Offsite Straight Talk: February 2026

The Saturday Difference: How Successful and Struggling Entrepreneurs Use the Same Day

I don’t take weekends off. Most entrepreneurs I know don’t either. That doesn’t mean we’re working every hour. It means we’re always observing, always thinking, and always paying attention to what’s happening around us.

Over the years, I’ve noticed something interesting. Saturdays often tell you more about the future of an entrepreneur than what they do during the week.

During the week, everyone is busy. Phones ring. Emails pile up. Problems come one after another. Even struggling business owners can look productive Monday through Friday because the work demands it. Saturdays are different. Nobody is forcing you to do anything. How you use that day becomes a choice.

And that choice can separate the successful from the struggling.

Busy During the Week, Revealed on Saturday

The entrepreneurs who eventually succeed rarely use Saturdays as another frantic workday. They don’t spend the entire time reacting to problems. Instead, they step back. They think. They look at their business from a higher level. They ask uncomfortable questions. Where is the company really headed? What risks are building that nobody is talking about? What opportunity did we miss this week because we were too busy solving short-term problems?

This kind of thinking doesn’t feel productive in the moment. There are no immediate results. No one sees it. But over time, it changes everything. Strategy replaces chaos. Direction replaces motion.

Panic Mode vs. Avoidance Mode

Struggling entrepreneurs often do one of two things on Saturdays. They either panic and work nonstop, or they shut down completely and avoid the business. Both approaches come from the same place—fear.

The panic mode founder keeps doing the same operational work that kept them stuck all week. They chase small problems. They micromanage. They fix things that will break again next week. They stay in the weeds because it feels safer than stepping back and facing bigger issues.

The avoidance mode founder does the opposite. They try not to think about the business at all. They tell themselves they deserve the break. They push the hard decisions to Monday. The problem is, Monday usually brings the same fire drill because nothing changed.

Neither approach builds a stronger company.

Working on the Business, Not Just in It

Successful entrepreneurs understand that Saturdays are one of the few times they can work on the business instead of in it. They read. They learn. They observe markets, customers, and competitors. They pay attention to shifts in technology and generational expectations. They think about how their industry might look in five or ten years.

In offsite construction today, this matters more than ever. AI, automation, robotics, and changing buyer expectations are not slowing down. The factory owner who uses Saturday to stay current is preparing for survival. The one who ignores these changes is slowly falling behind, whether they realize it or not.

The Family Factor Nobody Talks About

Another difference doesn’t get enough attention. Saturdays shape family dynamics.

Entrepreneurship is rarely an individual journey. Spouses and children live with the uncertainty, the financial pressure, and the emotional ups and downs. They see the stress. They hear the late-night conversations. They watch the sacrifices.

The struggling entrepreneur often brings that stress home and never turns it off. They are physically present but mentally somewhere else. The phone is always within reach. Conversations are interrupted. Family time becomes background noise. Over time, resentment builds quietly.

Successful entrepreneurs handle this differently. They don’t ignore their responsibilities, but they recognize that their family is part of their support system. They protect time. It may only be a few hours, but it is intentional. Breakfast without distractions. Watching a child’s game. A walk with their spouse. Real conversations.

This doesn’t just improve family life. It improves leadership. Clear thinking, emotional stability, and strong relationships lead to better decisions. When the family is stable, the entrepreneur is stronger. When the entrepreneur is stronger, the company benefits.

The Real Difference

The biggest difference is not how many hours someone works on Saturday. It’s how they use those hours.

Struggling entrepreneurs use Saturdays to survive the present.
Successful entrepreneurs use Saturdays to build the future.

That doesn’t mean one group cares more or works harder. It means one group is thinking beyond the next crisis. They understand that progress requires reflection, learning, and discipline.

Years from now, most founders won’t remember the problems they solved on any given weekend. But they will remember whether they built something meaningful or spent their time reacting to every challenge that came along.

Saturday is just one day. But over months and years, those days add up. And they quietly shape both the business and the life behind it.

The choice is always there.

Gary Fleisher—known throughout the industry as The Modcoach—has been immersed in offsite and modular construction for over three decades. Beyond writing, he advises companies across the offsite ecosystem, offering practical marketing insight and strategic guidance grounded in real-world factory, builder, and market experience.

modcoach@gmail.com

Wall Street Steps Into the Housing Shortage: Citi’s $60 Billion Bet on Supply

For decades, the housing affordability crisis in the United States has been discussed, debated, and analyzed from almost every angle. Yet one theme keeps resurfacing: there simply isn’t enough housing. Now, one of the largest financial institutions in the world has decided to put serious capital behind that reality. Citigroup’s newly announced Blueprint for Housing Opportunity initiative is a five-year, $60 billion commitment aimed at expanding housing supply and preserving affordability across the country.

