Sujimoto: The day clout lost to compliance

There are thresholds in business you cross where the air changes. The numbers have more zeros. The rooms get colder. Smiles get tighter. At those heights, you don’t “wing it.” You don’t lean on who you shook hands with at a cocktail party. You hire grown-ups — Olaniwun Ajayi. Banwo & Ighodalo. And if you’re serious about controls and credibility, a Big 4 like KPMG. Because once you start signing deals that tilt balance sheets, the most expensive mistake is the one you tried to save money on.
Yet every year I watch a familiar Lagos ritual. Brilliant entrepreneurs proudly spend a cumulative ₦50 million being annual membership dues on the Lagos Motorboat Club, the Lagos Polo Club, Ikoyi Club 1938. But those same folks will call a premium assurance advisory “wasteful.” They’ll tell you, “Don’t worry, I know the Chief of Staff to the President ,” or “My ex-girlfriend is the sister of the governor.” They overrate social capital and underrate a legal war chest. Many emergency Nigerian billionaires only enroll for OMP programmes at LBS strictly for networking while they pay crazy amounts to appear on Forbes Africa, they pay to look safe and refuse to pay to be safe.
Nearly twenty years in business has taught me that God has a way of humbling the showy and protecting the diligent. I’ve seen it up close.
There was a former client — name withheld, pedigree loud — who sat on our invoices for more than six months. We delivered the work; he delivered promises, then silence. We terminated the service. That’s when the theatre began. He had the Police declare me “wanted.” He boasted he could lock me up indefinitely. He even asked, with a smirk only power can afford, “Have you forgotten I’m the only former Commissioner who once slapped a sitting Governor?”
I remember the room where I heard that line. The blinds were half-drawn against the Lagos sun, the city’s hum low and restless under it. The old me might have matched bravado with bravado. The wiser me arrived at the station with our legal counsel.
At first, the Area Commander seemed eager to act out the script he’d been handed. Questions came heavy with presumption. It was less an inquiry and more a performance. I listened. I documented. And then I made a call to an AIG who knows me — not socially, but professionally. He didn’t bark, didn’t threaten. He reminded the Area Commander of the law: “Grant fair hearing. Take no sides. Follow due process.”
Suddenly, the temperature shifted. The performance lost its audience. The Commander picked up his phone and called “Oga Former Commissioner.” His voice was measured now.
“Sir,” he said, “you are no longer in government. I will not be sending my men to you again to pick up staff asking to be paid. If there’s a dispute, bring documents. We’ll treat it by the book.”
Silence on the other end. Then a clipped goodbye.
I walked out the same door I walked in, not because I knew a man, but because our paperwork could stand daylight and our counsel knew the terrain. That’s the difference. Social connections might open doors; legal preparation keeps you from being pushed through the wrong ones.
Here is the truth nobody on the regatta deck will tell you: the marketplace is not a gentleman’s game. It is a rules game. Contracts are not love letters; they are shields. Board minutes are not formalities; they are maps. Tax positions are not opinions; they are liabilities waiting for a date. When the numbers climb and the stakes harden, you don’t buy charm; you buy clarity. You don’t flex contacts; you build contours — governance, compliance, enforceable rights.
So when your company hits those thresholds — when you’re raising capital, entering a joint venture, acquiring assets, restructuring debt, signing distribution exclusivities — call Olaniwun Ajayi LLP. Call Banwo & Ighodalo. Call Aluko & Oyebode. Put KPMG or a peer in the room to pressure-test your assumptions and controls. Not because you’re timid, but because you’re wise. Because strength is not loudness; strength is readiness.
If you can budget for polo ponies, champagne cruises, and lifetime access to rooms with soft leather chairs, then you can budget for the professionals who will keep your signature from becoming a snare. The bill for first-class advice is always cheaper than the invoice for a second-rate crisis.
My lesson, paid for in time, tears, and school fees of experience, is simple: spend less on looking powerful and more on being protected. When the lights get bright and the stakes get real, may your confidence flow from your contracts, your controls, and your counsel — not from a name in your call log.
Because when the music stops and the scripts end, the law remains. And in this market, that’s the only club whose membership will save you.
Dear Sijibomi! Stop the social media pity party man! Hire Chief Wole Olanipekun or Chief Mike Ozekhome to clean this mess. You dare not visit the EFCC office with a rookie at the bar on this kind of brief while I pray the mercy of God becomes your pathfinder out of this mess.