Chapter 05: Congrats on Fifteen Years

Meanwhile, that same morning

Iranian Relief Fund board meeting. Sean was checking his phone under the long conference table. No notifications.

Roya, their director, looked tired. "Donations are down again."

"OFAC," Kamran said. "The sanctions. Banks won't process transfers to Iranian organizations."

"They've frozen so many accounts," Shadi added.

Sean looked up. Leaned forward. "What about Bitcoin?"

Kamran laughed. "You and your Bitcoin."

"It's censorship-resistant. No bank can block it—"

"It's a scam, Shayan."

"It's not—"

"It's internet money for criminals."

"It's decentralized—"

Roya held up her hand. "Shayan. We're not doing cryptocurrency. Too risky. Next item."

Sean sat back. Nodded once.

Fine.

"Actually," he said, like he'd been waiting for his turn. "While we're on fundraising. The Instagram campaign from last quarter?"

Shadi perked up. "Oh, we got great numbers on that."

Kamran pulled up his tablet. "27,000 impressions. Very high engagement."

"How much did we spend?" Sean asked.

"$1,200," Shadi answered.

"And how much did we raise?"

Kamran scrolled. "$180. Four donations."

Silence. The fluorescent lights above them hummed.

Sean stood. The chair rolled back behind him. He walked to the monitor, docked his laptop, and stepped away from it. "You spent $1,200 to raise $180."

"But the impressions—" Shadi started.

"Were mostly bots." He pointed back at the screen without looking at it. "Forty percent of digital ad impressions are fraudulent. Fake accounts. Software. You paid Instagram to show your ad to robots."

Kamran frowned at his tablet. "The report said—"

"The report Instagram sent you." Sean clicked to the next slide. "When was the last time you watched an ad on there?"

Kamran chuckled. "I usually skip 'em."

"Everyone skips them," Shadi laughed.

"Right." Sean let that sit. "So why would anyone watch ours?"

"If it's good?" Shadi offered.

"Maybe." Sean pulled up an article. "But here's the best part. Meta suppresses content about Iran. Automatically. Their algorithm flags it as politically sensitive."

Roya sat up. "They censored us?"

"Shadow suppression. You paid them $1,200 to show your posts to fewer people than if you'd posted organically for free."

"That's—" Shadi looked at Kamran. "Can they do that?"

"They're Meta." He moved on.

Roya rubbed her temples. "So what do we do? Try TikTok?"

"No."

"Facebook?"

"Every platform does this. They take from both sides and deliver nothing. That's their business model."

"Then what's the alternative?" Roya asked.

Sean clicked to his next slide. "Make something people actually want to share."

He walked them through it. Organic content. Trending sounds. Hashtags. Platform-specific formatting. Real work.

Roya didn't blink. "And who is making these videos?"

"We ask younger volunteers," he said. "The diaspora community. People who understand these platforms. We treat it as real volunteer work. Help them build marketing skills."

Roya looked at Kamran. Kamran looked at Shadi.

"Let's pause on ads," Roya said. "We'll start recruiting next month. Shayan, thank you for your research."

Kamran closed his tablet. "Yes. Merci, Shayan."

The meeting moved to budget review.

Sean closed his laptop. Unplugged it from the monitor.

His hand moved toward his pocket. Stopped.

She helped him win that. And she'd never know.

---

One hour later

Sean walked into a very loud Union Market. Coffee, hot oil, and AC struggling to keep up with the late spring heat. He grabbed a lamb kabab platter from one counter, a bulgogi bowl from another, and a couple of bottles of water. Stopped for two slices of tres leches on the way. Carried all of it in one hand. Napkins in the other. He spotted two seats at a long communal table. Sat in one. Saved the other.

He laid everything out.

"All this for me?"

Sean looked up. Smiled. "Half is for me."

He got up to give Nima a hug. "Che khabar?"

"We missed you last week. Khobee? How was Vegas?"

Nima grabbed one of the water bottles. Sean slid a bowl over to him.