This move signals something important. It shows that major financial institutions are beginning to see housing not only as a social issue but as a long-term economic priority that affects workforce stability, community growth, and national productivity. And for those of us in offsite construction and production housing, the implications could be significant.

A Capital Commitment With a Clear Goal

At its core, Citi’s plan focuses on increasing housing supply. The bank has pledged to finance the acquisition, construction, rehabilitation, and long-term financing of affordable housing nationwide. The goal is ambitious: create or preserve at least 250,000 housing units over the next five years.

The financing will support a broad mix of housing types. This includes workforce housing for essential employees, developments that integrate supportive services, and lower-cost rental housing in expensive metropolitan areas.

That breadth is important. The shortage isn’t limited to one segment. It affects nurses, teachers, young professionals, retirees, and even middle-income households. In many markets, the problem is less about traditional “low-income” housing and more about missing-middle and workforce housing. Citi’s strategy appears to recognize that.

Beyond Lending: A Multi-Layered Approach

The initiative goes beyond simply providing loans. Citi is combining financial capital with philanthropic support, research, and policy advocacy. Alongside the $60 billion financing commitment, the Citi Foundation will deploy $50 million in grants to nonprofit organizations tackling local housing challenges and supporting financial resilience for residents.

This funding will also help support research into scalable housing solutions, including a new fellowship program focused on housing supply.

That layered approach reflects a growing realization in the industry: capital alone does not solve the housing crisis. Financing, research, policy alignment, and community partnerships must all move together.

For developers and builders, this could mean more opportunities to access structured financing and long-term partnerships. It could also create greater demand for innovation, especially in areas like modular, panelized, and component construction that offer faster and more predictable delivery.

A Track Record That Matters

This isn’t Citi’s first move in the affordable housing space. Through its Citi Community Capital division, the bank has financed more than $32 billion in affordable multifamily housing over the past five years, including $7.6 billion in 2025 alone.

That financing helped create or preserve more than 35,000 housing units in over 30 states.

The significance here is credibility. Many announcements in housing come with bold headlines but limited follow-through. Citi’s long-term presence in affordable housing finance suggests this initiative is more than a press release.

For the offsite industry, this could translate into increased institutional confidence in production-based housing solutions. Large lenders tend to favor predictable timelines and scalable processes. Those are strengths that offsite builders, when properly managed, can deliver.

Policy and the Public-Private Partnership

Another key component of the initiative is advocacy. Citi plans to support public policies that increase housing supply, including enhancements to the Low-Income Housing Tax Credit (LIHTC) program.

For decades, LIHTC has been one of the most effective tools for building affordable housing. Yet it often faces challenges related to liquidity, complexity, and scale. Citi’s focus on strengthening the program highlights the importance of aligning private capital with government incentives.

This reinforces a broader truth in housing: the private sector cannot solve the shortage alone, and neither can government. The future will likely depend on stronger partnerships between financial institutions, developers, manufacturers, and policymakers.

What This Means for Offsite Construction

From a production housing perspective, this initiative could become a turning point—if the industry is ready. Large-scale financing creates pressure for speed, predictability, and cost control. These are exactly the areas where offsite construction has been promising solutions for years.

However, opportunity and readiness are not the same thing. The challenge for offsite builders will be proving that their systems can meet the expectations of institutional capital. That means stronger execution, better data, transparent performance, and consistent delivery.

Capital flows toward certainty. If modular and panelized builders can demonstrate that certainty, the door to institutional funding will open wider.

The Bigger Picture

The national housing shortage is estimated at several million homes, and the gap continues to widen. Initiatives like Citi’s Blueprint for Housing Opportunity won’t solve the crisis alone, but they represent a meaningful shift. When Wall Street begins treating housing supply as an economic priority, momentum follows.

The question now is whether the housing and offsite construction industries are prepared to respond. The capital is coming. The need is undeniable. The next phase will depend on execution.

