I learned data layer architecture at Tealium — one of my first jobs out of college. I became the first person to make CJ use Cake's pixel for network tracking via postback — nobody had done it, and that hack became foundational to everything I've built since. I built a drivers education monopoly through DriversEd.com and IDriveSafely, then started the affiliate program at Aceable as employee #10. The company exploded largely because of the partnerships I built. They later acquired my prior work — after firing me without cause. Over twelve years in affiliate, I learned how traffic actually moves, how people make decisions, and how money flows between systems. And then I asked a different question.
What if encrypted data didn't look encrypted at all?
That question became TreeChain. It became the Polyglottal Cipher — a steganographic encryption system that hides data inside Unicode glyphs across 202 languages. Not just encrypted. Invisible. Even with the data in front of you, you don't know what you're holding. It looks like language because it is language.
I filed a European patent. I reached out to KU Leuven's COSIC group — one of the most respected cryptography research centers in the world. Professor Vincent Rijmen, co-inventor of the AES standard that protects every bank transaction on Earth, assigned Tim Beyne to review my work. When someone like Rijmen doesn't dismiss you but engages, asks how deep you want the review to go — that's not noise. That's signal.
I won't pretend the path was clean. My marriage ended in 2023. I lost access to my daughters, Emilia and Sienna, and I still don't know if that will be permanent. Their mother changed their names. They probably have no idea how badly their father misses them. I think about them every day. I cried for longer than I can remember.
My visa was stripped away eight months before permanent leave to remain. I was forced to flee the home I'd spent years trying to help build. Projects froze. I hit the kind of bottom where you learn exactly what you're made of — not the motivational poster version, the real one where you sit in silence and decide whether to keep building or stop.
I kept building.
I got sober. I got clearer. I got faster. The divorce didn't destroy the work — it compressed it. Everything I'd been building slowly for years suddenly needed to exist immediately, because I understood that time is the one resource you don't get back.
I chose Poland deliberately. Not as a cost play. I chose it because it reminds me of the America I grew up believing in — a place where people build things with their hands and don't wait for permission. I chose it for my son's mother, Monia. I chose it for someone dear to me named Iza, who helped heal me and remind me I was worth something. Kielce specifically, because it's close to roots that matter to me, and because I see in it the potential for the kind of revitalization that changes a city's trajectory.
Everything I build now is built with more precision and less ego than anything I made before. The affiliate network spans 69 languages and 200+ countries. The encryption system is being reviewed by people who wrote the algorithms the world runs on. The infrastructure is mine — five servers across three continents, every line of code written or directed by me.
I don't have investors. I don't have a team of fifty. I have systems that work, code that ships, and a son named Austin who is the reason every single line exists.
Ja jestem Korona.