Inside the Life of Billionaire Zhao Changpeng

Original Title: Inside a Billionaire's Paradise With Crypto's Most Powerful Ex-Convict
Original Author: David Yaffe-Bellany, the New York Times

Editor’s Note: There’s a leak in the villa that has never been fixed, leaving a discolored stain on the ceiling; the foyer is piled with boxes of Binance merchandise, and the owner encourages the reporter to take one; the Steinway piano in the game room sits in the center, and the tuner discovers that it has never been played.

This is Zhao Changpeng’s daily life in Abu Dhabi as depicted by The New York Times.

He drives a white Nissan SUV, propping his iPhone on the windshield, joking that he feels like "the richest Uber driver in the world"; the President of Kyrgyzstan gifted him a Taigan dog, while he named another dog "Broccoli" because it sounds a bit like "blockchain." He also talks about his days in prison: discussing business with bank robbers, answering fellow inmates' questions about "why Bitcoin is rising," and even organizing a study group to track stock prices.

These details piece together a rather contradictory Zhao Changpeng: on one hand, he constantly emphasizes that he is just an ordinary, even somewhat humble "tech guy"; on the other hand, he is deeply embedded in a network of power composed of royalty, sovereign funds, governments, and global capital. Even after pleading guilty, serving time, and stepping down from Binance's management, his influence in the crypto industry has not truly faded.

The interesting part of this article lies in the juxtaposition of two images. Zhao Changpeng portrays himself as a confused outsider caught up in big events, while another thread in the narrative shows that he has navigated each step quite astutely: choosing where to settle, whom to ally with, and how to narrate his story. Binance's early growth relied on surviving in regulatory gaps; today, Zhao Changpeng has directly positioned himself among governments, sovereign capital, and political families.

In this sense, his story is also a microcosm of the crypto industry over the past decade: from grassroots growth to being brought under regulation, and then to a deep binding with politics and state capital. The small details of life may be the easiest entry point to understand this story, but what truly deserves questioning is: why does a person who has experienced pleading guilty and imprisonment still sit at the center of the table?

I.

On a June morning, cryptocurrency tycoon Zhao Changpeng drove a white Nissan SUV to the St. Regis Hotel in Abu Dhabi. Zhao Changpeng is the richest person in the cryptocurrency world, with an estimated net worth of $114 billion, living in a nearby villa: nine bedrooms, four bodyguards, one chef, and a yacht named "Da Moon." But he also likes to play the kind of "ordinary person" he often describes himself as, and that day he volunteered to personally show me around the city. Outside the St. Regis Hotel, Zhao Changpeng sat in the driver's seat of the Nissan, with his iPhone propped on the windshield, looking like the richest Uber driver in the world. "This is my Lamborghini," he joked as I got in the car.

To be clear: Zhao Changpeng is not an ordinary person. Not long ago, U.S. authorities filed criminal charges against him regarding his management of Binance; in court documents, this cryptocurrency exchange was described as a haven for Russian money launderers, those evading Iranian sanctions, and terrorists from ISIS. Zhao Changpeng pleaded guilty, yet his wealth remained intact. After serving a four-month sentence, he returned to Abu Dhabi, still a major shareholder of Binance and still one of the most powerful figures in the industry.

Now 49 years old, Zhao Changpeng moves through the world like a head of state: traveling by private jet across Asia, providing advice to various governments on cryptocurrency regulation; every time he stops in Islamabad or Manila, news often follows of Binance achieving new breakthroughs in regulation. At his home, one of his two dogs is a Taigan, an elegant Central Asian hunting dog often compared to an antelope. It was a gift from the President of Kyrgyzstan, who is quite interested in cryptocurrency and even skied with him in February. "He originally wanted to give me a tent, one of those big tents," Zhao Changpeng said, "I said I didn’t want a tent, so he insisted on giving me a dog."