And in this business, execution is where the real opportunity—and the real risk—always lives.

modcoach@gmail.com

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly of Venture Capital in Offsite Construction

Very few people wake up one morning, look at their bank account, and say, “Well, I guess I’ll build an offsite factory this year.” If that were the case, we’d have hundreds of new factories opening every month and housing shortages would be a memory. Instead, most entrepreneurs eventually face the same reality. If you want to build something big in this industry, you’ll probably need someone else’s money.

That’s where venture capital comes in. And let me tell you, if you’ve never gone down that road before, it can feel a bit like inviting a very smart, very persistent stranger into your life who suddenly wants to know everything about you—your business, your childhood, your future, and how you plan to spend every dollar between now and retirement.

Many first-time founders complain about how relentless venture capitalists are during due diligence. But here’s the truth. It’s their money. If you were writing the check, you’d be just as careful.

Venture capital is private equity funding typically aimed at early-stage companies with high growth potential. While it’s often associated with tech startups, it’s increasingly being used in offsite construction, especially when the idea involves new technology, automation, robotics, or a business model that promises to scale faster than traditional construction ever could.

Let’s talk about the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The Good

Venture capital can turn an idea scribbled on a napkin into a real factory with employees, equipment, and a production schedule.

Before a factory even opens its doors, money is needed for research and development. That means prototypes, testing, engineering, and learning what doesn’t work before you build the first production line. Venture funding can carry a startup through this critical phase when there is no revenue and lots of uncertainty.

Land, buildings, and infrastructure are the next hurdle. Offsite construction is capital-intensive. Machinery, assembly lines, storage systems, cranes, software, and safety systems add up quickly. Without serious funding, most startups never get past the planning stage.

Then comes raw materials, inventory, hiring, and training. A new factory needs skilled workers, not just warm bodies. Training costs money. Retaining talent costs even more. And while all of this is happening, the factory still has to pay utilities, insurance, and overhead before the first unit ships.

Technology and automation are another big draw for venture capital. Investors love scalability. Robotics, AI, digital twins, and automation promise consistency and growth. Whether those promises are realistic is another story, but the vision can attract funding.

Marketing, distribution, and compliance are also expensive. Offsite construction is one of the most regulated sectors in the industry. Certifications, code compliance, inspections, and approvals can take time and money. Venture capital can provide the runway needed to navigate this maze.

Most importantly, venture funding allows a startup to scale faster. When demand grows, a factory can expand capacity, add shifts, or build additional facilities instead of waiting years to generate enough cash internally.

That’s the upside. It’s real. And it’s powerful.

The Bad

Now let’s talk about the part no one likes to discuss.

The biggest mistake I see is underestimating how much money is actually needed. Founders assume they can always raise more later. That assumption can become dangerous.

When cash starts running low, growth slows. Hiring freezes. Projects get delayed. Quality sometimes slips. Suddenly, leadership spends more time fundraising than running the business.

Additional funding rounds bring dilution. Founders give up more ownership, often at worse terms because investors sense the urgency. Credibility can take a hit if early projections were overly optimistic.

Cost-cutting becomes the strategy. Layoffs, reduced marketing, and paused innovation may extend the runway but can damage morale and reputation. Competitors move ahead while the company struggles to maintain momentum.

In some cases, startups become acquisition targets not because they planned to sell, but because they ran out of options.

The best defense is simple but rarely followed. Build realistic financial projections. Operate lean. Communicate openly with investors. And always, always have a contingency plan.

The Ugly

Here’s where the conversation gets uncomfortable.

Most venture capitalists do not set out to take over companies. Their goal is growth and a successful exit. But when a startup underperforms or runs out of cash, the balance of power can shift quickly.

Each funding round dilutes ownership. Board seats come with influence. Protective provisions give investors veto power over key decisions. Convertible debt can become equity. Follow-on funding often comes with new conditions.

If the company struggles, investors may push for leadership changes. A new CEO might be brought in. An acquisition may be forced. In extreme cases, liquidation becomes the only path forward.

This isn’t personal. It’s business.

And here’s the part that many founders don’t fully grasp until it’s too late. Once you take venture capital, you’re no longer the only one steering the ship. You have partners. Sometimes helpful partners. Sometimes demanding partners. Always influential partners.

The reality is that venture capital can be a powerful tool when used wisely. It can accelerate innovation, expand production, and bring much-needed capacity to an industry that desperately needs it.

But it comes with responsibility and risk. Founders must understand the terms, the expectations, and the long-term implications before signing the first agreement.

