Then answered that investors who wanted unrestricted power to dispose of the company's heritage properties might not be appropriate partners.
The ambitious executive chairman was especially unhappy.
During one meeting, he described the stewardship provision as sentimental.
“Property is capital,” he argued. “Its value comes from what it can earn.”
The founder looked toward him.
“Some value isn't measured by the fastest possible sale.”
The executive gave a practiced smile.
“With respect, that isn't how modern investment works.”
The founder considered him.
Then replied quietly, “Perhaps modern investment could learn a few things from people who intend to remain somewhere longer than five years.”
Several directors looked down to hide their smiles.
The executive did not laugh.
He had begun viewing the founder's principles as obstacles.
And he increasingly viewed the daughter as the person most likely to preserve them after her father was gone.
He started gathering allies.
He cultivated relationships with directors who favored rapid expansion.
He offered generous future consulting arrangements to advisers willing to support restructuring.
He introduced outside developers who proposed purchasing valuable hotel properties and leasing them back to the group.
Some proposals were legitimate business ideas.
Others were designed to shift value toward companies in which he and his associates held undisclosed interests.
The daughter noticed inconsistencies.
One development proposal valued a Manhattan property far below comparable transactions.
Another involved a newly formed investment firm with no meaningful operating history.
A third contained unusual management fees payable to an affiliate of the executive's private business.
She asked for the beneficial owners of the firms.
The executive smiled.
“Don't worry. These are sophisticated investors.”
She looked at him.
“Then they should have no difficulty identifying themselves.”
His expression tightened.
She did not look away.
Eventually, the proposal was postponed.
The executive never forgave her.
During the founder's final year, his daughter spent more time beside him.
They traveled less.
They ate dinner together whenever his health allowed.
Sometimes they sat near the river, watching boats pass beneath the lights.
One evening, he asked her what she wanted from the company.
She looked surprised.
“What do you mean?”
He smiled.
“Do you want to run it?”
She considered the question carefully.
“I want to protect what you've built.”
He nodded.
“That isn't quite the same as wanting to run it.”
She looked toward the river.
“I know.”
He waited.
She continued.
“I think I could be a good owner. But I don't know whether I'd want to remain chief executive forever.”
The founder smiled.
“Good.”