Zhao Changpeng's most influential allies are two powerful ruling families. One is the family that governs the United Arab Emirates, who hope to leverage his influence to build a tech powerhouse in the desert. The other is the Trump family. Last year, Binance established a business relationship with World Liberty Financial, a cryptocurrency startup founded by President Trump and his three sons. Last year, World Liberty brought in $799 million for Trump, making it his most profitable single asset, more lucrative than his real estate portfolio or social media ventures. In October last year, Trump pardoned Zhao Changpeng, an act widely criticized as a quid pro quo.

Known in the industry as "CZ," Zhao Changpeng usually avoids reporters, but this year he met with me several times, eager to polish his image in Binance, even though Binance has yet to stop the flow of dirty money. He is tall and thin, with short black hair, and a Binance tattoo on his forearm, lacking the brotherhood-style flamboyance seen in many of his cryptocurrency peers. He gives the impression of being polite and focused, although his interests are narrow to the point of being comical. This year, he self-published a memoir titled "Freedom of Money," in which he wrote about someone taking him on a tour of the Louvre after hours. He felt nothing from that experience. He wrote that the guide was no different from "playing music to a cow."

For years, his true vocation has been what scholars call "jurisdictional arbitrage," which means moving between one country and another, seeking a legal framework flexible enough to accommodate his appetite for risk and growth. In Abu Dhabi, he may have found the ideal place to settle. As we drove into the city, Zhao Changpeng chatted amiably, stopping midway to let his bodyguard help with navigation. ("Okay boss, keep right.") We passed by a series of impressive mansions, heading towards the presidential palace Qasr Al Watan, its striking white dome reminiscent of the Taj Mahal.

Zhao Changpeng became increasingly animated. "For the past few hundred years, democracy has been revered as the Holy Grail, but democracy is inefficient," he said as we approached the presidential palace, "If you encounter a benevolent dictator, efficiency is actually very high. There’s no debate, no wasting time on those boring things."

Recently, this medieval yet hyper-modern, top-down model of business and politics has gained traction in the U.S. During a visit to Abu Dhabi last year, Trump referred to the country’s ruler Sheikh Mohammed bin Zayed Al Nahyan as "a very tough guy," one of the few with vision. Zach Witkoff, the son of a senior advisor to Trump, who himself is considered a scion of the MAGA circle, spoke more bluntly at a cryptocurrency conference in Dubai last May. "We really should learn from His Highness and the UAE," Mr. Witkoff said, "They are an incredible example of how to lead innovation while maintaining family values."

Zhao Changpeng has already been living in the future that this group aspires to, residing in an elite enclave where monarchs and billionaires coexist harmoniously. As we drove away from the presidential palace, he recounted a private meeting he had attended at the nearby Mandarin Oriental Hotel, with attendees including hedge fund founder Ray Dalio and Japanese billionaire Masayoshi Son. While sitting in the audience, Zhao Changpeng noticed someone leaning over to speak to him. It was Sheikh Mohammed. He wanted to know how Zhao Changpeng was doing and if there was anything he could help with.

II.

Chronic back pain has made CZ accustomed to working while lying down, photo: Laura Boushnak/ The New York Times

One day earlier this year, Zhao Changpeng was working while lying on his bed when suddenly the window began to shake. He has long battled chronic pain and often lies down to handle business. He told me he got up and walked onto the balcony, seeing a trail of smoke in the sky. Zhao Changpeng lives on Saadiyat Island, an enclave in Abu Dhabi, facing Iran across the Persian Gulf; Iran had just launched a missile towards the UAE.

This was the beginning of a geopolitical crisis that would shake the regional situation, but Zhao Changpeng didn’t seem too concerned. He returned to bed to continue working. "More people die in traffic accidents than under missiles," he later said, "It’s safe here."

Before settling in the UAE, Zhao Changpeng was a man without a country. He was born in China and moved to Canada with his family at the age of 12. After studying at McGill University, he held various technical jobs, moving between New York, China, and Japan. In July 2013, at a poker game in Shanghai, a colleague suggested he check out "something called Bitcoin."

