There we were, close to 50 of us huddled in a small conference room, watching the television, shocked beyond belief. The screen displayed a photo of Raju on the right and a graph depicting the falling stock price on the left. The value of our stock had plummeted in less than 5 seconds, drained like an hourglass. I immediately grabbed my phone and called Ed. He did not answer. It rang and rang. I tried the home phone, and no one answered there either. I continued to call every few minutes.
The reporter on TV began reading a letter from Raju: “It is with deep regret, and tremendous burden that I am carrying on my conscience, that I would like to bring the following facts to your notice.” We watched in disbelief as the news emerged. The letter indicated that for the most recent quarter ending September 2008, Satyam’s bank balances had been overstated by close to $81 million and more than $265 million in liabilities were not accounted for.
How could this be true? Just last week, there had been an article in the newspaper indicating that Satyam had an excess of $1.6 billion in cash. The reporter continued: “The gap in the balance sheet has arisen purely on account of inflated profits over a period of the last several years. What started as a marginal gap between actual operating profit and the one reflected in the books of accounts continued to grow over the years.” We later found out that this deception had been going on since 2001 and that it added up to more than $2.5 billion. Everything we had created at Satyam—our Taj Mahal of learning (see appendix A)—was starting to crack and crumble.
“Every attempt made to eliminate the gap failed,” Raju’s letter continued. “As the promoters held a small percentage of equity, the concern was that poor performance would result in takeover, thereby exposing the gap. It was like riding a tiger, not knowing how to get off without being eaten.”
What had we missed? The unthinkable was playing out before our eyes. Could this all be true? I had actually been worried about Raju for months. His recent lack of communication was a red flag. I had spent years as a psychotherapist and worried that the economic fallout now reaching India was taking its toll. I’d even tried to speak with him, and he had quickly changed the subject and darted off to another meeting. Ed also sent a note to Raju that people were starting to worry and needed some form of communication from him. He finally sent out a brief note saying that it was concerning for us all to watch the economy affect us, yet we were prepared and had enough to “weather it.” He asked for everyone’s support, and we had all willingly given it. Now his letter ended: “Under the circumstances, I am tendering my resignation as the chairman of Satyam and shall continue in this position only till such time as the current board is expanded.” We were numb. None of us believed that Raju could have such a dark side. We all worried that without him—our founder, our leader, the man who defined Satyam—the company would not survive.
“Rarely does a book come along that is as useful as Riding the Tiger. Ed and Priscilla have turned their turbulent experiences into a realistic howto guide for the rest of us. They show how to move from crisis to credibility of leadership; from pain to passion for the brand; and from scandal to renewed success. Using their practical experiences as a basis, they share action item lists, introduce a new vocabulary, suggest questions to ask, and present a plan to move boldly forward from chaos to confidence. This is not a book to be read, but one to put into action, especially when you are riding your own tiger.”
Elaine Biech Author of The Business of Consulting and Thriving Through Change