𐃥
In 2003, Bill Hambrecht had built something rare in finance: a business model with no competition.
While Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley fought over billion-dollar IPOs, Hambrecht quietly helped small companies go public through auctions — simpler, fairer, and cheaper. No one else was doing it. No one else wanted to. His pipeline was growing.
Then Google called.
Google wanted to go public using Hambrecht's auction model. The biggest, most high-profile IPO in years. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.
He said yes. And it destroyed everything he had built.
Not immediately. Not dramatically. Not through failure. Through success — through exactly the kind of success that every disruptor dreams of, and that disruption theory warns you about.
- A disruptor built a better, fairer way to take companies public — the auction IPO
- It worked brilliantly for small companies nobody else would serve — then Google called with the biggest IPO in history
- He won the battle and lost the war — the big banks absorbed him, and his disruptive advantage eroded
- You're building something that works in a niche and wondering whether to chase a bigger, more prestigious opportunity
- You work at a startup and want to understand why early success sometimes leads to losing your edge
- You read The Three Types of Innovation and want to see disruption theory applied to a real, detailed case study
- You want to understand how incumbents actually respond to disruption (spoiler: they do not run away)
Selling Shares for the First Time
Imagine you built something valuable — say, a successful restaurant chain. You want to sell 10% of it to raise money to expand. The obvious approach: put it up for sale and let whoever values it most pay the most.
But that is not how it works on Wall Street.
When a company wants to sell shares to the public for the first time — an initial public offering, or IPO — it does not sell directly to investors. It sells shares to investment banks. The investment banks then turn around and sell those shares to investors. The company never deals with investors directly.
An initial public offering (IPO) is the first time a company sells stock to individuals who have no prior affiliation with the company. Before an IPO, the company is "private" — owned by founders, employees, and early investors. After, anyone can buy shares on the stock exchange.
Why do companies go public? Four main reasons:
- Fulfill the promise to employees. In places like Silicon Valley, companies attract talent by saying: "I'll pay you less than a big company, but I'll give you shares. Someday those shares will be worth something and you can sell them." An IPO makes that promise real.
- Give early investors an exit. Venture capitalists and seed investors don't want to run the business forever. They want to sell their shares and invest in the next thing. An IPO gives them that exit.
- Use stock as currency. A public company can use its stock to acquire other companies. But only if there's a publicly agreed-upon price per share. Without going public, nobody can agree on what the stock is worth.
- Raise money to grow. The company wants to expand, hire, enter new markets, or build new products. Selling shares to the public fills the treasury.
The process is much more complicated than most companies expect. You need accountants (every number must be audited, going back at least two years), lawyers (every statement you make as a public company must have legal backing — you can no longer just say "we are the leading company in X" without proof), and investment bankers (to help you communicate with investors and actually execute the transaction).
Why does the company need banks at all? Because the process is enormously complex. Once a company decides to go public, it embarks on a road show — roughly two weeks of travel, visiting institutional investors around the country (or the world) to explain the story. "Here's what we do. Here's why we'd be an interesting investment for you."
Over those two weeks, investors indicate interest. At the end, orders come in. And then something interesting happens.
The bankers sneak off into a room and decide which investors get how many shares.
This allocation process is where the real power lies. Theoretically, anyone with a brokerage account can participate. In reality, large institutional investors — mutual funds, hedge funds, pension funds — get the vast majority of shares. A company might say "10% to retail, 90% to institutions," but most of the time, the big players get most of the pot.
Institutions know that on a hot deal they will not get anywhere near what they ask for. So if you like a deal, you ask for 10% of the offering. But then 50 or 60 investors each ask for 10%. The math does not work. That is where the allocation "magic" comes in — bankers retreat to a room and decide who gets what, based partly on history (which accounts held stock long-term versus which flipped for quick profit) and partly on which accounts are most important to the bank's future business.
The 7% Cartel
The standard fee for an IPO is 7% of the total amount raised. If you are raising $100 million, you pay $7 million in fees.
And the fee does not move. Why? Because there is a cartel. All the banks have implicitly agreed — since nobody knows when — that 7% is what they charge. There is almost no price negotiation. The only exception is for very large deals (raising a billion dollars instead of a hundred million) or very high-profile transactions where banks will negotiate slightly, in direct proportion to how much publicity the deal will bring.