For someone like him, who lives a borderless lifestyle, this was a perfect borderless technology. After studying it for a few months, Zhao Changpeng made a radical bet. He sold his house: a three-bedroom apartment in Shanghai where he and his wife were raising two children. He invested the entire $900,000 from the sale into Bitcoin. It was a risky move, but Zhao Changpeng was not worried. He thought that even if Bitcoin plummeted, he could always find another high-paying job in traditional finance.

After that, Zhao Changpeng held positions at several cryptocurrency startups across Asia. The industry rapidly expanded in the 2010s, with hundreds of new tokens emerging, but the platforms trading these coins were poorly managed and vulnerable to hacking. In July 2017, Zhao Changpeng founded Binance. Within months, it became the largest exchange in the world and has never relinquished that title.

Binance's success is built on two key insights. First, cryptocurrency investors are addicted to risk; simply exchanging dollars or yen for equivalent cryptocurrencies will never satisfy them. For years, Binance has operated as a margin trading exchange: traders can borrow money to place high-risk, high-reward bets on the prices of Bitcoin and other popular tokens.

The second insight is simpler but has a greater impact. Many cryptocurrency investors are unwilling to disclose their identities, and Binance does not require them to. In its first four years, the company allowed customers to open accounts without even providing the most basic KYC information. Traditional companies require this "Know Your Customer" information to prevent financial crimes.

There are other exchanges offering such high-risk services, but Zhao Changpeng executed it better than any competitor. "There are many MySpaces in the exchange world, and he created Facebook," said Austin Campbell, founder of a cryptocurrency consulting firm. The result was an extremely lucrative anarchy: an unregulated investment product available to unregulated traders. As the market boomed, Binance took a cut from each transaction; according to "Freedom of Money," the company’s profits quickly reached $1 billion.

Trump-branded sneakers were a gift from businessman Gabe Abed, who previously served as Barbados' ambassador to the UAE, photo: Laura Boushnak/ The New York Times

Zhao Changpeng became an overnight celebrity in the cryptocurrency world. However, even as he joined the ranks of a select few super-rich executives with astonishing political influence, those outside the industry still do not know much about him. In recounting his most controversial moments, Zhao portrays himself as a passenger: a cryptocurrency geek who was intoxicated by success, a naive outsider who inadvertently became a 007 villain.

This performance is not always convincing. In late June, sitting in his kitchen, Zhao told me that during the explosive growth of Binance in its early years, he "never really thought" about breaking the law, and that the company’s lax controls allowed a wave of criminals to launder money. "That was just my lack of experience in that area," he said, "I’m a tech guy, I’ve always lived in China."

This image does not align with the evidence collected by U.S. prosecutors during their investigation of Binance. In court, they cited a warning Zhao gave to his subordinates: "It’s better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission." According to legal documents, Zhao had privately discussed how to cover up the fact that Binance was servicing U.S. users, despite the company not having a license in the U.S. "Leave no paper trail," he told one subordinate.

In Abu Dhabi, Zhao described himself as a "rule-abiding person." But it is evident that he made a strategic choice at a critical moment: to test the boundaries of the law, as a new generation of investors was forming habits, and the rules themselves were quite flexible.

As he led me into his home foyer, I was reminded of this. There were boxes piled high with Binance merchandise. He urged me to pick a gift, like a Binance backpack or a yellow and black baseball jacket-style Binance sweater.

The foyer of CZ's home is filled with Binance merchandise. Photo: Laura Boushnak/The New York Times

I told him that journalists have rules about such things, and I cannot accept gifts worth more than $20. He laughed and said that the items "are probably around $19."

III.

After years of traveling in Asia, Zhao visited the UAE in 2021. In 2017, when the Chinese government was preparing to announce a ban on cryptocurrency exchanges, he and his Binance colleagues had to flee China in the middle of the night. His time in Japan didn’t work out either; Singapore was also a no-go due to difficulties in obtaining work visas. Later, Zhao’s friend Gabriel Abed made a suggestion. Mr. Abed is a businessman and also serves as Barbados’ ambassador to the UAE. He suggested Zhao check out Dubai.

