Peter Thiel: Day Zero

Peter Thiel looked out of the tinted rear window of the black SUV as the car slowly cruised down 14th street. It was a brutally cold January morning but the crowds of people didn’t seem to care. They had come from all over the US to witness history. There were tens of thousands of them shuffling along the sidewalk, corralled by police officers with assault rifles slung over their shoulders. The Secret Service agent in the passenger seat had one resting in his lap. Peter glanced ahead to the only black limousine in the motorcade. He knew that sitting inside, there were another three agents protecting President-elect Donald Trump.

“Behold, the Zeroth Day”

he whispered under his breath.

Peter had spent less than a year in the election spotlight but it felt like an eternity. He thought back to last May, when the public found out he was listed as a Trump delegate in San Francisco. All of Silicon Valley felt confused, then shocked, then finally outraged. He didn’t care about the media backlash. He didn’t care that leaders in the tech industry denounced him and cut ties with his businesses. But it hurt seeing his closest friends being vilified for his sacrifice.

Peering out into the sea of red hats and homemade signs, the view reminded him how far away he was from Silicon Valley. It was Silicon Valley that gave birth to his philosophical musings and political ideology at Stanford University. Silicon Valley had nurtured his skills at Paypal and given him more money than he could imagine. The tech industry was his mother and its leaders were his brothers and sisters. And while he was always the black sheep of the family, he knew that for the next few years they would look at him as a traitor instead of a martyr.

“Why don’t people think for themselves?”

he wondered, as he shook his head.

People were too busy spewing hate that they didn’t stop to think why Peter supported Trump. The few times they did, it was usually with a jeering tone and an eye roll.

Donald Trump’s most devout followers were blue-collar Americans that had barely graduated high school. They idolized him, indulging in every word of his racist, violent, misogynistic rhetoric. This was a mob of people that hated immigrants and “elites”. So didn’t it seem weird that one of Trump’s most public supporters was a gay billionaire immigrant with two Stanford degrees?

Peter chuckled to himself as he leaned back in the seat. Some people thought he was acting as a Trojan Horse. That he would stand on stage at the Republican National Convention, thrust both middle fingers into the air, and denounce Trump on national TV. That’s not how Trojan horses work. That’s not how they work at all.

Peter knew that denouncing Trump wasn’t going to sink the campaign. The Achaeans lulled the Trojans into a false sense of security so they could slaughter them, not embarrass them in front of their friends. But Peter wanted to have some fun and it wasn’t hard to convince Ted Cruz to rewrite his speech at the last minute.

While every prominent figure in the tech industry was campaigning for Hillary, working to ensure a promising future, Peter knew that he had to act out his “contrarian” role by infiltrating the Trump campaign to minimize the catastrophic effects in case they won.

Every sign of loyalty to the Republican nominee was a feint. Delivering a speech at the RNC? It was the same call for advancing technology that he’d said a thousand times before. Donating $1.25 million dollars? That was less than 0.05% of his net worth. He had given a full $2 million to Carly Fiorina. And the Trump donation was given after the Pussygate video leaked, when the polls gave Trump a mere 15% chance at winning.

But those gestures were enough to gain the trust of everyone who wanted to Make America Great Again. As the motorcade puttered along Pennsylvania Avenue, flanked by tanks draped with American flags, Peter was reminded of the immense weight on his shoulders. He was the only representative of Silicon Valley in Trump’s inner circle. He alone was responsible for defending the tech industry from the rage of a quick-tempered tyrant.

Trump had spent the past two years demonizing Wall Street. He claimed it was a giant that stepped on the heads of the working-class little guys. He even attracted former Bernie supporters that saw Hillary as the banks’ ally and the people’s enemy. But if Don “Quixote” Trump succeeded in defeating the giants in banking, who would he attack next? Would he look to Silicon Valley and declare war against the windmills in tech?

If he could keep Trump focused on attacking Wall Street, his investments would be safe. It was a win-win situation- provoke the deplorables into attacking the finance industry, with whom he’d had a longstanding grudge, while granting safety to the technology sector. And since Trump was so data-averse, he wouldn’t notice as tech grew larger and eclipsed other industries.

“We’re almost to the end of the road”

the driver shouted over his shoulder.

Peter slipped a glass vial out of his suit pocket and emptied the serum into his mouth. The rare genetic cocktail added a few years to his life but a nice side-effect was that it calmed his nerves. As the SUV pulled up to the White House, a Secret Service agent opened the door and ushered him toward the security entrance.

As he passed through the metal detectors at the checkpoints, he took in the surrealness of it all. He honestly didn’t expect Trump to win and especially not by a landslide. But the country needed a bit of disruption and Trump was the perfect catalyst. He was contrarian enough to initiate change but too ignorant to carry out anything meaningful, leaving Peter to manage the large-scale economic changes himself.

Passing through the final checkpoint, a guard patted him down and pointed him toward the staircase leading to the outside balcony. He quickly fell in line behind the rest of the presidential advisors as they were escorted out by Marines in full ceremonial uniform, including the new red armbands. Peter felt the cold, bitter wind rush against his face as he stepped out to face Washington D.C. The roar of the crowd below was deafening. But they fell silent when John Roberts, Chief Justice of the United States, appeared before the podium. A lot of fluff had been cut out of today’s ceremony so it was going to be short and sweet. Peter Thiel couldn’t see so well through the rows of politicians surrounding him but he could vaguely make out an orange figure joining Roberts at the podium as a distinctive voice rung out through the speakers, “I, Donald John Trump, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office…”

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