But the 7% fee is only half the cost. The other half is underpricing.
Banks have a bias toward pricing IPOs lower than the market would bear. Why? Because their institutional clients need to make money. If a bank overprices a deal and the stock drops the next day, those institutional clients get grumpy and may not participate in the next transaction. So the bank consistently pushes for a lower price — even when the company could get more.
The company might think: "We could price at $20 per share." The bankers say: "We really think you should go at $18." There is a contentious conversation, and in the vast majority of cases, the company backs down. Then the stock opens 40% higher the next day, and the company realizes it left tens of millions of dollars on the table.
A company raising $100 million pays $7 million in bank fees. Then, if the stock opens 40% higher, the company left another $40 million on the table — money that went to the banks' institutional clients instead of to the company. Total cost of going public: $47 million. And this is considered normal.
The institutional clients who were allocated shares at the lower IPO price profited from the 30% jump. The company left $60 million on the table ($200M x 30%). That money went to the banks' favored investors — not to the company, and not to retail investors who had almost no access to the IPO shares.
The company actually lost from the pop — it means the stock was underpriced, and they left $60 million on the table ($200M x 30%). Retail investors typically get almost no IPO shares. The real winners are the institutional clients who got allocated shares at the lower price and sold them for an immediate 30% profit.
Two Deals That Changed Everything
Bill Hambrecht was a veteran Wall Street underwriter. His firm, Hambrecht & Quist, had built a strong reputation — they had underwritten companies like Apple and Genentech, and most recently, in 1995-96, Netscape. The system was working well for them.
But in 1996, two deals came along that made him question whether the incentives had fundamentally changed.
Deal #1: Boston Beer and Jim Koch
Jim Koch was a rebel. He founded Boston Beer Company (the makers of Sam Adams), and when he decided he had to go public, he insisted on something nobody had ever done: at least a third of his offering would go to his customers.
Hambrecht & Quist, along with Goldman Sachs, were his underwriters. They gave him the usual response: "Oh sure, have them call us."
But Koch researched the system. He found out you could advertise an offering with a prospectus. So he put neck hangers on two weeks of his beer production. The neck hanger said: "If you like my beer, I'm going to go public. Call 1-800-xxx, and we'll send you a prospectus."
Everybody laughed.
He ended up with $50 billion worth of checks from 120,000 people. Nobody knew what to do with it. They had to rent a fulfillment program from Dreyfus just to process the orders.
Ultimately, a third of the offering went to his customers at $15 a share. The rest went to the institutional market at $20 a share.
The results told a powerful story: those customers did not sell. Over the years, the stock barely traded. People who bought at $15 held for the long pull. Sixteen years later, roughly a third of those original customer-shareholders still owned the stock. Their $330 investment had grown to about $2,500.
Selling stock to your customer base — people who bought because they loved the product — produced better long-term shareholders than selling to institutional investors who flip for quick profit. And this approach had always been excluded from any traditional offering.
Deal #2: Hambrecht & Quist Goes Public
The same year, Bill's own firm needed to go public. They had partners who had been with the firm for 25 years and were ready for retirement. The choice was: sell out, find the money to pay off retiring partners, or go public.
They went public through Morgan Stanley, through Bill's friend Dick Fisher.
The offering was reasonably well received. But in the last week before the deal, it suddenly became a hot deal — technology came into favor. The stock was offered at $15 a share, and everyone knew it would trade up into the twenties.
Bill went to Dick Fisher with a specific request: "Here are the six institutions that have supported us from the day we started. I really want them to have the stock. You've got to get them in."
Dick Fisher was honest: "You know how the game is. We'll do our best."
What happened?
Trying to Change the System From Inside
Bill tried. With a small software company IPO, he went to his sales force and said: "This time, we're going to say no to the big institutions unless we're absolutely sure they want to own the stock long-term."
The result? He almost got thrown out of his own firm. They got put in the penalty box by a couple of big institutions. It cost them millions of dollars in commission flow.
That is when Bill reached his conclusion: "You're not going to be able to change the system within a firm that's successful with the institutions."
So he left. And started something new.
One of Bill Hambrecht's most vivid memories is the pricing meeting for Apple's IPO. Hambrecht & Quist was involved because Steve Jobs insisted on them. It was the first time Morgan Stanley had ever co-underwritten with another firm.
