He soon set his gaming laptop to spend the overnight hours “mining bitcoin,” as the process came to be called. A private key-a unique chain of sixty-four numbers and letters-granted him exclusive access to his bitcoin stash. He would lend his computer’s processing capabilities to help the Bitcoin system create a permanent record of network transactions, and, in return, the program would let him keep some currency.
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Howells downloaded free software that made it possible to acquire bitcoin. It reminded him of two applications he’d liked: Napster, the rogue service for sharing music files, and which allowed users to combine the power of their computers to search for extraterrestrial life. The Bitcoin system, which operated by linking individual computers together to form a vast, secure network, appealed to him immediately. Almost five years earlier, shortly after the cryptocurrency was developed, he’d learned about it in an online forum. Howells had known about bitcoin from the start. Initially, most people had treated bitcoin as a curiosity, but it had since risen significantly in value, and was now starting to find acceptance as something you could actually use for buying and selling things. When plans for bitcoin were first introduced, in 2008, it was one of a number of new cryptocurrencies being touted as substitutes for government-issued money. He came across a BBC news story about a twenty-nine-year-old Norwegian man who had just used profits he’d made as a bitcoin holder to put a down payment on a four-hundred-thousand-dollar apartment in Oslo. His mates noticed that he wasn’t drinking his share, and upon returning to Wales, he told me, he was “in a shit mood, and couldn’t figure out why.”Ī couple of months later, Howells realized what was bothering him. In Cyprus, Howells didn’t have as much fun as he had expected. He told himself, “Oh, fuck-she’s chucked it,” but he was still groggy, and he soon fell back asleep. “Ah, did you take the bag to the tip?” he asked.
Howells remembers waking upon her return, at around nine. The next day, Hafina got up early and took the garbage to the landfill after all. “I’ve never thrown a hard drive in the bin.
As his head hit the pillow, he recalls, he made a mental note to remove the hard drive from the bag. He remembers her declining, saying, “It’s not my fucking job-it’s your job.” Howells conceded the point. Later, when the couple slid into bed, Howells asked Hafina, who dropped off their kids at day care each morning, if she would mind taking the trash to the dump also. Howells grabbed the unwanted hard drive and threw it into a black garbage bag. He’d removed the drive a few years earlier, after he’d spilled lemonade on the computer’s keyboard. The other held files from an old Dell gaming laptop, including e-mails, music that he’d downloaded, and duplicates of family photographs. In a cluttered desk drawer, he found two small hard drives. “I’m chucking this out, putting this back in-bunch of cables, bunch of paperwork, broken mouse.” “The office area, with the window open, was the smoking zone.” She chatted with Howells as he chose which items to discard. “She wanted to have a fag with me,” he remembers. I don’t want to be on a hangover and cleaning this mess up when I get back.”Īt around 10:30 P.M., Hafina peeked into Howells’s office. As he recently recalled to me, “The thought process was: I’m going to be drinking every day. Howells, an engineer who helped maintain emergency-response systems for various communities in Wales, often worked from home, and that night he decided to neaten up his office.
So he had made plans to treat himself to what he called a “lads’ vacation”: a trip with friends to a resort in Cyprus. Howells and his partner, Hafina, were raising three children, and family trips-like the one that they had taken to Disneyland Paris-were fun but exhausting. The decisive moment, he now thinks, occurred one evening in August, 2013, when he was twenty-eight and at home with his family in Newport, a small city on the Welsh coast. If things had gone just a bit differently, James Howells might today be as rich as the Queen of England. This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.
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