What I Learned About Details, Assumptions, and the Hidden Cost of Silence
Some problems announce themselves loudly. Others sit quietly in a spreadsheet, disguised as a decimal.
A few years ago, I found myself working on a project that should have been simple. We were preparing a bid for a long-time automotive customer. The job? A new version of a dashboard cluster system — nothing revolutionary. The base product already existed; we just needed to update it with some technical improvements.
On the moment that I’m writing it, we are in a transitory period from mechanical clusters, with pointers, leds, display with couple functions to a completely digital version, with one or more screens and all these information and details are reproduced on the screens, and you can choose how it will be displayed and what other information you also want to see. That will be the future for the vehicles dashboard, even the more simple ones soon.
Going back from 2000 decades. The new project was just a updated version of the current cluster, new LED colors, bigger screen, new font for the numbers etc. But when the cost proposal landed on the customer’s desk, their reaction was swift and cold: our price was 35% higher than they expected.
We were stunned.
Even after we dried everything we could — engineering hours, tooling, materials — we were still around 25% above their target. It felt like trying to wrestle gravity. The numbers wouldn’t budge.
And that’s when things got tense.
The automaker gave us an ultimatum:
“You’ve got a few days. Fix the price, or we’ll have to move on to another supplier.”
We were their current supplier. We had the trust, the history, the track record. But none of that would matter if the numbers didn’t make sense. On the business environment a good relationship is important, but money still the factor that drives the relationship between customers and suppliers.
Taking the Long Way Through the BOM
Here’s something I’ve learned: when things don’t add up, start walking backward. Slowly.
No one asked me to recheck the BOM. But something in my gut told me that the issue wasn’t in the obvious places. It was in the assumptions — the inherited data, the reused estimates, the places no one wanted to look because they “had already been validated.”
I spent good hours combing through line items. I talked to the engineers. I asked simple questions, even if they made me look naive:
– “Why is this value higher than before?”
– “What changed in the specs?”
– “Are we absolutely sure this number is correct?”
I wasn’t looking to prove anyone wrong. I just wanted to understand. And eventually, I did.
The Glue, the Decimal, and the Domino Effect
Buried deep in the BOM was a material we used in both the old and new clusters — a specialized glue. In the previous version, we used 0.00023 grams per unit. In the new one, it showed 0.0024 grams.
The numbers looked almost the same. But they weren’t. Many zeros 23 in comparison with many other zeros and 24 it is almost that same, right?! But the new amount was missing one zero.
That decimal? It was multiplying our glue usage by a factor of 10.
It turns out the glue cost around $300 per kilogram, and the miscalculation was adding almost $7 of material cost per unit. For the ones that are not aware, this is a segment that we customers and suppliers fight for each penny. Imagene adding in large-scale manufacturing, $7 is enormous. And when you add markup, taxes and all others pricing strategy, this $7 as material cost rapidly goes up to $10 or more.
This small, silent mistake — invisible unless you were looking for it — was the root of the entire pricing gap.
What We Almost Lost
After correcting the BOM and recalculating, our new proposal fell within the acceptable range. The customer accepted our revised bid.
We didn’t just win the job — we secured a four-year contract worth nearly $200 million.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about how close we came to losing everything. All because of a decimal point.
What I Learned
This experience changed me. Not because I caught a mistake. But because of what that mistake revealed.
1. Details Matter — Especially the Boring Ones
The devil doesn’t live in complexity. He lives in familiarity — in the places we stop checking because we assume they’re fine.
2. You Don’t Need to Be an Expert to Ask the Right Questions
I’m not a chemical engineer. But I understood the product well enough, and I cared deeply enough, to ask dumb questions. Sometimes dumb questions are the smartest thing you can do.
3. Compare to Learn, Not to Judge
The comparison between the new BOM and the old one wasn’t about proving someone wrong. It was about understanding how things evolved — and catching what got lost in the transition.
4. Storytelling Isn’t a Soft Skill — It’s a Leadership Tool
Once I found the issue, I still had to convince others it mattered. I had to frame the insight, walk people through it, and tell the story in a way that moved the team to act quickly. That’s not fluff — that’s execution.
The Bigger Picture
In Creativity, Inc., Ed Catmull talks about building a culture where people feel safe to voice concerns and explore ideas without fear. I didn’t realize it at the time, but what saved this project wasn’t just technical diligence — it was having the space to ask, to wonder, and to act.
No one told me to recheck the BOM. No one would’ve blamed me if I hadn’t. But curiosity, when paired with accountability, becomes a force.
And sometimes, that force saves a company from losing $200 million — one decimal at a time.
Bonus Lesson
After having all the changes made and sending the new price to the customer, my Director — the boss of my boss — came to me, curious about how we managed to turn the situation around. But before I could say a word, he expressed how critical the outcome was for the company, and how much he valued my contribution. He called me a valuable player. It felt good.
Knowing he was a busy man, I tried to be brief. I told him I found a discrepancy in the amount of glue listed in the BOM. The responsible engineer reviewed it, confirmed the error, and updated the calculation. With that correction, I was able to present a new, competitive price.
He thanked me again — but with a little less intensity than his initial praise — and moved on.
Later that day, my direct manager, who saw what just have happened, pulled me aside and gave me a quiet but powerful piece of advice. “When you’re in the spotlight — especially for something positive — use it. Don’t just downplay your work or try to be modest. Share what you did and why it mattered. Be honest, but also own it.”
That conversation stayed with me. Too often we think that doing the work is enough. But in any organization, people need to understand what you’re capable of — and they won’t know unless you tell them.
It’s not about arrogance. It’s about visibility. Selling your work, especially when done well, builds trust and creates opportunities.
The same rule applies when things go wrong. Don’t hide. Don’t blame others. Own it, learn from it, and move forward. The worst kind of mistake is the one we don’t grow from.
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