In offsite construction, where timelines are long and capital requirements are high, the difference between success and failure often comes down to how well entrepreneurs manage both the money and the relationships that come with it.

Because in this business, the money you raise can build your future. Or quietly take control of it.

modcoach@gmail.com

When Good Ideas Get Greedy: The ADU Backlash Is Real

For the past few years, accessory dwelling units—ADUs, casitas, backyard cottages, granny flats—have become the darling of housing policy. Cities desperate to address affordable and missing middle housing embraced them. Legislators praised them. Developers discovered them. Homeowners dreamed about rental income or a place for aging parents.

And frankly, for a while, it worked.

ADUs felt like a rare win. They allowed gentle density without massive zoning battles. They offered affordability without towering apartment buildings. They gave homeowners options without fundamentally changing neighborhoods. In many ways, they were the Goldilocks solution—just enough housing, just enough flexibility.

But now, as often happens in housing, the pendulum is swinging.

The Original Promise

The early vision for ADUs was simple. One small unit. Modest in size. Designed to blend into neighborhoods. A quiet way to add housing supply without creating fear among existing homeowners.

States like Arizona saw the potential. New laws required cities to allow accessory units on single-family lots to increase supply and flexibility. Supporters argued this would help address severe housing shortages while allowing multi-generational living and small-scale rental opportunities.

The goal wasn’t to turn single-family neighborhoods into dense rental districts. It was to give ordinary homeowners a chance to participate in solving the housing crisis.

But as anyone in the offsite and modular industry knows—and I've written about this countless times—when opportunity meets profit, the rules start getting stretched.

From Backyard Cottage to Backyard Compound

Here’s where things started to change.

Developers and investors quickly realized that ADUs weren’t just a housing solution. They were a business model. In some markets, a single-family home became the anchor for multiple rental units. Larger ADUs. Taller ADUs. Multiple ADUs. Built closer to property lines. Designed less for families and more for yield.

Some laws even pushed in this direction. In Arizona, regulations have required cities and counties to allow at least one attached and one detached ADU, and in some cases additional units on larger lots.

This is where homeowners began to notice.

The quiet promise of a small backyard cottage suddenly looked more like a mini-apartment complex next door.

The Pushback Was Inevitable

The result? Neighborhood backlash.

Homeowners started organizing. HOAs hired lawyers. Local officials who once supported ADUs began hearing from voters. Concerns grew about parking, privacy, infrastructure, and property values. In some cases, neighbors fought oversized or dense backyard projects that felt out of scale with existing homes.

And recently, lawmakers in Arizona blocked a proposal that would have further expanded the ability to build these units—an early signal that the political winds are shifting.

This isn’t surprising. Housing policy rarely fails because of bad ideas. It fails because of human behavior.

The Pattern We Keep Repeating

Here’s the uncomfortable truth.

Every housing innovation starts with good intentions. Then it gets pushed further. Then it gets abused. Then voters shut it down.

We saw this with urban renewal. We saw it with tax incentives. We saw it with short-term rentals. And now we’re watching it happen with ADUs.

The danger isn’t that ADUs are bad. The danger is that we could lose them entirely if policymakers and the industry don’t recognize when enough is enough.

Because voters don’t distinguish between a modest in-law suite and a backyard rental compound. They only see the change they didn’t expect.

A Warning to the Industry

If you’re in offsite construction, modular, or component manufacturing, this matters more than most people realize. ADUs have become one of the strongest growth markets in the last decade. Many factories are building their future around them.

But if overreach continues, the backlash could freeze this market in many cities. The same towns that embraced ADUs could suddenly restrict or eliminate them.

And when that happens, factories and developers will once again ask, “What went wrong?”

The answer will be the same as always.

We pushed too far.

The Smarter Path Forward

The lesson here isn’t to slow innovation. It’s to respect scale and community acceptance. Small wins that last are better than big wins that disappear.

If ADUs remain modest, thoughtful, and community-friendly, they can help solve housing shortages for decades.

If they become speculative tools for squeezing maximum density into every backyard, voters will eventually shut the door.

And when that happens, we won’t just lose ADUs.

We’ll lose trust.

And in housing, trust is harder to build than in any factory.

Corn, Concrete, and the Future of Housing

Or, How I Almost Ordered a Side of Butter With My 3D-Printed Home

There are moments in this industry when you stop, lean back in your chair, and wonder if someone is playing a joke on you. I had one of those moments recently when I learned about something called CornCrete—a material derived in part from corn that’s being used in 3D-printed homes.

