My time at Close Brothers was, for the most part, a successful chapter. Over several years, I climbed the ladder with two big promotions and a solid track record. All was well—until it wasn’t.
The trouble began about 18 months before I left, when I noticed a sudden chill in the air. At first, I thought the heating had broken. But no—it was just senior leadership ghosting me. Not ideal, especially when you're in senior management yourself and used to being at the table, not wondering if the table still exists and whether you’ve been replaced by a potted plant.
Decisions started happening around me, not with me. The CIO—who once greeted me with eye contact and actual words—now looked like he was trying to solve a puzzle on the floor whenever I entered the room. Emails to the SLT went unanswered, like messages in bottles cast into a corporate ocean. Even when I flagged my growing anxiety to HR, the response was a masterclass in lip service.
Now, I get it—companies evolve, reorgs happen, and sometimes your role no longer fits the new jigsaw puzzle. What baffled me was the complete inability—or unwillingness—to just talk to me. It was like they'd all simultaneously decided that silence was a strategic leadership tool.
Eventually, I made the call to step away—for the sake of my sanity. Weeks later, a former colleague confirmed the obvious: they weren’t replacing my role.
Let’s call it what it was—an unceremonious, poorly managed exit cloaked in corporate cowardice. A shame, really. A conversation would’ve cost them nothing. But I walked away with my integrity intact and a firm belief that communication is leadership’s first job, not its last resort.
