“You all right?” my business partner, Chris, asked as I slumped into the seat across from him on the plane, noticing something was up.
“I’m a little wigged out that someone just called me a billionaire on the Internet,” I replied.
“Oh, come on,” he said with a grin. “You’ve been called worse things.”
In reality, I wasn’t a billionaire, yet. What I didn’t know was that that was about to change. We were on our way to meet our idol, Charlie Munger, in Los Angeles, and potentially work together on something. To put this into perspective, when Chris and I started our company, Tiny, a holding company modeled after Berkshire Hathaway where we had purchased over thirty companies, we had said that if we could pick just one person that we’d want to meet it would be Munger. We had even commissioned bronze busts of Munger and Buffett, and placed them on the fireplace mantel at our office.
And now, we were hours away from completing that dream.
After arriving in Los Angeles a few hours later, we pulled up to his house, which was tucked away on a quiet side street in Hanco*ck Park. Though the homes on this street were worth millions, his was subdued. A modest single-story bungalow, barely taking up three thousand square feet within its exterior walls. I’d seen billionaires’ homes before, having gone to meetings with investors or suitors of businesses I had bought and sold in the past, and their (multiple) homes were often gargantuan, covered with art and sculptures that you would normally see in a museum manned with a battalion of harried staffers and driveways as long as a city block; almost always filled with rows of shiny quarter- and half-a-million-dollar cars. Some even had helipads. Munger lived more like a wealthy dentist, or a small-time media mogul whose movies had gone straight to cable, not someone who was worth more than the GDP of Monaco.
I could hear my heart pounding in my chest as Chris and I stepped out of the car at dusk, walked along the brick pathway, and approached the front door. As we stepped into the entry, we were pointed towards the study, where Munger was waiting. Here, Munger sat in a La-Z-Boy chair, his legs crossed, a huge pile of books stacked on the table beside him, with Andrew Marks, the mutual friend who had set up the dinner.
“Charlie,” he politely interrupted, “these are my friends Andrew and Chris. They have a mini–Berkshire Hathaway focused on tech companies up in Canada.”
“Hello,” Munger said as he peered up at us. I was struck by how much he looked like the bust on the mantel in my office, shocked, even, at the likeness, with that almost perfectly round face, a thin sliver of silver hair, and thick wire-framed glasses.
“Great to meet you, Charlie,” I said, excitedly. “We’re huge fans.” After some small talk, we sat for dinner, and Munger looked at me and Chris and said, “tell me about your business.”
I told Munger that I had dropped out of journalism school after three months and, while making $6.50 an hour as a barista, started MetaLab, a design firm that built apps, and which, within the first few years, was making millions of dollars in revenue. “Then, Chris and I discovered you and Warren, and your investing philosophies,” I said, “which changed the course of our careers.”
Here, Chris took over: “Before long, we were buying up technology businesses. Not the kind favored by venture capitalists, the kind of companies some people would perceive as boring,” he said. “We like to joke that we own the dry cleaners and auto dealerships of the internet. Simple, profitable businesses that do something the world needs, purchased at a fair price.”
Munger then asked if we were planning to go public, and I said no. I didn’t want the pressures of running a public company. Dealing with lawyers and shareholder expectations.
“Being public has its benefits,” Munger said, leaning in.
“Why?” Chris asked. “Doesn’t it create a slew of problems?”
“No, no, no,” Munger said. “It creates a slew of opportunities.” Then, after thinking for a moment, he said, “You know, there’s another way for you to go public.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“We could just merge our companies and you two could take the reins. You have all these wonderful technology businesses, and we have hundreds of millions of dollars that need investing and a software business that could use your expertise,” Munger said.
At that moment, it was as if someone had pressed a giant PAUSE button in my mind. Did Charlie Munger just say “merge” and “our” and “companies”? I had known flying down here that he wanted to talk to us about helping him with his software business. I figured this was like Charlie asking his web whiz nephew for computer help. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that he would suggest merging our companies together.
I was shocked.
As we left Munger’s house, we were giddy. Not only had we just dined with one of our business heroes, not only had he let us sip from the pool of his ninety-seven years of prophetic wisdom, but he also wanted to explore the idea of us, two random guys from Victoria, Canada, to take over the business he’d helped build. To pass the baton to us.
There, on Munger’s driveway, Chris and I jumped into the air and high-fived, like we were Maverick and Goose in the first Top Gun.
“Holy sh*t,” I said to Chris as we got in the car. “We’re going into business with Charlie f*cking Munger.”
With this deal, I’d finally become a billionaire. A word I both wanted next to my name, and wanted to run away from—simultaneously. Having that much wealth was something I’d dreamed of my entire life, since growing up in our quant house in Victoria as I listened to my parents fight about money, a problem which eventually led to their divorce. Being this rich, I had assumed as a kid, would solve everything. And now, not only was that within my grasp, but so was a business deal with my business idol, Charlie Munger.
As Chris and I flew back to Victoria to begin the process of merging our companies together, I started to wonder if once this deal was done, I’d be yearning for another deal with another business idol. That once I’d see a “b” next to my name—Andrew Wilkinson, Billionaire—that like all the other billionaires I’d met over the years, I’d have a new goal I was reaching for—of being a “multi-billionaire.” That nothing would ever be enough.
And before long, I found myself in the worst predicament of all: I knew I couldn’t walk away from the deal of a lifetime, a merger with my idol no less, but I also knew I didn’t want to be someone who was constantly chasing a bigger and bigger number at the end of my name—a pursuit that would surely take me away from my family and fill my life with existential dread. I was going to have to make a decision between those two options, or find a third, more difficult path forward.
Adapted with permission from Never Enough by Andrew Wilkinson. Copyright © 2024 by Andrew Wilkinson. Used with permission of BenBella Books. All rights reserved.
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