Now, before you start sending me emails, let me say this clearly: the people behind this innovation are serious, smart, and tackling real problems. They’re looking at sustainability, carbon reduction, material supply chains, and the future of construction. This is not a gimmick. It’s real research. It’s real engineering. And it might even be a real solution.

But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit my first thought was, “So… do these houses come with a butter warranty?”

That’s the danger of being in this industry too long. You’ve heard it all before. Steel houses. Plastic houses. Hemp houses. Shipping container homes. Concrete canvas. Fold-up houses. Snap-together houses. Houses you can build in a day. Houses you can print in a week. And now, apparently, houses you could grow in a field.

If you’re new to offsite construction, this might sound wild. If you’ve been around as long as I have, you simply nod and say, “Well, that’s interesting. Tell me about the supply chain.”

Because that’s where the humor stops and the real conversation begins.

The construction industry is facing a reality that we can’t ignore. Cement production is responsible for a significant portion of global carbon emissions. Traditional materials are expensive, volatile, and heavily dependent on global logistics. Meanwhile, builders are struggling with cost, labor shortages, and regulatory pressures that make even simple projects feel like climbing Everest in flip-flops.

So along comes an idea like CornCrete, and suddenly it makes sense. If you can replace part of traditional concrete with plant-based or bio-derived components, reduce emissions, and still maintain structural performance, that’s not just clever—it’s potentially transformational.

And here’s the part most people miss: this isn’t really about corn.

It’s about rethinking what “standard building materials” even mean.

The same thing happened decades ago with OSB. Builders laughed at it. Today, you can’t build a house without it. The same with engineered lumber. The same with modular construction. The same with robotics. The same with BIM. Every innovation starts with skepticism and ends with a purchase order.

The combination of new materials and 3D printing could be one of those moments.

3D printing in construction is still searching for its breakthrough. It’s fast. It’s efficient. It’s fascinating to watch. But it needs materials that are affordable, scalable, and sustainable. If CornCrete or similar bio-materials can help achieve that, the technology moves from science project to serious business.

And that’s when investors, developers, and governments start paying attention.

Now let’s talk about the part nobody wants to say out loud.

If this works, it could disrupt more than just materials. It could reshape regional supply chains. Imagine local agricultural waste becoming a feedstock for local housing. Imagine rural economies playing a direct role in urban development. Imagine developers hedging against volatile global commodities by sourcing from local farms.

Suddenly, the joke about building homes from corn isn’t funny anymore. It’s strategic.

But, of course, the real test isn’t the lab. It’s the jobsite.

Can it pass building codes?
Can it scale?
Can it compete on price?
Can it be insured?
Can lenders finance it?
Can inspectors understand it?
Can developers trust it?

Those are the questions that determine whether an innovation survives or joins the long list of “great ideas that never made it out of the conference circuit.”

And let’s not forget the biggest obstacle of all: human nature.

If CornCrete performs perfectly, reduces costs, and cuts carbon emissions in half, there will still be people who object. Some will worry about durability. Others will question long-term performance. A few will simply say, “We’ve always done it this way.”

We’ve seen that movie before.

The truth is, the future of construction will not be built with one material or one technology. It will be built with many. Steel, wood, concrete, mass timber, composites, robotics, automation, and yes—possibly corn.

And maybe that’s the biggest lesson here. Innovation rarely looks serious at first. It often sounds strange, even ridiculous. But every once in a while, one of those strange ideas quietly becomes the new standard.

So while some of us may chuckle at the thought of 3D-printed corn homes today, the smart money is asking a different question:

What if this works?

Because if it does, the next time someone asks what your house is made of, you might find yourself answering with a straight face:

“Mostly corn. And it appreciates faster than soybeans.”

And if that happens, I promise I’ll be the first one to write the follow-up article—right after I check to see if it qualifies for farm subsidies.

If AI Can Solve Housing, Why Are Humans Still in the Way?

We may be living in the only time in history when we believe we can solve almost any problem on the planet.

Artificial intelligence is now capable of analyzing millions of data points, predicting trends, modeling scenarios, and offering solutions faster than a room full of experts who haven’t had their second cup of coffee yet. Housing affordability, labor shortages, zoning gridlock, supply chain disruptions—none of these are mysteries anymore. AI could probably give us ten workable strategies before your breakfast toast pops up.

