Very recently, I flew to Vietnam at the request of a long-time client. The family business—once poised for a smooth generational transition—was suddenly in crisis. The designated successor, a dynamic 43-year-old leader, had died of a massive heart attack. His passing sent shockwaves through the enterprise, paralyzing operations and exposing the painful truth: the business was structurally unprepared for succession. My task was urgent—stabilize the family, create governance, install a board, form a family council and mentor the remaining children toward clarity and unity.
Sadly, this is not an isolated case.
In another quiet industrial hub in Southeast Asia, a different family conglomerate faces a slower, subtler threat. The founder, now in his seventies, is a legend. From a small-time trader to the head of a multi-industry empire spanning food manufacturing, property, and retail, he employs thousands. But beneath the surface lies a vulnerability: no succession plan, no governance, no agreed leadership model. His legacy—once his greatest pride—is now his biggest worry.
The founder’s two sons are active in the business. The eldest is loyal, methodical and cautious—but lacks the visionary spark to lead the company forward. The younger is sharp, confident and innovative—but impulsive and entitled. The father, torn between them, remains stuck. He dreads choosing one and alienating the other, so he chooses no one. He avoids the topic altogether, hoping time will offer a better solution. But in family businesses, time often works against you.
This is the classic founder’s dilemma: the inability to let go, rooted not in ego but in fear. Many patriarchs believe only they can safeguard the business they built. Letting go feels like inviting chaos. Ironically, this paralysis becomes the very threat they sought to avoid. Without governance, everything rests on the founder’s shoulders. When he eventually steps away—due to age or circumstance—the vacuum can fracture families, ruin reputations and erode decades of value.
In my two decades working with Asian family enterprises, I’ve observed a common misbelief: control ensures longevity. Family harmony, often mistaken for unity, will preserve the enterprise. But as families grow, so do complexities. Relationships evolve, interests diverge, and informal structures collapse under pressure.
The antidote is structure. It starts with an open conversation. Founders must initiate difficult discussions about purpose, expectations, roles, and vision. They must draft a Family Constitution, a living document defining governance policies, conflict resolution mechanisms, succession plans and shared values. These talks aren’t just about roles; they are about aligning aspirations.
Next is mentorship. Successors aren’t appointed—they are shaped through deliberate exposure, performance-based development, and character formation. Choosing who leads must be meritocratic, not political. It should follow a clear framework agreed upon by all stakeholders.
In the Southeast Asian founder’s case, progress came only when he agreed to form a Family Council. With his adult children and external advisors in regular dialogue, the family began to act like a team, not rivals. The founder—initially resistant—found relief in letting go. He realized he didn’t have to control everything to influence the future. He had to build the right foundation and empower others to stand on it.
In the end, legacy is not merely wealth or empire. It’s continuity. It’s passing forward not just assets, but values, vision and wisdom. That happens only when founders embrace their most important role: becoming architects of succession, not just builders of business.