"Well?" Nima tried to meet his eyes. "The Bitcoin conference of your dreams?"

Sean kept his head down. Stuffed a spoonful of rice in his mouth. Nima waited. Finally Sean said, "Khob bood. I met some interesting people. Glad I went."

"All business?" Nima raised an eyebrow. "No pleasure?"

Sean rolled his eyes. Kept eating.

Nima pushed the bowl back and grabbed the kabab plate. "How was the board meeting?"

Sean shook his head.

"That's why I stopped going..." Nima started eating. "Always so depressing."

"They just have so much working against them. Even when they try."

"The sanctions make it impossible. It's by design." Nima didn't look up. "I can't be unproductive like that."

"They have options though." Sean leaned back. "They're so stuck on defense they can't even see them."

"I'm just not sure there is anything we can do," Nima said.

"I just want to help." Sean stared at his food. "I feel like shit working every day. Nothing moves forward."

"Then why are you still there?" Nima asked. "They're literally paying people to leave."

Sean shook his head. "Nah. I don't trust it. And if everyone good leaves, who's left?"

"Not your problem, Shayan."

"Yeah it is." Sean crushed his empty water bottle. Quiet for a second. "You know what, at least the IRF board actually listened to me today."   "Oh really?" Nima smirked.

Sean laughed. "For once, yeah." He sat up. "I got them to stop buying Instagram ads today."

"That's a good thing?"

Sean nodded. "The math was too ugly to argue with."

"Look at Shayan. Making moves." Nima pinched Sean's cheek. "Afarin!"

Sean rolled his eyes.

"Speaking of... did you see this?" Nima pulled out his phone. "I got eleven thousand views since Tuesday."

"11k O-K!" Sean pretended to dust off Nima's shoulders. "Congrats man. So well deserved." He kept watching. "You looked great."

Nima pretended to blush. "But this is on Tiktok. Instagram is dead man."

Sean nodded. "I'm barely on it anymore."

"Well now I'm on Tiktok too much." Nima laughed. "Just sucks I can't bring my followers over."

"How many did you have?"

"I just hit four thousand on IG two months ago."

"4k O-K!" Sean grinned. "Look at you!"

"But there are so many more people on Tiktok."

"It's their algorithm."

Nima shook his head. "I think people just want to watch videos. Instagram is too busy. Tiktok is this fullscreen, one at a time..."

"Yeah I like that about it."

"It feels like FaceTime."

"And who doesn't want to FaceTime with such a professional, car detailing expert." Sean reached over to pinch Nima's cheeks.

Nima pulled away before he could. "I'm famous now. Please don't touch me."

They both started laughing.

"I'm happy for you, man." Sean patted Nima on the back. "This is only the beginning. Lemme buy you a real drink to celebrate."

---

26 minutes later

"What happened to that girl? Ken's coworker?"

Sean sighed.

"She was nice," Nima said. "Come on, what was wrong with her?"

"She was a lovely person." Sean tilted his head. Smiled like he meant it.

"But..."

"I carried the whole conversation. All fucking night." Sean dropped his head back and exhaled.

"Oh, she was boring?" Nima winced. "Ken said she had a good time."

"She wasn't boring. She just wasn't—" He stopped.

"Wasn't what?"

"Excited. About anything." Sean picked at the label on his bottle. "Every date I'm on just wants to make sure we agree on how the world is ending. Whose fault it is."

Nima tilted his head.

"I just want to talk to someone who's excited about something." Sean stretched his neck back and took a deep breath. Cracked both sides of his back.

"People are stressed out but yeah," Nima said. "Sometimes you loosen up by the second date—"

Sean shook his head. "I can tell. Honestly, almost immediately."

"Oh come on."

"I try. I really do. But I've got nothing left after an hour on these dates. I can't do a second."

"I think you're just being impatient."

"No. I'm finally being serious." Sean sat up straight. "Attraction isn't enough anymore. I'll wait for my wife."