So the obvious question becomes: if we have the tools, why aren’t we fixing the problems?

Here’s the uncomfortable answer. The real obstacle isn’t technology. It’s us.

The moment AI produces a thoughtful, well-researched, data-driven solution to affordable housing, human beings will immediately begin picking it apart. Within minutes. Not hours. Not days. Minutes. Someone will say it’s unrealistic. Someone else will say it’s too aggressive. Another will say it doesn’t consider local character. A fourth will say it’s politically impossible. By lunchtime, we’ll have formed three committees, two task forces, and a subcommittee to determine whether the first committee should continue meeting.

And none of that will be AI’s fault.

Let’s be honest. This isn’t new. We’ve been here before—long before anyone ever heard the term artificial intelligence. Back in the 1960s, there were bold, ambitious housing programs. Many had strong backing, serious funding, and clear urgency.

Yet in most cases, they stalled. Not because the ideas were bad. Not because the need disappeared. But because human beings stepped in and made the process complicated, political, and, eventually, unworkable.

The root of the problem is something we rarely talk about. It’s our deep, unshakable need to inject our personal opinions into everything.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Opinions are not evil. In fact, many of them protect us. Zoning laws, safety codes, financing standards, environmental reviews, and logistics planning all exist for good reasons. They prevent disasters, protect homeowners, and maintain community standards. But when every individual opinion becomes a veto, progress slows to a crawl. Add in one passionate neighbor with a well-printed protest sign, and suddenly a good project turns into a decade-long debate.

We’ve all seen it happen. One person stands up and says, “This doesn’t fit our neighborhood.” Another says, “What about traffic?” A third asks, “Who will live there?” And just like that, a workable plan becomes a steaming pile of paper studies, public hearings, and canceled contracts.

The irony, of course, is that I’m expressing an opinion right now. I’m blaming people for the housing crisis. Which, if we’re being honest, is also just my opinion. Somewhere out there is another writer saying the opposite. And they are equally convinced they are right.

So what can we do?

Over the years, I’ve joked—only half joking—that the solution is simple. Gather the smartest people in housing. Lock them in a room. Give them paper and pencils. Tell them they have eight hours to solve one specific problem. No phones. No committees. No press releases. No PowerPoint slides. And they don’t get to leave until they agree on something practical. Hang a big NIKE poster on the wall that says, “Just do it.”

Of course, that will never happen.

Because the moment someone suggests locking the experts in a room, another group will demand to know who selected the experts. A third group will say the room isn’t inclusive enough. A fourth will ask whether the pencils were sustainably sourced. And someone in the back will start a protest because they prefer pens.

That’s the real challenge. Not AI. Not technology. Not even money. It’s the messy, complicated, emotional, opinion-filled nature of being human.

And here’s the part nobody wants to admit. The same human qualities that slow progress are also the ones that make communities worth building in the first place. We care. We argue. We worry. We want things to be right.

So yes, AI will help. It will give us better answers, faster models, and clearer paths forward. But until we learn how to move from opinion to action, those answers will remain on screens, in reports, and in presentations at conferences where we all nod our heads and agree something should be done.

And then go back to doing exactly what we’ve always done.

But that’s just my opinion.

Risk Management in Volumetric Housing: Why Everyone Owns a Piece of It

When people talk about volumetric construction, they usually focus on speed, quality, and efficiency. What they don’t talk about nearly enough is risk. Yet every successful volumetric project is built on a foundation of risk management long before the first module is designed or the first wall is framed in a factory.

Risk in volumetric housing isn’t owned by one company. It’s shared. Developers, lenders, manufacturers, transport companies, set crews, builders, inspectors, and even local officials all carry a portion of it. The challenge is that each group often sees risk through its own narrow lens. The developer worries about financing and absorption. The factory worries about production schedules and payment milestones. The lender focuses on collateral and timing. Meanwhile, the builder and set crew are concerned about site readiness, crane availability, and weather. If these viewpoints aren’t aligned early, small problems quickly grow into expensive surprises.

The biggest misconception is that volumetric construction reduces risk automatically. In reality, it shifts risk. Instead of unpredictable jobsite delays, the risk moves upstream into design decisions, supply chain reliability, and coordination. A single late approval, incomplete set of drawings, or change order at the wrong time can ripple through the entire project. Modules can sit in the yard, transportation windows can be missed, and financing costs can climb. Speed becomes a liability if the project isn’t ready to receive it.

