Preface: The Plateau

Jack Whitman stared out the window of his corner office, a view that once filled him with pride now leaving him cold. The glittering skyline, the tangible proof of everything he’d built, felt distant—like a trophy on a shelf gathering dust. Below him, the bustling city moved with the frenetic energy he used to thrive on. These days, it felt more like noise.

He turned back to his desk, where an untouched lunch sat next to a stack of papers demanding his attention. His firm, Whitman Strategy Partners, was a $30 million juggernaut—a dream realized in just ten years. He’d started with a laptop, a handful of connections, and the kind of relentless drive that didn’t stop for weekends or birthdays. Now, the firm was a machine, consulting for Fortune 500 companies and landing headlines in industry publications. To outsiders, Jack was the epitome of success: a visionary leader, a game-changer, a builder.

But builders were only good at building.

Lately, Jack felt like he was trying to pour concrete over a foundation that had already hardened. Growth had slowed for the first time in a decade, and no matter how hard he pushed, the plateau wouldn’t budge. It gnawed at him. He wasn’t used to standing still. He wasn’t used to not knowing the answer.

Jack let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair. He was tired. Not the kind of tired a vacation could fix, but the bone-deep exhaustion of running at full tilt for too long. His wife, Megan, had pointed it out last week—her voice calm but cutting.

“You’re not just missing family dinners, Jack. You’re missing us.”

The words lingered, sharper than anything he’d heard from a client or colleague. He’d brushed it off, made a promise to “make more time,” but deep down, he knew the truth: Megan wasn’t wrong. He’d spent so long building his business that he’d started neglecting the people he was supposedly building it for.

Then there was the firm itself. The cracks were starting to show—not in the numbers, but in the culture. His senior team, the same people who had helped him scale, seemed restless. Burnout whispered at the edges of conversations. The younger consultants looked at him like an artifact: awe mixed with detachment. Jack knew how to inspire them with big ideas, but lately, he felt like he was delivering a speech in a language they didn’t speak.

And that nagging question... it wouldn’t go away: Am I still the right leader for this firm?

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. His COO, Lisa, stepped in, all business as usual.

“Jack, you’ve got lunch with Tom Wilson at the club in an hour. Want me to push it?”

Jack shook his head. Tom Wilson was an old client, a retired executive who still enjoyed the occasional consultation. They played golf together from time to time—though lately, “played” was generous. For Jack, golf had become another thing to dominate, another way to measure himself against someone else. His scores weren’t improving, much like his leadership.

“No, I’ll be there,” Jack said, forcing a smile. “Thanks, Lisa.”

As she left, Jack stood and grabbed his golf bag from the corner. Maybe some fresh air would help. Or maybe Tom would share some old war stories about retirement, and Jack could picture what stepping back might feel like.

He didn’t know it yet, but today’s game wouldn’t be with Tom. It would be with someone else—a stranger who’d been waiting for Jack longer than either of them realized.

Out on the back nine, Jack Whitman was about to face his greatest challenge. And this time, it wasn’t about winning. It was about learning how to play the game.