Zhao immediately saw how the Emiratis treated the wealthy and powerful. He arrived in Dubai on a Saturday morning in October, and just hours later, government minister Omar Sultan Al Olama came to visit him. He offered Zhao a so-called golden visa, which grants ten years of hassle-free residency. A doctor was called in to perform the blood tests required for all visa holders. Such applications usually take weeks to process, but Zhao was approved in less than 12 hours.

This warm reception left a strong impression on Zhao. "By the fourth day in Dubai, I looked at two properties," he told me, "and I bought the second one." By the end of that year, Binance had signed a memorandum of understanding with the local government to jointly develop cryptocurrency business regulations; the company sent three employees to assist in drafting the framework. The draft was completed in January 2022 and signed into law a few weeks later. "If you are the captain of a ship sailing due north, the UAE wants you to join their team," Mr. Abed said, "That’s how they feel about CZ. From day one, they were all around him."

In the UAE, not everyone receives such generous treatment. Over the years, the country’s leaders have implemented extensive surveillance, deeming even the mildest dissent illegal, and managing a labor market where foreign workers are often exploited and abused.

But for Zhao, this marked the beginning of a comfortable new life. Before founding Binance, he had separated from his wife, who moved to Tokyo with their children. He and colleague He Yi became a couple. He Yi, known for her role as the host of the travel show "Beautiful Destinations" in China, worked in marketing. Zhao’s older children were studying at universities in the U.S., while he and He Yi were raising a young family in the emirate.

He Yi, CZ's partner and mother of his three children, was appointed as one of Binance's co-CEOs after CZ stepped down. Photo: Laura Boushnak/The New York Times

Zhao was introduced into an exclusive billionaire social circle. He met a group of Emirati leaders interested in technology, whom he referred to as "crypto sheikhs." Eventually, he connected with Sheikh Mohammed’s brother, Sheikh Tahnoon bin Zayed Al Nahyan. Sheikh Tahnoon, obsessed with jiu-jitsu, often hosted powerful businessmen in his palace. At royal dinner parties, Zhao was treated as a distinguished guest. "We were still figuring out how to arrange the seating," he said, "Just sit wherever, it’s fine."

In these early encounters, the sheikhs would introduce Zhao to the UAE, asking what they could do for him. Soon, Zhao began promoting the country’s advantages to a broader billionaire audience. He encouraged AI mogul Sam Altman to set up a company in the UAE, warning that other countries would be hostile towards him. "You’ll face a lot of regulatory issues," Zhao told him over coffee.

Zhao was not unfamiliar with the dangers of the emerging industry. When he arrived in the UAE, he was embroiled in a fierce battle with a young entrepreneur named Sam Bankman-Fried, the founder of the rival exchange FTX. Bankman-Fried, the son of two Stanford Law School professors, was Zhao’s polar opposite in many ways: he was a true insider who leveraged connections and proximity to American political elites to pave his way to the top of the industry. "He has connections that I don’t have," Zhao wrote in his memoir. Bankman-Fried would poach Binance employees, offering three to five times their salaries. Zhao also heard rumors that Bankman-Fried was speaking ill of him in Washington.

In November 2022, a report by cryptocurrency media outlet CoinDesk raised questions about the financial health of FTX. At the time, Zhao was in Dubai, about to go out for drinks with Gabriel Abed, when he decided to make a statement on Twitter, posting a brief and cold announcement: he would sell $500 million worth of FTT, a token representing FTX stock. This post triggered panic, and anxious investors rushed to withdraw their funds from FTX.

The money was not there. Bankman-Fried had stolen $8 billion from customers. He had no choice but to seek rescue, and there was only one person in the cryptocurrency world with the resources to save him. Two days after his tweet, Zhao announced he would acquire FTX; a day later, he backed out of the deal, plunging FTX into a deeper crisis. It all looked like a masterful corporate war, described by one observer as a "bloody campaign." Within six weeks, Bankman-Fried was arrested in his Bahamas apartment and extradited to the U.S. He was ultimately sentenced to 25 years in prison for fraud.

