
47 Action Items, 2 Done
Three days, twelve people, a beautiful venue, forty-seven action items. Six months later, two were done. A vacation in business clothing.

Three days, twelve people, a beautiful venue, forty-seven action items. Six months later, two were done. A vacation in business clothing.

The board deck said 92% net retention. True for customers who joined two years ago. The ones who joined this year were churning at 30%.

The books closed and the company owed $212,000 in taxes nobody had modeled. Franchise and sales tax come due whether or not you're profitable.

The customer who became 40% of revenue. The hire who became a problem. Both were a cheap no in year one and an expensive one in year five.

Engineering shipped on Tuesday. Marketing found out Tuesday afternoon. The biggest feature of the year had launched into a silence that lasted two weeks.

She'd been VP of Engineering for three years. When she gave notice, the company realized nobody else could do the job. The 30-day handoff was a fiction.

18,000 signups. One launch email nine months later. 4% converted. The waitlist had been a marketing trophy, not a sales pipeline.

The customer prepaid for a year. The cash landed. The team treated it as runway. Six months later, when the refund came due, the cash was gone.

He'd been advising you weekly for two years. Every call ended with him agreeing. You mistook the agreement for wisdom.

Eighty-seven items filed under one word: roadmap. Twelve were shipping. The rest were every customer ask since 2023, waiting for a commitment that never came.

One company's comp band said $180K to $230K; its payroll said $172K, $215K, $239K, and one $260K. Whichever number is real is the actual policy.

The A/B test found a lower price that converted better. It converted the company into a worse business, and the tool reported a win the whole way down.

ARR was smooth. Cash was lumpy. The board slide flattened both into a number that was neither.

He held it together for 6 years. The bill came due as a marriage, his sleep, and four years of decisions he made too tired to notice how tired he was.

Engineering built it. Sales sold it. Product never tracked it. When it broke in production, the question 'who owns this' produced four hours of silence.

The title was real. The headcount under her was zero. She'd been promoted to run a function she was the only person inside of.

Every product meeting opened with what the leader shipped. Two years later you were a cheaper version of them, and buyers said so out loud.

The plan called for fifteen hires. The comp math came off last summer's bands. By the time offers went out, the market had moved and nobody had told the board.

The Series A lead asked for two seats and an observer. The founder agreed because the round was finally closing. The cost showed up at Series C.

Every escalation eventually routed to his inbox, and he answered all of them. Without anyone deciding it, the company had made the CEO its final support tier.

Laptop shipped Monday. Welcome message in #team-general. Six weeks of Slack threads later, she still didn't know what the company expected of her.

The deck still said mid-market. The closed-won list was mostly enterprise. The team ran the wrong playbook and called the gap a tough quarter.

Gross margin held at 72% for three years. Then diligence recomputed it at 58%. The costs in the COGS line had quietly stopped being variable.

He hadn't been offline for more than four days since founding the company. He called it commitment. His team called it something else.