Have you ever wondered what happens when a legendary figure finally steps aside and someone new takes the wheel of one of the most iconic companies in the world? The moment Greg Abel officially became CEO of Berkshire Hathaway felt monumental, but nothing prepared the investment community for the news about his paycheck.
We’re not talking about a modest raise here. The figure that dropped recently—$25 million in annual cash salary—sent ripples through Wall Street and beyond. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know: Is this still the same Berkshire Hathaway we knew under Warren Buffett? Or are we witnessing the beginning of a very different chapter?
When $25 Million Feels Both Normal and Revolutionary
Let’s be honest for a second. In the context of 2026 corporate America, $25 million doesn’t exactly sound outrageous for the person running a company valued among the very top tier of the S&P 500. Plenty of CEOs pocket far more when you factor in stock grants, performance bonuses, and the kitchen sink of modern executive packages.
Yet when that number belongs to the successor of a man who famously collected $100,000 a year (and often gave half of it back), the contrast becomes almost theatrical. It’s like watching a minimalist Zen garden suddenly get a neon Vegas makeover.
I remember the first time I read about Buffett’s compensation philosophy years ago. It felt refreshing, almost rebellious. Here was this multi-billionaire insisting that obscene pay packages weren’t necessary to motivate truly exceptional talent. The message was clear: if you’re already wealthy beyond imagination, the real motivation should be the challenge itself, not another yacht.
The Numbers Tell a Fascinating Story
Let’s put some flesh on the bones. Abel’s cash salary represents roughly a 19% increase from what he earned the previous year in his vice chairman role. That’s substantial, no question. But here’s the part that really makes eyebrows rise: when compared to other chief executives of similarly massive companies, this figure actually lands in the upper tier of pure cash compensation over the last decade and a half.
Most CEOs who top the annual “highest paid” lists do so because of massive stock and option awards, not base salary. Remove those non-cash elements, and Abel’s paycheck suddenly looks exceptionally generous in relative terms.
One would expect the leader of one of the ten largest companies in America to be paid at a level commensurate with that responsibility.
– Veteran investment executive
That’s a very diplomatic way of saying: welcome to the big leagues, kid.
Still, there’s something bittersweet about the whole affair. For decades, Berkshire stood apart precisely because it didn’t play by everyone else’s compensation rules. That difference wasn’t just cosmetic—it shaped the entire culture.
Buffett’s Philosophy: Small Salary, Massive Skin in the Game
Warren Buffett never needed a big paycheck. He built his fortune almost entirely through Berkshire stock appreciation. His personal wealth, now hovering near the stratosphere, came from owning huge chunks of the company he so carefully grew.
His annual salary? A symbolic $100,000—plus a little extra for security. Half of it often went right back to the company to cover personal expenses. The message he sent year after year was unmistakable: I’m not here for the money. I’m here for the game.
- Modest cash compensation
- Enormous long-term equity ownership
- Alignment with shareholders above all else
- A rejection of short-term incentive gimmicks
That formula worked beautifully for more than half a century. Shareholders got spectacular returns, and Buffett became perhaps the most trusted name in American capitalism. Everyone understood the deal: he wouldn’t get rich off salary—he would get rich (or richer) only if everyone else did too.
Why the Change Makes Sense (Even If It Stings)
Now comes Greg Abel. Different generation, different background, different circumstances. Unlike Buffett, Abel didn’t found the company. He didn’t spend decades turning a failing textile mill into a sprawling conglomerate. He joined an already massive machine and climbed the ranks impressively.
More importantly, he arrives at a time when executive talent is treated like rare art at auction. Boards are terrified of losing top performers to competitors willing to write bigger checks. In that environment, a $25 million salary isn’t an indulgence—it’s table stakes.
There’s also the simple reality of scale. Leading an organization the size of Berkshire today requires a different skill set than it did in the 1980s or even the early 2000s. The job has become more institutionalized, more scrutinized, more political. That naturally comes with a different price tag.
The Cultural Crossroads Berkshire Now Faces
Here’s where things get really interesting. Many longtime observers worry that higher executive pay is just the first domino. Once you start paying “market rates” at the top, the logic goes, the culture inevitably begins to shift. The frugality, the long-term orientation, the almost monastic dedication to shareholders—will those survive when the leadership compensation starts looking like everyone else’s?
In my view, it’s too early to ring the alarm bells. One big salary doesn’t automatically turn a unique organization into a cookie-cutter conglomerate. Culture is stubborn. It takes years—sometimes decades—to truly erode.
But the concern is legitimate. When the most visible symbol of difference (the CEO’s paycheck) starts looking ordinary, people notice. And once they notice, the story changes. The narrative slowly shifts from “We’re different” to “We’re special… just like everybody else.”
What Abel Actually Owns in Berkshire Stock
Before we paint Abel as just another Wall Street fat cat, let’s look at the equity side. His personal holdings in Berkshire are worth roughly $171 million. That’s not insignificant. In fact, it’s more than most CEOs have in their own company’s stock when they first take the top job.
Still, some shareholders quietly wish it were more—a lot more. The thinking goes like this: if you’re going to accept a very large salary, at least put even more skin in the game personally. Own enough that your interests are unmistakably aligned with the average investor.
That’s a fair point. Buffett owned so much for so long that his interests and shareholders’ interests were practically indistinguishable. That kind of alignment is rare and powerful.
Looking Ahead: Can Berkshire Remain “Different”?
The million-dollar question (or twenty-five-million-dollar question, I suppose) is whether Berkshire can preserve its distinctive DNA while operating under more conventional leadership compensation.
- Will future capital allocation decisions remain as disciplined and patient as they were under Buffett?
- Can the company continue attracting world-class talent without escalating pay packages throughout the organization?
- Will shareholders continue to tolerate—or even celebrate—a culture that sometimes feels deliberately out of step with modern corporate America?
I don’t have definitive answers. Nobody does yet. But I do know this: transitions of this magnitude rarely happen smoothly. There are always growing pains, missteps, moments of doubt.
What matters most is whether the core principles survive the transition. Frugality. Long-term thinking. Treating shareholders like partners rather than customers. If those survive, then Berkshire will still be Berkshire—even if the CEO’s paycheck looks more like everyone else’s.
The Human Side of the Story
Amid all the numbers and philosophical debates, it’s easy to forget there’s a human being at the center of this. Greg Abel has spent years preparing for this role. He’s earned the trust of the board and, perhaps more importantly, the quiet confidence of Buffett himself.
By all accounts, he still lives a relatively grounded life. No flashy displays of wealth. No headlines about outrageous purchases. That matters. People notice.
Maybe the $25 million salary is simply the price of doing business in today’s environment. Maybe it’s the cost of securing top talent when every other major company is willing to pay up. Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the first visible crack in a culture that many of us admired precisely because it refused to conform.
Only time will tell. And fortunately for all of us who follow this saga, time is one thing Berkshire has never been short of.
So here we are, early 2026, watching one of the greatest corporate stories ever told begin its next chapter. Whether it’s a triumphant continuation or a slow fade into normalcy, one thing is certain: we’ll all be watching closely.
And personally? I hope the magic survives. Because when a place like Berkshire loses what makes it special, we all lose a little something too.