Zhao told me he never intended to destroy FTX. He adopted his usual shrugging, naive demeanor, explaining that he had planned to sell off his FTT holdings gradually over a few months. "I had no intention of bringing them down," he said, "We lost $500 million."

His defeated rival had a different view. "He played me," Bankman-Fried said at the time, "and he played it beautifully."

IV.

After living in Dubai for a few years, CZ moved to Abu Dhabi, the center of political power. Photo: Natalie Naccache/The New York Times

Billionaires flock to the UAE for billionaire-like reasons. The country does not impose income tax and is considered extremely safe, especially as cryptocurrency investors in Europe and America frequently become targets for kidnappers. But for Zhao, who had just witnessed his arch-rival being extradited, the UAE had another significant advantage: it had no extradition treaty with the U.S.

He recalled that at the end of 2022 or the beginning of 2023, a member of the Emirati royal family asked him at the dinner table if he wanted citizenship. Zhao submitted some documents and then waited. Months later, a government envoy came to his home with a box containing passports for him and his family. Emiratis "never extradite their own citizens," Zhao told me, "that’s very powerful."

He had reason to be cautious: the noose around Binance was tightening. U.S. prosecutors were gathering evidence to prove that the exchange’s lax procedures allowed scammers, hackers, and sanction evaders to transfer funds. In private information obtained by the government, Binance employees spoke with astonishing frankness about the exchange’s dubious clients. "Is it too hard to launder drug money now?" one employee wrote, "Come to Binance, we’ve got cake for you."

Zhao hired a legal team to negotiate with the Justice Department. His new passport gave him considerable leverage. After living in Dubai for two years, he moved an hour and a half south to Abu Dhabi, closer to the political power center of the country. During negotiations, Zhao seriously considered a life in exile: he would have to limit his travel, but at least in the UAE, he would theoretically be safe.

Ultimately, his legal team reached a deal with the U.S. government. Zhao would admit to violating the Bank Secrecy Act, resign as CEO, and the company would pay a $4.3 billion fine. Despite the lenient terms, he remained dissatisfied with his lawyers and did not believe he should go to prison. "I’m going to jail because our platform didn’t do KYC properly," he told me, "In the U.S., you can vote for president without an ID. I don’t know how this system came about. Considering everything I’ve been through, I feel like someone should go to jail for this."

However, for Binance, this was an excellent outcome. At the sentencing hearing in the spring of 2024, Zhao made a statement of remorse: "I deeply regret my negligence, and I’m sorry." The judge sentenced Zhao to four months in prison, calling him "a diligent family member, a person who is willing to give." As the court read the sentence, Zhao’s son, who was attending university, quietly raised his fist in triumph.

As one of the few felons with almost unlimited resources, Zhao’s situation was highly favorable for minimizing his suffering. He was assigned to the minimum-security prison Lompoc in California, where Bankman-Fried would later also be housed. Before reporting to prison, Zhao assembled a team of advisors to teach him the subtleties of prison politics. One of the advisors, Michael Santos, communicated with other inmates who agreed to help Zhao acclimate to the environment. "CZ, you’re a people person, you’ve managed thousands of employees," Mr. Santos told him, "When you walk in here, you won’t lose those skills."

Zhao Changpeng arrived in Long Beach on the morning of May 30, 2024. He quickly integrated into what is known as the "car," an informal social group typically divided by ethnicity. During meals, other Asian inmates sat with Zhao, and during recreation time, they exercised with him on the yard. They were excited to be in the presence of a billionaire. "Everyone made way for him," said fellow inmate Jaton Aguon, "like a king walking down the aisle."

Zhao became close with a Vietnamese bank robber who was once an engineer. They discussed the robberies in detail, which were not as meticulously planned as people might imagine from movies like "Ocean's Eleven." Zhao told me that this person was "very gentle" and "super chill." "He just walked in, took the money, and left. And he got away with it 11 times."

