Thinking in centuries, not quarters

Welcome to Legacy Beyond Profits, where we explore what it really means to build a business that leaves a mark for the right reasons.

Florence, 1944. Seven-year-old Piero Antinori stands in the family cellars beside his father, staring at the destruction. Retreating German soldiers have ransacked the building. Disemboweled barrels. Broken machinery. Masses of bottles machine-gunned.

His father would later write: "It's a memory that will be with him for the rest of his life."

Forty-seven years later, Piero sits across from his banker, asking for a loan to buy back his family's wine company. The banker tells him to forget it. Allied Lyons wants full control. The 600-year-old company is about to become a corporate subsidiary.

Piero puts up Palazzo Antinori as collateral. The 15th-century family home. Five centuries of history on the line.

Why?

He got the loan. In 1992, he bought back control. Today, his daughters run the company. The 27th generation works in the vineyards.

From quarterly pressure to generational patience

Marchesi Antinori has been making wine since 1385. Twenty-six generations through wars, plagues, and economic collapses. The insight: treat current leaders not as owners extracting value, but as temporary trustees protecting assets that must survive another 500 years.

1. Make decisions generation 27 will judge

You plant a vineyard today. Cash flow arrives in a decade. This simple fact creates a decision filter most companies never use: Will our great-grandchildren thank us for this choice? Antinori's daughters make strategic decisions "with the eyes of a generation before and maybe perhaps with the eyes of a future generation also." Not inspirational rhetoric. An actual governance requirement. When Whitbread executives wanted to decrease production and raise prices for stock performance, Piero bought more vineyards anyway. Generation 27 is now harvesting those vines.

2. Treat quarterly earnings as existential threat

Going public subjects companies to quarterly earnings calls, activist investors, stock price obsession. Private equity creates exit pressure within 5-7 years. Strategic buyers gut acquired companies for synergies. For businesses built on generational timelines, these structures aren't just suboptimal. They're poison. Piero proved this in 1985 when Whitbread resisted buying Pèppoli estate because the vineyard needed investments that would take a decade to show results. Their objection revealed the fundamental incompatibility: shareholders want quarterly growth, centuries-old families want institutions that outlast them.

3. Time succession to create strategic options

Most families wait for succession certainty before making major moves. Antinori did the opposite. Between 1986 and 1991, all three daughters joined the business. Not because succession was decided. Because having potential heirs created options. When Allied Lyons threatened takeover in 1991, Piero had leverage he didn't have in 1981: daughters who'd proven capable, a viable succession path, a reason to risk everything. Without them, accepting the takeover would have been rational. Their presence transformed a forced exit into a fight worth taking. Succession timing wasn't family planning. It was strategic weapon.

4. Value institution survival over personal wealth

The 1991 decision reveals the core principle. Piero could have accepted Allied Lyons' takeover, walked away wealthy, let someone else worry about the future. He chose differently. Not because he needed the money. Because six centuries of family history created an obligation to generation 27 that no quarterly payout could match. The palazzo or the company? He risked both to save both.

How Marchesi Antinori chose centuries over quarters

The ransacked cellars taught young Piero that centuries of history don't guarantee safety. The biggest danger in family businesses almost always comes from within the family.

Twenty-two years after watching wine stain those cellar floors, Piero took control at age 28. Tuscan wine was in trouble. Poor wines, low prices, neglected vineyards. He looked to France for answers. With winemaker Giacomo Tachis, he created Tignanello in 1971, a barrique-aged blend that broke every Chianti regulation. Had to be labeled table wine because it violated appellation rules. Also better than any Chianti on the market. The revolution had begun.

Then his siblings wanted out.

Brother Lodovico and sister Ilaria asked to be bought out of their shares in 1980. Piero didn't have the money. He'd invested millions in cellars and vineyards. Worse, he believed he had no successor. Three daughters in 1980s Italy. He didn't think they'd want the business.

So in 1981, he sold 49% to Whitbread, a UK brewing corporation. He regretted it almost immediately.

The partnership was a disaster. Different priorities, different timelines. When prime Chianti estates came up for sale in 1985 and 1987, Whitbread resisted both purchases. The vineyards needed decade-long investments. "Decrease production and raise prices," they told him. "Help our stock price."

Piero bought the estates anyway.

"For a wine company like ours, going public is not the right thing to do," he explains. "Once you are public, you become concerned with short-term results. In our business, you plant a vineyard today, you don't see any cash flow for 10 years."

But something else was happening. Starting in 1986, his three daughters joined the business. Albiera worked harvest at Castello della Sala. Proved passionate. Her sisters followed. Piero realized he did have heirs.

By 1991, the situation had become urgent. Whitbread was selling their spirits division to Allied Lyons, a corporate giant. Allied wanted full control of Antinori as part of the deal. Whitbread was preparing to buy Piero out, not the other way around.

Piero reached out to his banker at Mediobanca. The banker told him to forget it. Allied Lyons had the momentum. The deal was happening.

The 600-year-old company or surrender to quarterly earnings pressure. The palazzo or the institution. Piero chose both.

He sold his financial business stake for cash. Put up Palazzo Antinori (the 15th-century family home) as collateral for a massive loan. When he sat down with Whitbread executives in March 1991, they knew he wanted to buy them out. They didn't think he had the money.

He did.

In 1992, the Antinori family regained 100% ownership. The daughters stayed. Today, Albiera is president and CEO (the first woman to lead in 640 years). Allegra and Alessia serve as vice presidents. Together they run 12 estates across Italy, plus holdings in California, Washington state, Chile, Hungary, Malta, and Romania.

Revenue: approximately $190 million annually. All privately held. No outside shareholders. No quarterly earnings calls. No activist investors.

The 27th generation is already working in the business. Albiera's daughter completed her master's in viticulture. Allegra's son works in logistics. When asked about succession, Albiera echoes her father: "The wine world is a business where the results you expect to see are not in a few years, but in a generation."

From strategy to legacy

Antinori's achievement wasn't building a successful wine company. His achievement was building a governance structure where selling out became unthinkable and where each generation viewed themselves as temporary stewards rather than owners extracting value.

This pattern appears beyond winemaking. The New York Times remained family-controlled for 117 years through dual-class stock that protected editorial independence. SC Johnson refused to go public for 137 years despite billion-dollar offers. Hermès created a family holding company to fight off LVMH's takeover.

When Piero risked Palazzo Antinori in 1991, he was encoding a principle: this institution matters more than any individual's wealth. The 27th generation plants vineyards today that won't produce cash flow until the 28th generation harvests them. Not patience. Stewardship encoded into ownership.