Christmas 1997.
My dad turned down an offer of over £1 million for his business. He told me:
"In a year's time, we'll be able to add a zero to that."
Three months later, on 5 April 1998, he died from cancer. The business was wound up. It was worth nothing. My inheritance was the chance to look through his wardrobe and take something if I wanted it.
If he'd taken that offer, our lives would have been very different.
I don't say that for drama. The business was successful. It was never designed to survive him.
It wasn't the first time
In the early 90s recession, my dad lost his first company. A PLC owed him a significant amount of money, and the bank wouldn't support him to trade through.
The family home was secured against the loan. When I was 18, my mum, my brother and I were made homeless. We found somewhere to live before handing the keys back. But the impact stays.
My dad rebuilt. He grew bigger the second time. And the same weakness was still there: the business was him, and it wasn't built to exist without him.
More common than you think
Too many companies are still built around one person. The founder. The rainmaker. The decision-maker. The fixer. The bottleneck.
While you're alive and full of energy, it doesn't feel dangerous. It feels important, even powerful. Right up until it isn't.
I've worked with thousands of business owners across the UK, and this is standard, I'm afraid.
So here's the uncomfortable one. If you disappeared for 90 days, would your business survive? And if you disappeared for good, would it be worth anything to anyone else? Be honest with yourself, which is harder than being optimistic or defensive.
Why founders ignore it
Because redesigning a business so it survives you is uncomfortable. It means letting go of control, getting what's in your head down on paper, training people properly and building process where there used to be personality. And it means accepting that you are replaceable.
That last one is the hardest. None of us likes admitting it. But if your business depends on you entirely, what you've got is a job, and a fragile one.
We assume we have time
My dad assumed he had time. I'm not criticising him for it. Most of us do.
He wasn't reckless. He'd beaten cancer eight years earlier. He was having regular check-ups. There was no dramatic warning, until there was.
The first sign was pain in his leg. The cancer was already everywhere. By the time anyone knew, it was too late.
There's usually a tap on the shoulder before there's a punch in the face. In health, in marriage and in business. Small signals, small cracks, small dependencies. Most founders ignore them because things are still "working". Revenue is coming in. Clients still trust you. The team still functions. A building can look fine right up to the day the beam gives way.
For me this comes down to responsibility. When a founder builds something that depends entirely on them, they're putting their family and their team at risk without meaning to. Retirement can come early. Illness can get in the way. Burnout can hit. Or an offer to buy the business turns up, and there's nothing to sell without you.
Many founders chase a number: a revenue target, a valuation, an exit multiple. A harder question is what your business is worth without you, in pounds. Would someone buy it if you stepped away, or would they just be buying a workload tied to your personality?
The lesson I had to learn
The hardest lesson of my life was this: it's not about me.
For years after my dad died, I tried to prove things. That I was capable. That I could build. That I wouldn't repeat history.
I confused being needed with being valuable. Building something that depends entirely on you looks like strength, and it's fragile.
Even as an employee, you're worth more when you make yourself less essential. And if it's your business, you protect your family from your absence. You build income that keeps coming in without you there every day, and that carries on even when you can't.
So are your systems written down? Does anyone else know how decisions get made, and could your team run things for three months without you? If not, the alarm bell is already ringing, even if you can't hear it yet.
My dad's business was worth over £1 million at its peak. Three months later, it was worth nothing. One day every founder leaves their business, by choice or not. You don't control when. You do control how ready it is.
Build something that survives you. Or risk leaving them with a wardrobe.
I wrote more about my dad, and the year I ran his race, in The year I ran my Dad's race.