The Morgan Stanley bankers walked in — in their blue suits. Steve was in his jeans and t-shirt (he hadn't even graduated to a turtleneck at that point).
Morgan Stanley went through their pitch: "We think X shares should be offered at Y price..."
Steve sat back and said: "Now let me see if I understand what you're saying. You want to sell the stock at $18 a share?"
"Yes."
"And I hear, from friends, that it might open up tomorrow at 27, 28, 29."
The Morgan Stanley team was honest: "Well, yeah. That's certainly a possibility."
"So who's going to get all this stock? Isn't this a pretty good deal — getting stock at 18, and it's going to sell at 27?"
Everybody said yes.
Then he looked at them and said: "And you're going to charge me a 7% fee."
Silence in the room.
Bill's thought at that moment: "OK, he's figured it out. And the smart guys are going to figure this thing out, and we have to be better at it. We have to price things closer to the market. And we have to earn the fee."
A Simpler Way
Think about selling a house. The traditional way: you hire a real estate agent who privately shows it to a few selected wealthy buyers, negotiates a price behind closed doors, and keeps a 7% commission. You have no idea if you got the best price.
The auction way: you list it publicly, everyone who is interested submits a bid, and the house sells to whoever values it most. The price comes from the market, not from the agent.
That is essentially what Bill Hambrecht built for IPOs. His firm, WR Hambrecht and Company, created an auction-based IPO process:
- Everyone submits a bid — the price they would pay and the number of shares they want
- Bids are stacked from highest to lowest
- You count down to the last share you want to sell
- Whatever price that last share sells at becomes the price for the entire issue
This is called a Dutch auction (also known as a "second price" auction). If you bid $115 and someone else bids $90, and $90 is the clearing price, everyone pays $90. You're happy. They're happy. The person who bid $90 is happy.
It is, as Bill put it, "a pretty simple thing. There's no real rocket science involved." But it changes two fundamental things:
- The price comes from the market, not from a negotiation between the company and its bankers. Just like stock exchanges use auctions to open stocks every morning.
- It is open to any broker dealer. Any broker dealer who wants to submit a bid — as long as they are legitimate and the bid is funded — gets in. Not just the banks' favored clients.
First Customers: The Non-Consumers
The first company to use Bill's auction was Ravenswood, a small winery. Bill was a shareholder, and no one else would do a deal that small. He went to them and said, "Why don't we try it?" They were rebels too, and they agreed.
It worked. They raised the money they needed to build a new plant. The stock came at $10, and two years later, they sold out at $30. Good outcome for everyone. But it was small.
And that is the key insight: most of the companies that came to WR Hambrecht did not have the option of going out with Goldman Sachs or Morgan Stanley. The offerings were too small. Their companies were not far enough along. The big banks were not interested.
These companies were non-consumers in the IPO market — they wanted access but could not get it through conventional means.
If you read The Three Types of Innovation, you will recognize this immediately. The auction IPO is a textbook new-market disruption. It brought "non-consumers" into the market — companies too small for Goldman Sachs and individual investors who had never been able to participate in an IPO. It was simpler, cheaper, and served people the incumbents had no interest in serving.
The auction IPO is a new-market disruption because it is a simpler product that brings many "non-consumers" into the market: companies that were too small to access traditional IPOs and small investors who needed only a brokerage account to participate. It created a market where none existed.
Sustaining innovation would mean making the traditional IPO process even better for the same institutional clients. Low-end disruption would target the least profitable clients of incumbents with a "good enough" product. The auction IPO does something different — it serves people who could not participate at all. That is new-market disruption: bringing non-consumers into the market with a simpler, more accessible alternative.
The Little Old Lady Letter
Google grew rapidly through the 1990s and early 2000s. By October 2003, the pressure to take the company public was mounting. But Google's founders wanted to do things differently.
Lise Buyer, who was part of Google's IPO team, remembers the moment that set the tone. She was sitting in her office when she received a handwritten letter in "little old lady handwriting":
"I hear you're going public. I want to participate too. I want to make as much money as all those rich bankers."
The letter was passed around the team. And the question became: "How are we going to do an IPO that's consistent with our values?"
One of Google's board members had told them that the problem of aligning a company's interests with its bankers' interests was "an unsolved problem." And as Lise noted: "Google loves an unsolved problem."
