I spent several years working on a M&A deal team in Europe during my 30s.

It was a cutthroat, high-speed environment. Most days, I was either pitching deals or working with investment bankers, fund managers, private investors, lawyers and tax advisers. Lots of variables and cross-border complexity. I loved it.

One of my colleagues at the time was a man about 10 years older than me who had a keen intelligence. He also had a quick tongue, and a rough exterior. We’ll call him “Mr. Cut-The-Shit”.

Mr. Cut-The-Shit was a force of personality and was known for steamrolling people, outwitting and outtalking nearly everyone. He came from a meager background and survived – and eventually thrived – in his life by having a fighter’s attitude. He couldn’t turn it off.

But his approach had its drawbacks. He rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. 

Personally, I wasn’t too put off by his personality. He had no fluff. He was always clear about what he wanted and what he was willing to give up or do to get it. That goes a long way for me.

Overall, he was effective in getting things done, which is why people worked with him – even if reluctantly.

What I recognized about Mr. Cut-The-Shit that others didn’t, perhaps, was that his ethics were correct. He tried to find fair outcomes for everyone. 

Underneath his pushiness was a grounded family man. He was a decent person. His wife and kids respected him for the right reasons. He was grateful for the life he had, despite the ups and downs.

One night, Mr. Cut-The-Shit said something that burned into my brain.

We were on a conference call trying to hammer out the final details of a big transaction. Everyone was tired, stressed and experiencing deal fatigue. Mr. Cut-The-Shit got into a verbal spat with a counterparty who felt insulted and threatened to cancel the contract. Lawsuits were threatened on both sides. It got ugly. They hung up on each other. 

I was a rookie on big deals at the time, so my heart rate was up and I was catastrophizing the worst-case scenario. I was panicking about what would happen if the deal fell through. I felt an existential worry (for more on this, check out The Worry Framework).

I called Mr. Cut-The-Shit a few minutes after the conference call ended. He was eerily calm and chuckled as I rehashed with a frantic tone what had just taken place. I explained how he really pissed this guy off and now our deal was in peril. 

“You worry too much,” he said. “I’m going to call him in the morning and apologize. He’s going to reciprocate. And we’ll agree to try not to yell at each other again.”

I then brought up the contract and some tedious point about how the counterparty threatened breach and how that may violate some fine-print provision. Typical over-lawyering. 

What he said next, I never forgot: “Samuel, every time you have a problem in business, the last thing you want to do is start combing through your contract looking for something to hold against the other guy. Put the contract in a drawer and lock it away. Unlock only for emergencies. When you have a problem, just pick up the phone and call the guy.”

“Put the contract in a drawer and lock it away. Unlock only for emergencies.”

“When you have a problem, just pick up the phone and call the guy.”

———–

Far too often do I see things go the other way. As soon as someone gets upset about a mistake in business, they call their lawyer and ask how they can get out of the agreement and hold the other guy responsible. 

This is an emotional response and is almost always – as in, 99%+ – short-sighted.

Imagine what life would be like if you pulled out your prenup every time you and your spouse had a normal argument. 

Real business relationships are built through ups-and-downs, just like any other kind of relationship.

———-

Mr. Cut-The-Shit gave his mea culpa the next day, and the deal eventually closed. 

I don’t recall either of them mentioning the contract again. It stayed in the drawer, locked away.