This bank robber was one of the few inmates interested in the business world. He read Bloomberg and The Wall Street Journal, asking Zhao about Elon Musk's astronomical compensation package at Tesla. Other inmates had business-related questions as well, with one wanting to understand the mysteries of the cryptocurrency market. "He said, 'That Bitcoin... why did it go up?'" Zhao recalled, "I said, 'Wow, I'm not really sure either.'" Zhao organized a study group to track stock prices; there was a TV in the prison locked onto CNBC.

Not everything he said was well-received. In Long Beach, Zhao struggled to convey his firm belief that the Binance case essentially had no victims, "no fraud, nothing." When he explained the details, the response was dismissive. "They said, 'Yeah, everyone says that,'" Zhao recalled.

In August 2024, Zhao left Long Beach and transferred to a transitional facility. However, a bit of trouble with his immigration status forced him to spend his last two weeks in a local jail, passing time doing push-ups and sit-ups in his cell. On the day of his release, an officer escorted him out, where his mother, sister, and assistant were waiting. They drove him to a nearby airport, where he boarded a private jet to Abu Dhabi.

It was only 26 minutes from the time Zhao walked out of confinement to the takeoff of his private jet.

V.

Driving his Nissan SUV down the streets of Abu Dhabi, photo: Laura Boushnak/The New York Times

After Zhao returned, the world was shifting in his favor. A cryptocurrency-friendly government was about to take power in Washington. Shortly before the election, Trump co-founded World Liberty with the Steve Witkoff family. Mr. Witkoff, a real estate mogul, was preparing to become the White House envoy to the Middle East. Soon, these newly empowered transactional diplomats from the U.S. began frequenting the UAE.

While driving me around the city, Zhao stopped to point out the ADNEC center, which hosted a grand gathering of cryptocurrency enthusiasts in December 2024. "That's where I met Eric Trump," he said. He recalled that at the venue, a Trump supporter named David Bailey introduced him to the president's second son, who was a director at World Liberty. It was just a casual conversation, with no formal agenda. "He just said he was looking at a real estate project here," Zhao told me.

Their interests were about to align. The UAE had been pushing to transform from an oil nation to an emerging tech powerhouse, a project led by Sheikh Tahnoon, who oversees $1.5 trillion of UAE sovereign wealth. Before his imprisonment, Zhao had discussed selling Binance shares to a senior aide of the Sheikh, which would be the ultimate union of his company with political asylum.

Sheikh Tahnoon rarely goes without sunglasses; he is the chairman of MGX, a venture capital fund focused on artificial intelligence. Early last year, MGX agreed to invest $2 billion in Binance; according to a source, this deal valued Binance at $75 billion. MGX viewed Binance as the perfect bridge between cryptocurrency and artificial intelligence: a high-tech fund transfer service that could one day allow automated AI "agents" to pay on behalf of real people.

Zhao told me he hoped to settle the deal in Bitcoin. The UAE was concerned about the volatility of Bitcoin prices complicating the transaction. They preferred to pay in stablecoins, a type of cryptocurrency designed to maintain a price of $1.

What happened next is a matter of debate. If the Democrats win control of Congress in November, this could very well become the subject of a congressional investigation. According to MGX, the fund evaluated various stablecoins and ultimately chose USD1, a token issued by World Liberty, citing "commercial adaptability." Given that USD1 had not been tested at all and had no track record, this was a shocking choice. Last year, The Wall Street Journal reported that Binance explicitly requested MGX to pay in USD1; Zhao said the decision was made by MGX. "I don't really care, as long as the stablecoin is reputable and won't disappear overnight," he told me. "There were no other considerations."

But all parties had motives to pull World Liberty into the deal. In January 2025, just days before Trump's inauguration, an investment company with UAE ties acquired 49% of the startup; Sheikh Tahnoon secured a seat on the World Liberty board. Around the same time, the UAE was negotiating with the White House for valuable chip exports that drive artificial intelligence. Binance also had demands for the Trump administration. As legal troubles faded, the company wanted to shed some restrictions imposed by a settlement agreement from 2023.

