If you build something, make sure it outlives you

Over the last five years, I’ve found myself in more and more conversations with business owners wrestling with the same question: What’s next?

They’ve run their race. Built something meaningful. And now, they’re staring at the handoff — and struggling. These conversations are often charged, emotional and raw. And here’s what I’ve noticed: They spend a lot of time thinking about the transition, but not a lot of time doing.

And I get it. When you’ve poured your life, your energy, your identity into a business or an asset, the idea of letting it go — especially to someone else — is daunting. Most of us want to pass down what we’ve built. It’s natural. It’s human. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: 

What if the next generation isn’t ready to sustain it?

We don’t ask that enough. We want our assets to bless — not burden — the next generation. That requires more than good intentions. It requires planning, wisdom and courage. And sometimes, it means rethinking what we value most because sometimes, we place a higher value on the asset when the real value is in the goodwill — the relationships, the reputation, the rhythm that made it work.

So pause here. Really pause.

This isn’t just about logistics. It’s about legacy. What if legacy isn’t about holding on but about handing off — intentionally?

We often think inheritance is about money. But what if the most important thing we pass on isn’t wealth, it’s mindset?

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on inheritance — not just legal documents or dollar amounts, but the houses, businesses and beliefs we leave behind. And what happens when those assets don’t land in the right hands.

This isn’t new for me. These thoughts have followed me for years, especially when I think about the North St. Louis neighborhood I came from. Back in the day, there were far more homeowners.

Houses were passed down. But too often, what followed was predictable. The next generation didn’t have the means — or sometimes the mindset — to maintain the property. Maybe it was unpaid taxes. Maybe it was deferred maintenance. Eventually, the house would slip away.

It’s heartbreaking. Because in neighborhoods like mine, where assets were hard-won and often first-generation, losing them costs more than dollars — it costs momentum. It sets families and communities back.

And it’s not just houses. The same thing happens with businesses.

Years ago, I wrote about my Uncle James. After a long, honorable career with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, he launched a lawn care company. It was simple, but solid — a high-cash-flow business built on government and private contracts with strong margins. He had a team, equipment and systems in place. I tagged along on a few jobs just to learn — and to be near him. We’d talk about how the business worked and more importantly, what came next.

I wanted in. I was early in my career and didn’t have the capital to buy him out, but I offered to take over the business under his guidance and pay him over time. I saw the value and the vision.

But Uncle James had other plans. He wanted to leave it to his son — who, up to that point, hadn’t shown much interest.

Fast forward 20 years: The business is gone. Not because it wasn’t profitable — it was — but because there was no succession plan. No one had walked alongside Uncle James. The goodwill he built — relationships, reputation, reliability — left with him.

The same thing happened with my cousin Fred. He ran a last-mile delivery business. When he died at just 50 years old, he left no instructions, no successor, no plan. The business, like so many others, died with the man who built it.

Here’s the hard truth: Too many of us think we have more time. We delay decisions. We avoid the conversation. But it’s not really about time — it’s about mortality. It’s about confronting the idea that one day we won’t be here — and asking ourselves if what we’ve built will be.

Somewhere between 30% and 40% of U.S. households receive an inheritance — money, property or assets. But wealth without wisdom doesn’t last. And legacy doesn’t happen by default. It happens by design.

So if you’re a builder of anything — a business, a home, a name — ask yourself:

• Have you identified someone who can carry what you’ve built?
• Have they walked alongside you, learned the rhythm, earned the trust?
• Have you made the hard decisions and clearly communicated them?

Sometimes, we assume our kids should inherit what we built. But inheritance isn’t about bloodline — it’s about stewardship. Who is best equipped to lead it into the future?

When we normalize succession, we normalize ownership. And ownership builds freedom.

So don’t wait. Schedule the conversation — this month. With a successor, a mentor, an advisor.

Because your story deserves more than an ending. It deserves a future.

Orvin T. Kimbrough is chairman and CEO of Midwest BankCentre and author of “Twice Over a Man.”