We All See It, But Not All Say It

A letter to the restoration industry about what’s being sold—and what’s being lost.

From the desk of Klark

There’s a shift happening. You can feel it—quiet but relentless.

Private equity has set its sights on restoration. Rollups, acquisitions, exits… the wave is here. And no one’s pretending it’s going to slow down. Every week, another independent name is absorbed, rebranded, streamlined, and folded into the machine.

Some see this as progress.

Some stay silent.

Some of us feel something deeper—a wince.

This isn’t a hit piece.

I’ve got friends in the M&A world. Good people. Thoughtful operators. And not every deal is predatory. Some are a blessing. Some are earned. I respect that.

But when the only way out seems to be a sale, when the long game is replaced by the fast flip… something sacred is at risk.

This industry was never supposed to be built on spreadsheets.

It was built on callused hands, midnight jobs, and the promise to restore what matters.

So I’ll ask the question that’s been sitting in my gut lately:

Are we still building something worth handing down? Or are we just packaging what’s left for someone else to sell?

That’s not a judgment. It’s a wake-up call.

There is a way to exit like a leader. To pass the torch instead of dropping it. To leave on your terms—with a business that lives beyond you. But that path takes more than a willing buyer. It takes a real builder.

And selfishly?

That’s the part that scares me.

I love building. I live for it.

But I worry we’re heading toward a future where there’s nothing left to build.

Just more to buy.

More to manage.

More to milk before it’s gone.

I don’t want to be the last generation of builders.

I want to be part of the generation that taught others how to build—better, smarter, deeper.

Not every business is meant to stay in the family. Not every owner needs to ride it out forever. But legacy isn’t about staying. It’s about how you leave.

So for the owners who are tired, but still care—there’s a path forward that doesn’t end in erasure.

For the coaches and instructors—keep teaching. Keep handing out tools.

For the ones quietly watching it all unfold—say something.

Because someday, the people we serve—our teams, our customers, our kids—will ask:

“Why didn’t the ones who knew… do something?”

Let’s be able to answer that.

Author’s Note

I wrote this not from a place of bitterness, but from love. I’ve spent most of my life in this industry. It gave me a purpose, a craft, and a calling. I want it to be here in twenty years—for the next owner, the next technician, the next family depending on us to show up and do the hard work with heart.

But more than that—I want it to last long enough to see the things we dream of actually mature.

To see professionalism become the norm.

To see leaders who build companies and people.

To see the tide turn from burnout and chaos to calm, competent command.

That’s why I’m speaking up.

If you feel the same—or if you feel another way—either way, I’d love to chat.

Not a pitch. Nothing heavy. Just coffee. Over Zoom if we must.

We need more conversations, not more headlines.