A Routine Meeting, a Subtle Shift
The founder walks into the quarterly board meeting. It’s a familiar scene: a mix of official directors and friendly observers, mostly financial investors who have never run anything.
On paper, the meeting goes fine. The company’s not roaring, but it’s not flailing either. There’s healthy burn, modest growth, and a few grounded hypotheses about how to accelerate responsibly.
The founder walks out thinking, We’re holding it together. Customers are renewing. The team’s stable. The unit economics aren’t amazing, but they’re not broken. The prize at the end still feels attainable. No champagne, but no fire drills either.
Then comes the strange moment.
The Bait
Toward the end of the meeting, a board member casually mentions an operator friend — “phenomenal exec,” “great manager,” “just came available.” He nudges the founder to take a meeting. There’s no open C-level role, so the ask feels … odd. But in good faith, the founder agrees to a coffee.
Then the VC keeps pressing.
“Have you met yet?”
“What did you think?”
“Will there be a second meeting?”
Eventually, the founder asks the obvious: “Why the full-court press when we aren’t even hiring?”
And here it comes.
“Oh, no agenda,” says the investor. “It’s just such a rare opportunity. Talent like this doesn’t sit on the market long. Even if it’s not budgeted, you want to be opportunistic.”
Polite Lies and Power Plays
Veteran founders already know what’s happening. First-timers, listen carefully.
This is the setup.
The “rare talent” isn’t a gift. He’s not one in a million. He’s not even yours to consider.
He’s your replacement.
In the VC playbook, this is called adult supervision. It’s the preferred move when there’s daylight between how the company is performing and the fantasy they pitched to their partners and LPs.
The Takeover Script
First, you’ll be asked to offer this person a heavyweight title. President, maybe.
Then comes the scope: “No way someone this senior joins without a full lane, maybe sales, product, marketing, or maybe all three.”
Next is the board request. “With someone this seasoned,” they’ll say, “shouldn’t they have a voice at the table? Maybe even a vote? I can’t imagine they’d join otherwise.”
And just like that, someone you didn’t hire, don’t know well, and don’t actually need now has a title, real authority, and a seat in the room where your fate gets decided.
So, what happens next?
The Switch
The moment performance doesn’t bounce back to the hockey-stick memo the VC once wrote, they call the vote. You walk into what you think is a standard check-in and get ambushed.
You’re out. And the smiling assassin they lobbied so hard for is now running your company.
Why It Happens So Often
Venture investors are great gamblers and lousy operators. When a company underperforms, VCs reach for their favorite cocktail of panic and impulsivity.
They don’t understand your product, your market, or the day-to-day complexity of running the business. And when the numbers don’t line up with the dream, they pull the only lever they know: Replace the CEO.
They can’t stomach what many quietly admit: Most startups don’t become world-changing unicorns. Most become … good businesses. Not amazing. Not historic. Just good.
And given the choice between a steady outcome that returns a little to them (and a lot to you) and swinging again in hopes of a grand slam, many VCs will gladly add risk, even if it means burning the whole thing down. Swapping out the founder is a small price to pay.
The Soft Sell of Your Exit
And I haven’t even gotten to the best part: the gaslighting.
Because they’ll tell you without blinking that this change is for your own good. That it’ll “maximize shareholder value.” That the new hire can “help you scale.” You’re “still essential to the mission,” they’ll say. “Stay on as founder.”
Meanwhile, your role is reduced to all-hands pep talks and inspirational Slack messages.
And here’s the final irony.
When you resist the change, most VCs will claim you’re the one not being intellectually honest. That you’re not willing to say or do the hard things that need to be done. Yet the VCs are doing just that.
They won’t say, “Here’s where we are. Here’s where we need to be. Is the gap structural to the market or due to suboptimal execution? Can you close it?”
That would require clarity and courage.
Instead, they sidestep the conversation, assume the CEO is not up to the task, and send in the hitman. They wait until you’re tired, stretched, and unsuspecting.
There’s a line from “Goodfellas” that has long stayed with me. Henry Hill says:
“See, your murderers come with smiles. They come as your friends. The people who’ve cared for you all your life. And they always seem to come at a time that you’re at your weakest and most in need of their help.”
Rookies never see it coming.
Protect Yourself
Do all boards behave this way? No. Are some CEOs deserving of replacement? Of course. But too many boards fire first instead of doing the hard work of understanding the state of the company and the path forward.
I hate watching good founders get fired. There’s a better way.
Our founders learn to spot the signs when a board dynamic goes sideways. And when their spidey sense tingles, we suggest a simple, direct conversation: “Do you believe I’m still the right CEO for this company? If you have concerns, I’d like to hear them.”
More often than not, what follows is a healthy exchange, clarity about the gap and what the board needs to see, and a shared definition of near-term performance that can rebuild trust on both sides.
To mature from founder to CEO means learning the craft, and part of that craft is managing your board. Ignore that, and the consequences aren’t just painful. They’re fatal.
Learn the craft. Know the signs. There are real steps you can take to protect both yourself and the company you’ve poured everything into without betraying your shareholders in the process. Because in the venture game, a little paranoia isn’t weakness. It’s survival.
It’s what keeps you from mistaking a knife for a handshake.