Moura CFO

“How could I be this stupid?” Fast forward to four years after I started the business. This was the recurring thought going through my head as I realized there was a tough decision I had to make, and it was entirely my fault. Six months before, things were going well. I had a few fractional CFO contracts active with local startups, and I was doubling down on the fractional CFO business. I was all in. This time with a new service offering. My head of client accounting services was soon going on maternity leave, and I knew I needed someone to help while she was gone. But mistakenly, I decided I should hire an Ops Manager that would focus on customer service, and did not think it was a must-have that they know accounting. My thought was, since I am the one servicing the fractional CFO clients, and it’s mainly FP&A work, someone with a good customer service background could help me. Wrong. Completely wrong. Everything in the business that could break, did. Instead of bringing on more fractional CFO clients, I lost the ones I had. They were startups, unprofitable, and there was no clear path to profitability. The money dried up, and I took a big loss. Meanwhile, because I hired someone onshore instead of offshore for this support role, my expenses increased. And I wasn’t really making money yet. So I was burning cash. FAST. AND I was understaffed, because my most important team member was on maternity leave. After three months in this position, there were really only two things I knew I had to do. Number one, lay off the person I had hired and was trying really hard to keep. I remember the conversation as if it were today. It was REALLY hard. I get really invested in people, and I am an idealist. So this was a huge admission of failure for me. Number two, I had to focus on one key metric I would never lose sight of. What I call “Net Recurring Income.” My recurring monthly income minus all recurring monthly expenses. I hadn’t looked at it this way before, but I realized this was my path to smooth and reliable cash flows. And there was only one way to grow it: sell, sell, sell, while keeping my recurring costs low. One more lesson I would never forget. P.S. This is part 5 of a newsletter I’m writing to share my journey as a founder and the lessons I’ve learned. If you enjoyed this, subscribe so you don’t miss the next one!

I was done with corporate life. Burned out. Disconnected. I had only been at it for four years, but it felt like a decade. I learned a lot, though. When I started, I couldn’t even manage a simple to-do list. Forget about creating a budget for a billion-dollar brand. By the time I left, I had developed an analytical ability I was sure even top-tier MBAs couldn’t teach. But I felt stuck. Drained. At the same time, I had a wife and a 3-month-old son. I handled the budgets and reports for big names like Burger King and Tim Hortons for three years. It was a lot of fun. I didn’t want to leave Miami. I loved it here. But I didn’t want to stay in my role either. So what were my options? I could hold on and gradually climb the corporate ladder. I was confident that if I did, I would become a VP within about ten years and make what I considered “good money.” Around that time, I heard Jeff Bezos talk about his “regret minimization strategy,” and the idea was stuck in my head. I had a choice to make—and a family to raise. So I asked myself: when I’m 90, what will I regret not doing? The truth hit me like a brick. I was on a path to becoming a VP, where I’d get paid well but work 60-70 hours a week. My boss at the time, a VP in his late twenties, was online seven days a week. I thought about my dad. He owned a restaurant, which came with its own challenges, but he took us on month-long trips to Brazil every year. And no one was emailing him at all hours of the day. I guess my decision was already made. P.S. This is part 1 of a newsletter I’m writing to share my journey as a founder and the lessons I’ve learned. If you enjoyed this, subscribe so you don’t miss the next one! P.P.S. Shout out to Secret CFO for inspiring me to tell my story