The fit with Bill Hambrecht was natural. Google was already in the auction business — the largest auction house in the world, in fact. Every time someone clicked a Google ad, a real-time auction decided which ad to show. Eric Schmidt explained the appeal: "We believe passionately in open auctions. That's what Google does."
So when Bill showed up with his Dutch auction model, the Google team was immediately drawn to it. The math was clean. The logic was fair. It sent a message that Google was a different kind of company.
The Bank Beauty Contest
Google sent out a request for proposals to every bank that had contacted them by a certain date. But the questions were not standard. They specifically asked about auction IPOs, unusual lockup terms, and other signals that made it clear things were going to be very different.
Google received hundreds of pages from each bank. They read every single page, built spreadsheets, compared and contrasted answers, and narrowed the field for face-to-face meetings.
Ordinarily, pitch meetings are when banks talk about how great they are. Google turned that on its head — they sat the banks down and fired questions at them, not letting them do the typical advertisement.
Bill's Dilemma
WR Hambrecht was on Google's list. They had contacted Google previously, and Google knew they were leading the charge for auction IPOs in the US.
When Bill went down to meet Eric Schmidt, Eric showed him what Google was doing — the numbers, the growth, the scale. It was clear this was on a scale way beyond what Bill had thought. They really had something special. As someone who had spent his whole life trying to find great companies and take them public, this was the dream: "It's now the second-largest cap company in the world. And the first was Apple. Those are the ultimate things you want to do, if you're an underwriter."
But Bill was conflicted. His firm had started to develop real momentum in small-to-medium-size offerings. They worked well. They were not nearly as competitive — no Goldman or Morgan Stanley fighting over these deals. And Google was "exactly what the traditional underwriters looked for — a great, new, breakthrough company."
"But from our business point of view, I'm not sure."
The disruptor's advantage is in serving non-consumers. Competing for Google means competing directly with Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley on sustaining terms. The incumbents will not flee — they will absorb you. But this is incredibly hard to see in the moment, which is exactly what makes it a trap. Keep reading to see what actually happened.
This is exactly what Bill chose — and it is exactly what disruption theory warns against. Pursuing Google means competing on the incumbents' turf, where they have more resources, more relationships, and more motivation. Option C sounds wise in theory, but in practice, the big deal absorbs all the energy of everyone in the firm. Keep reading to see what happened.
Before you say yes to a big, exciting opportunity, ask yourself:
- What is working for me right now? (Bill: small/medium IPOs, growing pipeline, low competition)
- What is the big opportunity? (Bill: Google — prestige, massive fees, brand recognition)
- What changes if I take it? (Bill: competing directly with Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley on their turf)
- What is the opportunity cost? (Bill: momentum with non-consumption market slows or stops)
- Would the incumbents fight or flee? (If they would fight, you are moving into sustaining competition — that is the trap)
If the opportunity requires you to change your business model to compete on the incumbents' terms, it is a trap — no matter how prestigious it looks.
Opening Day
Bill decided to pursue Google. WR Hambrecht was selected to participate, along with several other banks, as an underwriter in an auction IPO.
They worked with about eight banks to build an open order book. The sales teams went out, filled the book, and WR Hambrecht assisted in creating the auction.
But there was a problem. Summer 2004. Demand was not great — perhaps due to timing, perhaps due to their own errors. At the last minute, they had to reduce the size of the offering to reach a clearing price of $85.
Lise Buyer remembers flying overnight to New York. They arrived at Morgan Stanley's office at noon. On television, CNBC was broadcasting: "It's a terrible stock. It will never go up. What a dog. These guys are idiots."
None of them knew it was going to work. But they had one encouraging sign: from looking at the order book, they could see that their top five shareholders, based on their bids, were the dream list — investors known for buying and holding and sticking with a company. They were quite confident those investors would build their positions over time. It really was the ideal list.
They were introduced to a guy named Killer. That was actually his name. His job was to get everybody going. As the offering began at noon, Killer started screaming — sell, buy, sell, buy.
The first trade: $100.
They had priced at $85 in the auction. The stock opened at $100. And the average first-day "pop" for traditional IPOs? About 15%. Google's pop was 17.5% — almost exactly the target.
What happened the next day? Went up more. And the next. Never went below $85 again.