"She'll be so happy to know you didn't give more than an hour of yourself to these streets."

"At a time!"

Sean and Nima laughed.

"I was rooting for Vegas," Nima said. "Women talking Bitcoin. Nerding out with you. Probably dressed in orange." He was cracking himself up.

Sean's eyes moved slowly to his phone. He stared for a moment.

Nima stopped laughing. Stared at Sean. Sean didn't notice.

"Sha-yan."

"I'm fine." Sean shook it off. Took a drink. "Just being aggressively reminded how single I am. For some reason."

Nima held the look a second longer. "When's the last time you swiped?"

Sean blinked. "No thanks."

"Six months?"

"I'm enjoying the peace."

Nima reached across the table. "Hand it over."

"Nima-"

"Summer is here. Time to live." Nima held out his hand and just waited.

Sean hesitated.

Unlocked his phone. Handed it over.

Nima reactivated Sean's very old dating profile.

"There." He slid the phone back. "You're back on the market."

Sean put the phone in his pocket.

Sean steered the conversation away from himself. They talked about Nima's employees. About the permit issues on his shop's expansion. About the two dates he had lined up for next week.

Sean's phone stayed in his pocket.

Dating app active.

Unopened.

---

Two days later

Sean was sitting alone in a row of empty, dusty cubicles. Knees almost touching the desk. The steam from his tea escaping from his thermos.

He typed an email.

Subject: RE: New Ticketing System Proposal

Good Morning Yvette and team. Hope everyone had a great weekend. Checking in on the decision here. We presented this proposal six months ago. Any update on next steps?

Best, Sean

Sent.

A head popped over the cubicle wall. Denise.

"Still waiting on that?"

"Yeah. Impatiently."

"I remember your presentation was really good." She leaned against the entrance. "I'm sure they're giving it the consideration it deserves."

The tone landed.

"Why do they always drag this shit out?" Sean inhaled the cardamom steam from his thermos. "We're trapped in a time warp in this building."

A loud Teams notification popped up.

Sean flinched.

"Lunch later?" she asked.

"Yes. Please." He didn't look up. But he smiled.

"Happy in-office mandatory Monday!" She waved. Walked back to her own empty row of cubicles.

He inhaled one more time. Read the screen.

Luis Morales: R u free?

Sean wondered that too.

---

43 seconds later

Sean walked into Luis' office.

"Please tell me you brought it." Luis stood up from his desk, hopeful.

"Finally." Sean tossed over a 'Viva Las Vegas' plastic bag. "Sorry about last week."

Luis pulled out a Backstreet Boys concert tee. "Jessica's gonna love this." He reached for his phone. "Venmo okay?"

"Whatever works."

Luis tapped his screen. Frowned. "It's saying I hit my weekly limit." He looked up. "Can I bring you cash?"

Sean opened his mouth. Closed it. Sat down.

"What?"

"Nothing. Cash is fine."

"I'll hit the ATM at lunch."

"No rush. I know where you work." Sean winked.

Luis put the shirt back in the bag. Set it aside. Sat down slowly.

"Sean." His tone shifted. "Your osTicket presentation was excellent. They agree we need to modernize. But they're going with ServiceNow."

Silence.

"Since when?"

"Yvette just called me."

"How much is the contract?"

Silence.

Sean shot up from his seat. "How much?"

"Five million dollars."

"Mine costs $280,000."

"Someone upstairs has relationships with ServiceNow. It's done." Luis sighed. "I'm sorry."

Sean faced the window. Jaw tight. The Capitol sat there in the distance like it always did.

Luis leaned back. "We'll get them next time. At least they agreed to modernize. And you'll still lead the design. This is still a win. Your win."

"Lucky me." Sean rolled his eyes. "We're wasting five million dollars. Not even waste. This is abuse of taxpayer funds."

Luis closed his eyes. Held up his hand. "Let's not go that far."

"We never do." He was still facing the window.

