You are Elon Musk, and your company has nine million dollars in the bank. The Roadster — Tesla's first car, a bespoke electric sports car built on a Lotus Elise chassis — has just started delivering. Each unit costs more to manufacture than it sells for. Lehman Brothers collapsed six weeks ago. The capital markets are closed to venture-backed auto startups. Your co-founder Martin Eberhard is gone; so is every CEO Tesla has had in its five-year history. The board has just asked you, reluctantly, to take the title. You have three months of runway.
Every adviser in Detroit, every banker on Sand Hill Road, every engineer trained at GM or Ford tells you the same thing: batteries are a commodity input. Buy cells from Panasonic or LG. Don't tie up capital in factories you can't run. Build the car. Let the specialists build the cells. This is orthodox automotive wisdom — 100 years of accumulated Make-or-Buy logic. It is also, you suspect, completely wrong. You will have 12 years and four major decisions to test that suspicion. Get them right and Tesla becomes the most valuable car company on Earth. Get them wrong and you join DeLorean, Tucker, and Fisker in the graveyard of electric dreams.