Equal Allocation: The Principle That Mattered Most
Google had taken the allocation process completely out of the hands of the banks. There was no meeting where bankers decided who gets what. They had a spreadsheet showing which account wants how many shares at what price.
At the clearing price of $85, there was more demand than shares available. So everyone got the exact same percentage of what they requested — 67.7%. Whether you were buying 10 shares or a million shares, you got 67.7% of what you asked for.
As Lise Buyer put it: "That was so important to the leadership team. It put shares in the hands of institutions — who are just aggregations of individuals — but it also gave the people who were typing on Google searches every day a reason to be happy."
The allocation was mathematical, not political. And that aggravated the banks enormously — because they like being able to ensure their best clients are taken care of. Google had taken that ability away from them.
Bill acknowledged the process was not perfect: "We made many mistakes along the way. There were many nuances in this process that were just idiotic, for lack of a better term. But on the big things — equitable distribution of shares, not leaving too much money on the table, not having a disaster on day two — we nailed it."
After Google: The Rising Tide
After Google, good things seemed to happen for WR Hambrecht:
- Morningstar came in — a very big, successful deal
- Interactive Brokers — a $1.3 billion auction. WR Hambrecht was the book runner. No bulge bracket firm alongside them. "We thought, oh boy, here we are."
And then, the three major bulge bracket firms called and said: "OK, we're not going to lose this kind of business anymore by saying no to an auction. We'll work with you."
Bill thought: "Great. Now we're part of the club."
This is the moment most people would celebrate. The biggest banks in the world are calling you. They want to work with you. It feels like victory. It feels like validation. But read what comes next.
Junior Member of the Club
"We became part of the club. But as a junior member of the club, that's not a very good economic model."
The destruction happened in stages, each one feeling like progress at the time:
Stage 1: The Google Effect. The Google IPO absorbed all the energy of everybody in the firm. The sales force loved it. The answer to "what next?" became: more Googles. More bigger deals. More deals that were obvious investments for the big institutions. The focus moved upstream — "into the more conventional businesses that everybody was pursuing."
Stage 2: The Partnership. WR Hambrecht did NetSuite, Rackspace, and other great companies. The auctions went fine. But essentially, they were marginalized. The economics did not work. They ended up as "an advocate of the company against the underwriters to make sure the auction was really an auction" — not a lead position, but a watchdog role.
Stage 3: The Realization. "That's just not a very good business or a good relationship." They went back out and said they were not going to do this anymore. And then the IPO market went away anyway.
Stage 4: The Market Returns — Without Them. When the IPO market came back, "it only came back for the very big, high-profile companies." There were only two or three deals under $50 million last year. But Bill knew there were thousands of companies that wanted access to the public markets and could not get it through conventional underwriters.
Incumbents Absorb, Not Flee
In The Three Types of Innovation, we saw that incumbents typically flee disruption — they happily retreat upmarket because their margins improve. The steel mills retreated from rebar to sheet steel. Mainframe makers retreated from PCs.
But that only happens when the disruption attacks from below. When a disruptor goes to the incumbent — when they move upstream into the incumbent's territory — the dynamic reverses. The incumbents do not flee. They fight. They absorb.
The three bulge bracket firms did not say "auctions are the future, we should retreat." They said: "We're not going to lose this kind of business anymore. We'll do auctions too." They absorbed the innovation. And WR Hambrecht became a junior partner — valuable enough to keep around, not powerful enough to lead.
Bill remembers going to a meeting where the head of JP Morgan said: "There's only 300 institutions worth dealing with."
Bill thought: "OK, that's the way they think, and that's where their overhead drives them. But there are 7,000 institutions out there, and it's the last couple of thousand that are the logical buyers for the small deals."
This is the key to understanding non-consumption as a moat. The incumbents cannot go down — not because they are lazy, but because their cost structure prevents it. Their overhead demands large deals with large institutions. The thousands of small companies and small institutions? That is your moat — because the incumbents' economics literally will not let them serve that market.
As long as WR Hambrecht stayed in that market, they had an unassailable position. The moment they moved upstream, they lost it.
When a disruptor enters the incumbent's turf, the incumbent absorbs them. The big banks did not need WR Hambrecht — they needed WR Hambrecht's auction method. Once they had it, WRH became a junior member with no leverage. They were marginalized, the economics did not work, and their disruptive edge was gone.