Luis opened his desk drawer. Pulled out a bumpy envelope. "Maybe not the best time to give this to you."

Sean stared at it.

"But congratulations on fifteen years."

They both laughed. But it wasn't funny.

"You're a great public servant. We're lucky to have you."

Sean pulled out a pin from the envelope.

He stared at it.

Fifteen years.

"Here's to six more days of annual leave a year!" Luis shouted as Sean headed out the door.

Sean looked back. Forced a smile. He was definitely using one of those days off tomorrow.

---

8 hours later

Sean kicked off his shoes at the door. Eyes on his phone. Dropped his keys and his takeout on the counter with his free hand.

He turned on a lamp on his way to the couch. Then another. His apartment warmed in layers.

He sat down on his rug. Back against the couch. Phone still in his hand. Reached for the remote with the other.

The Silicon Valley theme song played on the TV. Started watching three days ago. Almost done with season 2.

He grabbed his laptop from the coffee table. Put his phone down.

A Nostr feed on his screen.

He took a deep breath.

He searched #grownostr.

He waited.

Then, spam. Bots. A sprinkle of crypto scams.

He almost closed it.

Then a real post.

"How do I export my stuff from Twitter?" The replies were thoughtful.

One click led to another. A thread led to a podcast.

Another guy posted his smoked brisket. The comments were arguing about wood.

Someone sent him 2,100 sats.

Sean stared. Money. For food pics?

He scrolled.

A debate linked to a smart blog about censorship resistance.

Someone published a Bitcoin children's book.

People were buying directly from her.

No publisher.

No Amazon.

Just her and her readers.

The TV started playing Silicon Valley theme song again. He reached for the remote. Paused it.

Someone made a meme to complain about an app's UX. It was the app Sean was using.

The app's developer replied with three paragraphs on why it's not possible yet.

Four people jumped in with ideas to work around the issue.

It felt like the better version of Teams chat. People working together. Solving problems.

People argued about whether zaps were changing how people posted. What people posted. Sean spent more time in that rabbit hole than he expected.

His clicks kept taking him out of the app. But he kept coming back.

He expected the worst. No moderation. No rules. He figured it would be a dumpster fire.

But he was deciding what he'd see. He wasn't getting angry. Or jealous.

There were debates. Discussions. Not fights.

He loved the theories on what'll get people to move over.

"How do we get the next billion users?"

"We need better UX."

"We need to stop rebuilding Twitter."

He looked up.

Way too late.

He kept going anyway.

---

The next night

Same spot. Silicon Valley on mute. TikTok in hand.

A video about why ancient Roman concrete is stronger than modern concrete. The kind of thing Sean loved.

He went to the comments.

"This is my Roman Empire."

"I'll never NOT scroll on a video about concrete"

"I BUILT THIS FYP CONCRETE BRICK BY CONCRETE BRICK"

Sean stared at that last one.

I built this.

He closed TikTok. Opened Nostr.

21 sats in the wallet. The first Bitcoin anyone had ever sent him.

No notifications.

Uploaded a photo.

Opened a draft note. Started typing.

Replying to: "We need to stop rebuilding Twitter. We should be building what comes next."

How do we get the first billion on Nostr?

An app that didn't exist seven years ago has a billion people on it.

They proved they're willing to move. Why aren't we talking to them?

They left Meta because it felt like surveillance.

Left X because it felt like rage.

Went to TikTok because it felt like freedom.

But it's not freedom. It's a different algorithm. A nicer cage.

Half of them think it's getting banned. The other half already are and don't even know it.

So, what's their plan B?

A full screen. Vertical. One video at a time.

That's what won. Instagram copied it. YouTube copied it.

They don't need a better algorithm. They need social media they own. Their posts. Their videos. Their identity. Their audience.

And they need zaps.

I've been here a week. I don't know how to build any of this. But why are we only building for the people already here?

What about everybody else?

#grownostr

He read it twice.

Posted it.

Set his phone down. Stared at the ceiling.