a dull thud.
"I run a small exchange," Daniel continued, voice smooth, practiced. "We've had some mutuals on the forums. They mentioned you might be… thoughtful."
Ethan didn't respond immediately.
"I'm listening," he said finally.
Daniel laughed lightly. "That's usually a good sign. I'm in town for a few days. Thought we could talk. No commitments."
Ethan stared at the blank wall in front of him, pulse steady but elevated.
An exchange founder. Early. Confident enough to call strangers.
Dangerous.
"Coffee," Ethan said. "Public place."
"Of course," Daniel replied. "Tomorrow?"
After the call ended, Ethan sat very still.
This was new. Not just opportunity—but proximity.
He texted Maya.
Someone reached out. Crypto-related. Exchange.
There was a pause before her reply.
Do you trust them?
I don't trust anyone, he typed back. I evaluate.
That's not the same thing, she replied.
He didn't argue.
That night, he slept poorly again—not from fear, but from anticipation. Old instincts stirred, ones he'd spent years trying to dull. The part of him that wanted to lean in, to accelerate, to see how far this version of himself could go before breaking.
In the morning, Bitcoin dipped again. The forums blamed whales that barely existed.
Ethan smiled grimly.
At the café, Daniel was already there. Early thirties. Tailored jacket. Expensive watch worn casually, as if daring anyone to notice. He stood when Ethan approached, smile easy.
"Ethan," Daniel said, extending a hand. "Glad you came."
They ordered. Sat.
"I'll be direct," Daniel said. "This ecosystem is about to grow faster than its guardrails. I'm building something that won't collapse the first time pressure hits."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Everyone says that."
"True," Daniel conceded. "Most of them are lying. Some are delusional. A few are just early."
"And you?"
Daniel smiled. "I'm aggressive."
There it was.
They talked for an hour. About liquidity. About security theater. About user behavior under stress. Daniel was smart—dangerously so—and unburdened by doubt in a way Ethan recognized immediately.
When they parted, Daniel left him with a card. Minimalist. Confident.
"Think about it," Daniel said. "People like us don't stay small forever."
As Ethan walked home, card heavy in his pocket, he felt the familiar pull of non-linear returns.
One connection could change everything.
Or destroy it.
The curve was steep from here.
And for the first time since waking up in 2009, Ethan wasn't standing on the sidelines of history.
He was being invited onto the floor.