Bill thought "great, now we're part of the club." In reality, "part of the club" meant "junior member of the club." The big banks had decades of institutional relationships, global sales forces, and brand reputation. WRH had the auction mechanism — which the banks could now replicate. Equal partnership requires equal leverage, and WRH had none on the incumbents' turf.
Knowing What You Know Now...
Bill's own reflection on the experience:
"I think it taught me what I didn't understand about disruption, which was how an offering like that, an experience like that, might almost drive you into a sustaining role, because it was so much fun and great. And it was exciting. And here's this great company. And so all of a sudden, we succeeded in the old world, as an underwriter. But in reality, we ended up losing our cutting edge as a disruptor."
"We should have stuck there in the beginning and stayed there." The non-consumption market was WR Hambrecht's moat — thousands of companies that wanted public market access and could not get it through conventional underwriters. That market still exists today.
The validation was real. The experience was extraordinary. But the cost was the destruction of a disruptive business model. Bill's own words: "We should have stuck there in the beginning and stayed there." The exciting opportunity seduced them away from the market they were winning.
Non-Consumption Is Your Moat
Bill's reflection brings the story full circle:
"We're back to your world of non-consumption. We're back to the world where you have really high-quality companies that want access to this market and are not going to get it through the conventional underwriters."
The moat was never the auction mechanism. Any bank can run an auction. The moat was non-consumption — serving people the incumbents literally cannot serve because of their cost structure.
JP Morgan's head said there were only 300 institutions worth dealing with. But there were 7,000 institutions out there. And thousands of companies too small for Goldman Sachs. That gap is the moat. The incumbents cannot close it — their overhead, their culture, their incentives all prevent them from going down.
What Bill Would Have Done Differently
If WR Hambrecht had declined Google and stayed focused on small and medium IPOs:
- No competition from Goldman or Morgan Stanley — they had no interest in small deals
- Growing pipeline of companies that needed access to the public markets
- Building expertise and reputation in a market segment they owned
- When the IPO market contracted, the small deals were the ones that survived in volume — there were thousands of companies in that model
Bill's final word: "We should have stuck there in the beginning and stayed there."
You are looking at a disruption trap when:
- You are doing well in a niche that bigger players ignore
- A big, prestigious opportunity appears that would put you in the same room as those bigger players
- Everyone around you says this is your "big break" — investors, employees, advisors, the press
- Taking it requires changing what you do or how you do it to compete on their terms
- If you succeed, you would be competing with incumbents who have more resources, more relationships, and more to lose
If 3 or more of these are true, you are looking at a disruption trap. The exciting opportunity is often the wrong opportunity. Your moat is non-consumption — stay there.
AI Disruption in Your Industry
One of the most challenging aspects of disruption is deciding how to respond strategically. Now that you have seen the WR Hambrecht story — how pursuing a sustaining opportunity can destroy a disruptive business — consider your own industry.
Think about AI-driven disruption happening right now:
- AI tools are creating new markets for people who previously could not access professional services (legal, design, coding, writing)
- Incumbents in every industry are debating whether to adopt AI or ignore it
- Small startups are serving non-consumers that big companies do not find profitable
If you were advising an incumbent leader facing AI-driven change, what would you recommend? Would you tell them to build AI into their existing products (sustaining)? Or would you tell them to create a separate unit that serves non-consumers (disruptive)?
And if you are the disruptor — the small AI startup winning in a niche nobody cares about — what would you do when a Fortune 500 company calls and wants to be your biggest customer?
The answer, as Bill Hambrecht learned, is not always what feels right in the moment.
Practice Mode 0/4
Can you spot the disruption trap before it springs? Four real-world scenarios to test your strategic instincts.
- Traditional: Company → Banks → Investors
- 7% fee cartel + underpricing = massive hidden cost
- Allocation decided behind closed doors
- Auction: open bids, market price, 2-4% fee
- Equal allocation for all
- Succeed in non-consumption market
- Big opportunity appears on incumbent's turf
- Pursue it, shift to sustaining competition
- Incumbents absorb you as junior partner
- Original disruptive advantage erodes
- Non-consumption is your moat
- "Part of the club" = junior member
- Incumbents absorb, they do not flee
- The exciting opportunity is often the trap
- Ask: "Does this change my business model?"
Was this helpful?
Your feedback helps me improve these guides