You already know what the problem feels like. What you probably do not have is somebody from outside who will find out whether the thing you have named is the thing that is wrong.
Six times a company has hired me, and six times the brief described something next to the actual problem. Not through carelessness. A brief describes the symptom, because the symptom is the part you can feel.
There is a two-week version, and I do not sell it.
People ask for it, and I understand why. The trouble is that nobody takes a partial read and makes a partial decision. They take a partial read and commit the year.
Six weeks is the minimum at which I would put my name to a conclusion. Eight if the portfolio is wide.
Three months is when a read gets reliable, and a large organization needs six to eight months of guidance to actually turn. I would rather tell you that before you pay me than after.
Swipe the figure sideways
By the end of it your company can say what it is in one line, and you know whether it can be built.
I meet everyone. Not to collect opinions, but to find out whether each person can tell me what the strategy is and how their own work connects to it.
Where the grievances are. Where the trust is, and where it has gone.
You find out how much of your strategy actually survived the trip down the org chart. It is usually less than you think, and that gap is cheaper to close than anything you were about to build.
My own read. Whether it is easy to use. Whether there is a gap between what marketing promises before someone signs up and what the product delivers afterwards.
You get the first honest look at your product since the people who built it stopped being able to see it.
The financials, and whether anyone can state the objectives out loud.
Then your support team, where I expect to find the same thing I always find: they are asked for things that do not get built, and nobody has told them why.
The problem is almost never the backlog. It is the missing reason.
Fixing that costs nothing and buys back a support team who stop apologizing for you.
I do not look at the technical estate yet, and that is deliberate.
In an agency, if you let the producer into the room early, the work shrinks to what is convenient. The same thing happens in software. Ask what is possible before you have asked what is worth doing and you will get a smaller answer, confidently.
So the constraints come second. Not because they do not matter, but because they are very good at arriving first.
What you get for the wait is the version of the plan nobody in the building could have proposed, because everybody in the building already knows what is hard.
Most companies I walk into are circling the drain on their own strategy. Everybody is having the conversation. Nobody is finishing it.
So we build the thing out loud, with your team rather than at them, until the business can be said in one line. One company arrived at trusted decision making. Another at a competitive system for someone who knows nothing about search.
It reads obvious afterwards. That is the tell that it is right, and the reason it has to come from the room rather than from me.
After this your team stops relitigating the strategy in every meeting, and you stop being the only person who can explain the company.
Halfway, you and I sit down and I tell you what is working, what is not, and what has to change.
You hear it from the one person in the room with nothing riding on being invited back, and you hear it with three weeks still left to act on it.
Now the technical read. The stack, the debt, whether it is being serviced, and whether it can carry what we just described.
And an hour with whoever runs engineering, explaining why. This is routinely the most useful hour of the engagement, which is an odd thing to have to say. The ambition rarely survives the journey to the people building it, so what arrives is is this possible rather than how might we.
I also read your leaders, inside product and outside it, because a strategy problem is very often a communication problem wearing a disguise. And I will tell you plainly if somebody is dividing your organization rather than adding to it.
You leave knowing whether your stack can carry the plan, whether your engineering leadership is bought in, and which one person is costing you more than they are worth.
Two documents, because one of them would have to lie.
Your company gets moving, and you get to act on the things you cannot say out loud.
The vision, the creative work, the pillars, the roadmap, in something built to be circulated. You stop being the only person who can explain where this is going, and the people who have to build it want to.
The read on structure and on individuals, for you and your leadership only. The things that would do damage in the open, written down plainly somewhere you can use them.
Most consulting produces a single document that has to be both, so it ends up neither: too political to circulate, too careful to act on. It gets read once and filed.
Separating them is what lets both of them be honest.
The roadmap is not the deliverable.
Whether you can change it is.
You will want three years, precise, and something a board will approve. If I hand you that after six weeks, most of it is invented, and we will both know.
So the roadmap I give you is deliberately high level. What I am really assessing is whether this company can change its plan when the research says it should. That is the thing that decides the next five years. Not the plan.
Set it against the year you are about to commit, not against the calendar.
The numbers are at the top of this page, and they are the whole of it. There is no discovery fee, no scoping phase, and nothing that appears on an invoice later.
A year of engineering, a hiring plan and an opportunity cost all get committed on the strength of a document written by people who are too close to it.
For earlier companies I will take part of the fee in equity. I would rather be wrong alongside you than right and paid.
Swipe the figure sideways
This is the last cheap moment in that sequence.
All three leave the decision with your people rather than with me.
You and your key product leader, every week or two. Low hours, and the best outcome, because the people who have to live with the decision are the ones making it.
Two days a week, six to twelve months. Two is a hard line: at three you are embedded enough that everyone wants five, and then I am staff with a worse contract.
Entirely fine. It is the version I designed for.
One engagement at a time, and a fifth day held back for two or three advisory relationships. That is the whole capacity, which is why the diary usually matters more than the price.
Somewhere around week five, most chief executives ask whether I would take the job properly if the fit were right.
Here is the answer in advance, so it is not doing quiet work in the background: I am not looking for one. If the fit were extraordinary I would tell you, and I would tell you at the end rather than during.
I cannot give you an honest read while I am auditioning for you.
We can start the work in the first forty-five minutes. Come with an answer to this:
What are you about to build, and who inside the company thinks it is a mistake?
There is no wrong answer. If you can name them, I know where to start. If the answer is nobody, that is not agreement, and we should talk about why. I would rather be an expensive irritation now than in month three.