Small scenes at work that no one notices or questions. And yet, that’s where everything shifts.
The sentence landed just after the candidate had left the room, delivered with that falsely composed tone people use when they want to appear reasonable while mostly reassuring themselves, as if the chosen word’s primary function were to avoid a decision rather than to describe it:
“It’s brilliant, but there’s something unstable.”
Unstable, because he had said exactly what he would do, because he had described without detour the phase the company was in — post-acquisition integration, loss of bearings, decisions to be made, positions to be cut, clients to be confronted, identity to be redefined — and because he had named what this kind of phase actually requires: a crisis leader, a sprinter, someone who cuts, decides, acts, assumes unpopular decisions, and then leaves once the ground becomes passable again.
Unstable, above all, because he had added the sentence no one around the table wanted to hear spoken out loud, the sentence that leaves no narrative escape:
“In two or three years, my role will no longer make sense. You will need someone else.”
He had not merely presented a vision; he had presented an ending. And in that room, it was not vagueness that caused discomfort — quite the opposite. It was the brutal clarity, the idea that a CEO could be appointed to cross a phase rather than to embody a reassuring continuity, the idea that a position of power could be conceived as temporary, functional, almost consumable, in service of a precise moment in the company’s life, rather than as an identity projection to be preserved.
The silence that followed was not a reflective silence.
It was a retreating one — the kind that allows a disturbing lucidity to be relabeled as a character flaw, and a structurally sound proposal to be reframed as an acceptable human risk to eliminate.
Yet he had explained very concretely what he would do in the first months: clarify what this unit actually existed for within the group, decide whether it should remain a local center or become a transversal operational arm, confront clients to prevent silent erosion, review the cost structure without cosmetic adjustments, reposition leaders holding on through seniority rather than actual usefulness, and secure knowledge transfer before talent began leaving out of fatigue.
He had also explained what he would not do: he would not settle in, would not attach himself to the title, nor to the prestige of serving an institution of that size, because his role belonged to the nature of sprinters — those who know how to act when a company reaches improbable crossroads, and who also know how to leave once the passage has been cleared.
That is precisely where something closed.
Later, in a side conversation with his right-hand man and the local founder who had proposed the candidate, the group CEO reformulated things using that circular logic that reassures because it requires nothing:
“Someone who takes on a CEO role with a predefined exit date — you just don’t see that anywhere.”
Unstable, perhaps even dangerous. Not incompetent. But not someone you can project yourself with. The word did its job, shifting the fear of the phase onto the candidate’s personality, turning structural lucidity into a convenient individual defect.
The right-hand man nodded immediately, as he always does, because his role is not to create tension but to smooth the perception of risk.
The founder said nothing. He had known this professional for years, had worked with him, had seen what he does when companies stop running on inertia, and knew perfectly well that there was nothing unstable here — only someone who refused to tell himself a comforting story about what a real crisis crossing actually requires. He simply raised his eyebrows, internally.
The decision was made shortly thereafter.
Someone else was appointed — a reassuring profile, a manager with no exit date, no rupture narrative, no sentences that force you to look at the end before even announcing the beginning.
And for two years, almost nothing happened. The unit diluted, decisions were postponed, vision remained blurred, the strategic partnership initially mentioned never existed anywhere but in slides, while the phase itself never disappeared — it was simply avoided.
Later on, very calmly, without visible drama, the CEO appointed to last was let go. And someone eventually said, quietly, almost like a useless confession:
“We should have had someone clean things up at the beginning. Even if that person left afterward.”
What few organizations are willing to look at is that most executive casting mistakes start right there: in the inability to think of the company in phases, in the refusal to admit that a CEO can be appointed not to embody, but to cross.
We prefer to believe that a good leader must do everything, all the time, for everyone.
So we choose marathon runners when we need sprinters — and then act surprised when they collapse halfway through.
Appointing someone so they can leave is not a governance failure.
It is a form of lucidity that few organizations are willing to assume as long as they can still tell themselves another story.
Seedz / Silent Guest
Not a coach. Not a therapist.
A clear mirror — to see clearly, before choosing.
