The Price of Loyalty

There's a particular kind of betrayal that cuts deeper than others. The kind of betrayal that comes after you've given everything you had to give.

Several years into building 33 Sticks, we landed what seemed like a dream client in the cruise industry. It was more than just a meaningful deal for our growing company, it represented what i thought was a partnership built on mutual respect and friendship.

The client's leadership team was transitioning from Google Analytics to Adobe Analytics, having made bold promises to their executive team about the speed and quality of the transition. They knew the timeline was ambitious - perhaps impossible - which is partly why they brought us in. It was a wise decision, partnering with experts who could help them achieve their audacious goals. But even with our expertise, the timeline remained unrealistic, and deep down, everyone knew it.

As we approached the holiday season, a time when 33 Sticks traditionally shuts down to give our team a well-deserved break with their families, the client's executive sponsors came to me with desperation in their voices. They weren't just asking for help, they were calling in a favor. These weren't just clients anymore, at least in my eyes, i thought these were friends who truly needed my help. i felt a deep sense of personal loyalty, combined with my own professional duty to ensure that all of our clients succeed. So i made a choice.

While my team enjoyed their holiday break, i worked through Christmas Day, through my birthday, through New Year's Day. Nights, weekends, whatever it took. i was driven by a belief that this sacrifice was for people who valued not just our work but our relationship. We pulled off what seemed impossible and the praise and gratitude flowed freely.

Then COVID hit.

Within three weeks, we lost 40% of our revenue as companies panicked and broke contracts. But this particular betrayal stung the most, this multi billion-dollar corporation, flush with cash, told our small ten-person company they could no longer pay us. They didn't consider what this would do to a small family-owned business, to the people who had sacrificed so much to make them successful. They just walked away.

My business partner and i absorbed the stress like a shield, protecting our team from the anxiety of watching nearly half our revenue disappear overnight. While massive corporations threw small businesses to the wolves to appease wealthy shareholders, we chose a different path. We got creative, we hustled, we scraped by. We took advantage of every government support program available - loans, grants, anything to keep our team employed. We weren't just going to put people out in the cold like those faceless corporations. We were going to be smarter, craftier, more human.

When COVID began to ease, they came back. They told us they were in worse shape than ever and needed our help to dig out of their hole. They wanted to "call in another favor." Despite everything, i said yes. For a while, things were good. But soon they began pressuring my team to work beyond our contract, treating them like full-time employees without paying for that level of service. When my team's frustration reached a breaking point, i had to step in.

i drew a line, if they wanted expanded services, they needed to pay for them. They declined and the relationship began to deteriorate. All it took was a few instances of me protecting my team from their overreach and one morning, three months into a twelve-month contract, i saw an email notification that made my heart sink.

Sitting in my office, i felt a cold panic wash over me as i read their two-sentence dismissal. No phone call, no appreciation for our history, just a cold, callous termination. Anger surged through me. i felt betrayed, disrespected, treated like something to be used and discarded. The damage from this second termination was devastating, contributing to financial struggles that ultimately forced us to downsize the business.

But sometimes the deepest wounds teach us the most important lessons. That day changed me fundamentally, not in my capacity to give or sacrifice but in my discernment about who deserves that level of dedication and who doesn’t. i'm still willing to give my shirt off my back, to help others before myself, but only for those who would do the same for me if they had the ability to do so.

Today, we still have many clients who are truly both clients and friends and i remain deeply grateful for them. The difference is that now i know the difference between real partnership and exploitation, between mutual respect and opportunistic manipulation. i learned that being willing to sacrifice for others is a strength but choosing wisely who deserves that sacrifice is wisdom.