On April 26, three lives, and the case for a fund that carries the family name.
This fund is being established today, on the 26th of April 2026, because today is the day on which my family’s lineage already turns. It is the day my father was born, in 1933. It is the day my mother passed, in 1999. To begin OTAMA on this day was deliberate. A fund that exists to carry family capital across generations should begin on the day that, in our family, generations meet.
OTAMA is a Māori word for that which holds family together — the bond between those who came before and those who follow. It is not a metaphor. It is the simplest description I could find of what this structure is for.
“The work of the next forty years is not to multiply the capital. It is to be worthy of having held it.”
I have spent the last two decades building, operating, and investing. Some of those efforts compounded. Others did not. What was true throughout — and what becomes truer with time — is that the discipline of compounding is mostly a discipline of patience. And patience requires a structure that protects you from yourself: from the temptations of the quarterly cycle, from the markets that flatter then punish, from the easy money that obscures the difference between luck and judgement.
OTAMA is that structure. It carries the family’s capital, and only the family’s capital. It will hold concentrated positions for decades. It will operate from Singapore, alongside Hawksburn, who provides our access to the world’s most capable private capital managers. It will hold direct conviction in operators we know — in sport, wellness, technology, and elsewhere — and it will say no to many more opportunities than it says yes to.
The fund will not chase scale. It will not solicit external capital. It will publish letters when there is something worth saying, and it will remain otherwise quiet. The intent is durability, not visibility.
If you are reading this letter, you have either come from inside the family or you have found us through your own work. In either case, you are welcome. The fund’s correspondence is read personally, and replies are made when there is reason for one. We are easy to reach and slow to act — both deliberately.
To my father, who taught me what compounding looks like in a life. To my mother, who taught me what it costs to be present. To the generations that will read this letter long after I have stopped writing them: this is the structure within which I tried to be worthy of what I was given.