“But it’s still your and Bridget’s ranch.”
“Sure, for now. But it’s also Luke and Elowyn’s investment, in a way. They’ve got a stake in how well the operation runs because their income’s tied to it. Same with some of our other long-term hands, they’ve got land-based stakes or profit-sharing arrangements.” Nolan pulled off his reading glasses. “Bridget’sgrandfather set it up that way years ago. Kept the family ownership intact but gave the people doing the actual work a reason to care about the outcome.”
“How does that work exactly? Family ownership but employee stakes?”
“The Bannock-Walker family holds majority, but long-term employees can buy in at different levels. Some have land-based partnerships, some get percentage points of specific operations they manage, others just get profit-sharing bonuses.” He shrugged. “Keeps everyone invested, literally and figuratively. Makes it harder for corporate interests to buy us out too, since you’d have to convince multiple stakeholders instead of just one family.”
I glanced back to the spreadsheet on my screen, the pieces suddenly fitting together.
Multiple stakeholders. Invested employees. Protection against acquisition.
“How does it work with your kids?” I looked back at him. “They’re not all involved the same way, right?”
“No, and that’s intentional,” Nolan leaned back in his chair. “Elowyn and Luke are taking over primary operations, just like Bridget and I did when Fiona and James retired. They’re here, doing the work, making the daily decisions. Over the next five years, Bridget and I will transfer majority ownership to them while keeping advisory roles and residence rights. We get to retire without completely walking away, they get full operational control.”
I grabbed my pen, started making notes on the margin of one of the other proposed structures I’d printed.
“Claire and Sawyer maintain a stake, but they’re on the road most of the year with the rodeo circuit,” he continued, “so theirs is structured for geographic flexibility. Profit-sharing without operational obligations. Dom’s in LA being famous, so his stake is pure financial investment. No control, no day-to-day involvement, just connection to his heritage and some incomefrom ranch success.”
“And Finn?” My pen stilled.
“That’s still being determined,” Nolan’s expression softened slightly. “He’s figuring out what his path looks like now. We built in flexibility so he can decide when he’s ready whether he wants operational involvement or something more like Dom’s arrangement.”
Different stakes for different levels of involvement. Financial investment without operational control. Gradual transition instead of complete exit. Advisory roles that recognized experience without requiring daily presence.
“It’s brilliant,” I said quietly.
“It’s practical. Ranching’s hard work, and the people doing it should share in the success. But it’s also recognition that family doesn’t always mean identical investment.” Nolan tilted his head slightly. “Why all the questions about business structure?”
“Just curious how you’ve made it work,” I turned back to my laptop and opened a new document.
What if I didn’t have to buy Oliver out alone? What if Catalyst could become something bigger than just two founders, something that actually reflected the collaborative values we’d built the company on?
What if the solution wasn’t finding a way to shoulder the burden myself, but sharing it with the people who’d already invested their careers in making Catalyst work?
My fingers flew across my keyboard, barely keeping up with my thoughts.
Partnership structure. Employee ownership. Multiple stakeholders with actual equity, not just profit-sharing. Casey elevated to real partner, not just creative director. Tabitha recognized for running operations instead of just being labeled my executive assistant. Lennon getting proper recognition for managing HR and keeping our culture intact. Oliver maintaining a stake instead of cashing out completely, an advisory role like Nolan and Bridget.
The numbers began slotting into place, the impossible buyout breaking into manageable pieces. Nolan left at some point, returning a short time later.
“Nolan?” I looked up from my laptop. “Can I run something by you?”
Three hours later, the office looked like a strategy war room.
Papers covered every available surface, financial projections printed and marked up with different colored pens. The whiteboard that usually held scheduling notes was now filled with organizational charts, ownership percentages, arrows connecting different stakeholder groups. My laptop sat open with Sherlock running simulations, but we’d gone old school with the planning.
“Okay, walk me through the partnership loans again,” Nolan said, standing at the whiteboard with marker in hand. “Because this is the part that makes the whole thing work.”
I pulled up Sherlock’s tabulations, the numbers finally making sense after hours of rearranging. “Casey needs fifteen percent, which costs about six and a half million. Tabitha needs twelve percent, which is just over five million. Those are huge numbers for people who’ve been working as employees, not building personal wealth through ownership.”
“Right,” Nolan drew brackets on the whiteboard.
“Partnership formation loans,” I opened Sherlock’s latest calculations. “I loan Casey two million, Tabitha one and a half. Low interest, repaid from their distributions. They still invest their own money, real skin in the game, but I’m not asking them to bankrupt themselves for equity they’ve already earned.”
“Smart,” Nolan added numbers to the whiteboard. “And Oliver?”
“Seller financing for the rest. Two million each, five-to-ten-year terms.” I watched him sketch the structure. “He’ll want this to work. Spreads his tax burden, gives him steady income on top of his retained stake.”