Zach, son of Steve Witkoff, announced the deal in May 2025, thanking Binance and MGX "for their trust in us." Congressional Democrats condemned this as "stablecoin corruption." Issuers like World Liberty make money by receiving cash deposits from cryptocurrency traders, giving them stablecoins, and then investing those deposits for profit. With the $2 billion from MGX and Binance, World Liberty suddenly became one of the largest stablecoin companies in the world, a windfall for both Trump and Witkoff. "This is all about pandering at any cost," said Connecticut Democratic Senator Richard Blumenthal, who had investigated Zhao and Binance, "the scope and scale of its corruption is unprecedented."

Zhao insists there was nothing improper. He said he no longer held those USD1 tokens but had invested them in Bitcoin and other assets. "I think President Trump has good lawyers; the arrangement of a son doing business while the father is president is completely compliant," he told me. He also hinted that some of the anger might stem from cultural differences. "In Kazakhstan, we can eat horse meat," he explained, "in some other countries, we might think, 'That's too crazy.'" Isn't it a good thing when the ruling families of two countries do business together? Zhao offered a medieval analogy. "Marrying a daughter of one country to a prince of another country," he said, "they can maintain peace for 50 years."

Two weeks after the $2 billion deal was completed, the White House agreed to share the rights to use these chips, overriding some concerns from U.S. national security officials. Last spring, Steve Witkoff visited Abu Dhabi with Trump, celebrating the deal with the UAE at the presidential palace.

According to a person familiar with the conversations, Mr. Witkoff also privately told an acquaintance that Zhao should receive a pardon. Zhao had submitted the relevant documents and was awaiting the president's decision. The outcome would have a huge impact on Binance. After Zhao pleaded guilty, the exchange's dormant U.S. operations lost their state licenses. A pardon would help the company market itself to regulators. (A White House spokesperson stated that Mr. Witkoff was not involved in the pardon process.)

Describing the process to me, Zhao was cautious, calling it a "black box" guarded by several lawyers who would periodically send updates from Washington. "From time to time," he said, some unknown intermediaries would approach him at social events, saying that for the right price, they could arrange a meeting with Trump. "This is a mini-industry looking to make money," Zhao said.

Zhao ignored them. He told me that in March 2025, after other cryptocurrency executives received pardons and The Wall Street Journal reported that he was also seeking a pardon, he began to seriously consider it. "I thought, if the newspaper thinks I should seek a pardon, then maybe I really should," he said.

In fact, according to two sources and documents reviewed by The New York Times, Zhao's legal team had been working with prominent pardon attorney Brett Tolman as early as December 2024 to explore the possibility of obtaining clemency. Public filings show that Binance ultimately paid $2.1 million to a lobbying firm run by Ches McDowell, with services including "administrative clemency." Mr. McDowell has close ties to the president's eldest sons. (A spokesperson for World Liberty told me the company "was not involved in any pardon decisions.")

When the pardon was announced last October, Zhao had just flown to Kyrgyzstan to meet with President Sadyr Japarov, who was interested in creating a digital currency pegged to Kyrgyzstan's national currency. In the capital, Bishkek, as the host welcomed him, Zhao posted a brief thank you on social media. That evening, he spent time with the president at a restaurant, discussing stablecoins.

VI.

A Steinway piano sits in the children's room, photo: Laura Boushnak/The New York Times

On a scorching summer morning this year, Zhao drove into the driveway of his $5 million villa. He and He Yi took turns hosting their parents and siblings here. Two dogs greeted him at the door. In addition to a Takhini dog, Zhao has a Belgian Malinois named Broccoli, because he thought the name sounded a bit like "blockchain."

A photographer followed behind as Zhao moved briskly between several rooms, pointing out photos of young children in the house. A grand cream-colored piano sat in the center of the children's playroom, surrounded by toys, and its neglected appearance displeased the tuner who came to adjust it. It was a Steinway, "the expensive kind," Zhao told me, "but I can't play." In his home gym, he paused to do a few sets of bench presses.

Zhao Changpeng wants to clarify that he does not live like an ordinary billionaire. Forbes estimates his wealth to be over $100 billion, but Zhao insists that the actual figure is much lower, around $10 billion to $30 billion. He says that even a tiny fraction of that would allow him to live comfortably, just $10 million.

