25. Choosing accountability

When the first wave of COVID lockdowns began to ease, the world seemed ready to breathe again—but in the supply chain, the real storm was only beginning. Two years of shutdowns and stalled investments left warehouses empty. Components, materials, even basic parts were scarce. At the same time, demand surged back with pent-up force. Prices shot up almost daily. Every conversation with suppliers felt like stepping onto shifting sand.

In the middle of this chaos, we were chasing the biggest energy storage project in our company’s history—ten times larger than anything we had ever won. It was also one of the largest in the industry at the time. Everyone poured themselves into it, working relentlessly. When we finally won, the company erupted in happiness. For us, this single project represented almost a year’s worth of revenue. Personally, I felt relieved, overjoyed, almost light for the first time in months.

Then came the call.

A few weeks after signing the contract with our customer, our key vendor—whose equipment was integrated into our solution—told us they could not honor the pricing in their proposal. Their explanation was brutally simple: although they had sent us a proposal and received our signed order, because they never countersigned, they weren’t legally bound.

At first, I was in shock. What? Can they do that? Can they pull out after we accepted their proposal? My disbelief quickly turned into guilt. Did I miss something? Did we overlook a basic step?

We soon learned the full story: their own costs were exploding, components were scarce, and even their CEO admitted he had never seen such chaos. Still, that didn’t erase the fact—we had missed a crucial step. We never secured the countersignature. What used to be a routine process had turned into a devastating oversight, with potential losses in the tens of millions of dollars that could erase nearly all profit on the project.

We chose not to tell the customer. Instead, we absorbed the extra cost. The sales team believed the customer would never accept a change after months of negotiation. I worried deeply about what this meant for the company—that we were taking a hit of this size quietly, hoping to claw some of it back in future vendor negotiations.

Inside, I knew what I had to do.

I called my team together and said: “No matter how difficult the situation is, no matter what the typical contract process has been, I take full responsibility. We should have checked the process more carefully.”

Some colleagues told me not to admit fault. “This isn’t your mistake,” they said. “It’s a moot point.” But for me it was clear: owning it was the only way we could learn. My direct reports and others who had worked so hard deserved clarity and honesty. They needed to see that mistakes, even huge ones, can be surfaced, discussed, and learned from.

My direct reports and a small few shared their appreciation of my action. However, outside my immediate team, there wasn’t much response, no encouragement, no acknowledgment. I wished this could spark more discussions, learning, and eventually higher trust among team members. I didn’t lose my job for this, but my boss later shifted supplier contracting responsibilities to another team. I felt somewhat alone in my accountability. It left me wondering: if accountability is met with silence, how likely is it that others will risk surfacing their own mistakes in the future?

I also recognize that many organizations struggle to embrace failure and mistakes as opportunities for growth. At the end of the day, results matter, and short-term pressures from stakeholders often outweigh the longer-term value of learning.

However, I still believe I did the right thing for myself, for my integrity, and for the kind of leader I want to be. I also learned practical lessons: in volatile markets, I need to check in with my team more frequently. Before closing major deals, we must re-verify with key vendors. And above all, we need stronger processes to close the loop on contracts. I am proud that I owned the mistake and learned these lessons. 

But more than that, this became a vivid example of my journey toward self-authorship. Holding myself accountable, even when the system didn’t reward it, was scary, but also clarifying. I proved to myself that I can share my mistakes openly, and that doing so is the fastest way to learn and grow. The experience left me convinced: accountability is not just a leadership slogan. It is a practice. And it can feel lonely unless the culture embraces it.