In the cryptocurrency podcast circle, Zhao is occasionally asked about his house, and he often mentions a leak upstairs that has never been fixed. Sure enough, in the living room, he points to a water stain on the floor and then gestures to the ceiling. "It's right there," he says, "I don't know if you can see that the color is different."

CZ points to the unaddressed leak in the ceiling, photo: Laura Boushnak/The New York Times

By billionaire standards, Zhao's villa is indeed modest; he tells me that a nearby house is on sale for $150 million. However, his feigned humility is hard to reconcile with the world of power and privilege he inhabits. At a group dinner, Zhao listened to Sam Altman discuss an emerging field in biotechnology research. "They can extract sperm and eggs from a person," Zhao recalls, "basically, you can have a child all by yourself." Zhao himself has ambitions to defy biological norms; he has invested in a startup researching artificial wombs.

Since his release from prison, Zhao's time has been divided among various matters, including his tech investments and his travels as a sort of cryptocurrency diplomat, promoting the industry in countries that often treat him like royalty. "They always send someone with two cars, driving right up to the plane," he tells me, "and a girl holding local specialties, as if you should take a bite."

Zhao downplays his involvement with Binance; the company's plea agreement prohibits him from "operating or managing" the business. He specifically expressed dissatisfaction with Binance's recent decision to sue The Wall Street Journal. The paper had previously reported on personnel losses in its compliance department, and he called the lawsuit "a complete waste of time." Even if Binance wins, "they won't get much," he tells me. (The company withdrew the lawsuit last month.)

Clearly, Binance remains an important part of his life. One of the two people who succeeded him as co-CEO is He Yi, the mother of his three young children. Two years ago, in an effort to align more closely with traditional governance, Binance established a board of directors composed of three so-called independent trustees. One of them, who also serves as chairman, is Gabe Abed, a friend who initially brought Zhao to the UAE. They have ridden jet skis together, and Mr. Abed once gifted Zhao a pair of orange high-top sneakers emblazoned with "TRUMP CRYPTO PRESIDENT."

Recently, Binance has faced new allegations of misconduct. Last year, four compliance officers were fired or suspended after reporting nearly $2 billion in funds flowing from customer accounts to a batch of entities linked to Iran, which may be a repeat of the sanctions evasion that led to a U.S. criminal case in 2023. The company disputed the conclusions regarding these employees and denied that anyone was punished for raising concerns. The Justice Department later stated that two Chinese companies used Binance to launder proceeds from Iranian oil sales, but no charges were brought against Binance.

Relations between Binance and the UAE have also shown some cracks. In December, the company obtained a license to operate in Abu Dhabi, a city that is soon to face intense missile attacks from Iran; the new regulators of the exchange praised Binance as a beacon of "regulatory progress." However, by this summer, two Binance employees were briefly detained in the UAE. This was an unusually tough step for local police, who are investigating potential financial crimes that may exist on the platform.

These detentions have unsettled Binance's local staff. Zhao tells me that he messaged a contact in the UAE police and also reached out to several subordinates of Sheikh Tahnoon. "I just said, 'Look, let's find a way to prevent this from happening again,'" Zhao recalls, "It's not good for the country, and it's not good for us." He insists that the UAE remains a friendly home for Binance. "No one is in danger," he says.

Zhao Changpeng exudes a confidence that comes from repeatedly turning danger into opportunity. In an era that often rewards blatant rule-breakers, he is a thorough winner. In his memoir, he devotes a page and a half to his belief in the "simulation theory," the idea that we might all be living in a reality imagined by someone else. He encountered this idea early in his cryptocurrency career and now believes it is mathematically undeniable. "In 20 years, we should be able to insert a tube into our heads like in The Matrix and enter a complete simulation," he writes, "and there will be billions of people doing that. There will be billions of simulations."

This belief allows Zhao to transcend some of the pressures of daily life. He writes that we might be a version of Super Mario, running around in artificially constructed scenes. He tries to live by a simple motto: "It's just a game."