Smart teams understand that risk management in volumetric construction begins with transparency. Clear communication, realistic schedules, detailed preconstruction planning, and well-structured contracts are not optional—they are survival tools. The most successful projects bring every major party to the table early, openly discussing concerns, responsibilities, and contingencies. They ask uncomfortable questions before the project begins instead of during a crisis.

This short article is only the starting point. In the coming weeks, I’ll be taking a deeper dive into risk management in volumetric housing—looking at how each stakeholder, from developers to factory owners to transport and set crews, can identify hidden risks and take practical steps to lower them. Because in this business, managing risk isn’t just about avoiding failure. It’s about creating the confidence needed to scale volumetric construction into the future.

They Leaned Forward. Then Went Back to Building the Same Way.

If you’ve ever sat in the audience at IBS, you know exactly what I’m about to say. If you haven’t, picture this.

Hundreds of speakers. Thousands of attendees. Big ideas about housing, affordability, disaster recovery, workforce shortages, and the future of construction. The slides are polished. The statistics are impressive. The words “innovation,” “disruption,” and “transformation” are used so often they should be printed on the back of the conference badges.

And yet, year after year, most of the same people go home and do exactly what they did before they arrived.

This year, something struck me harder than usual. I began noticing patterns—not in the presentations, but in the people.

I find it fascinating, and honestly a little frustrating, that once people have a pattern or philosophy stuck in their brain, they have very little tolerance for change. That’s something I’m learning all over again at IBS this year. Open-minded people are both rare and a real treasure.

The Moment Nobody Notices

One of the first sessions I attended Tuesday morning was a panel of four strong advocates for offsite construction. Each had a slightly different viewpoint. Each brought something useful to the table. I sat there with an open mind, which is how I try to approach everything in this industry. I listen. I observe. If I hear something new, I do the research before I form a judgment.

The audience should have been excited.

These speakers were explaining that the houses these builders and developers construct today—single-family, multi-family, and even large projects—are already part of the offsite construction ecosystem. Doors, windows, trusses, wall panels, cabinets, and mechanical systems are manufactured somewhere else and delivered to the jobsite. Controlled environments. Repetition. Quality control. Speed.

But here’s the problem.

Most builders and developers don’t think of these as “offsite.” They think of them the same way they think of sticks of lumber or five-gallon buckets of drywall mud. Just materials. Just stuff. Nothing revolutionary. Nothing that changes how they see themselves.

And that’s the mental wall the offsite industry keeps running into.

When Curiosity Shows Up

As the panel spoke, I did something most speakers don’t do. I watched the audience. Really watched them.

They were leaning forward.

That might sound like a small thing, but in a morning session at a major show, that’s a big deal. People were engaged. They were hearing something that challenged their long-held beliefs. They were connecting dots in their heads. Some were even nodding.

You could almost see the moment when a few of them realized, “Wait a minute. Maybe we’re already doing offsite.”

That’s the moment every innovator dreams about.

But here’s the part that frustrated me the most.

Nobody seemed to notice.

The speakers did their job. They lit the fire. They shifted the thinking. They planted the seed. But when the session ended, the crowd dispersed. People headed to the next talk, the coffee line, or the exhibit hall. And most likely, nobody will follow up with those builders and developers who were clearly curious.

That’s where our industry keeps dropping the ball.

We treat awareness as adoption.

We assume that because someone leaned forward in their seat, they are ready to change how they build. They aren’t. They are curious. Curious is not the same as committed.

The Real Barrier Isn’t Technology

Here’s a hard truth.

The offsite industry doesn’t have a technology problem. It doesn’t have a cost problem. It doesn’t even have a regulatory problem.

It has a psychology problem.

Builders are not resistant to innovation because they are closed-minded. They are resistant because they are protecting their livelihood. One bad decision, one failed system, one project that goes sideways, and years of reputation and profit can disappear.

Most builders are not anti-offsite. They are anti-risk.

The Industry Has Already Crossed the Line

The irony is that many of them have already crossed the offsite threshold. They just don’t realize how far they’ve gone. Over decades, they have slowly adopted manufactured components because each step felt safe. No big leap. No major disruption. Just gradual evolution.

Trusses replaced stick framing in many markets. Factory-built windows replaced site-built ones. Cabinets, HVAC assemblies, and pre-hung doors became standard. None of this required a mental identity shift.

But volumetric, advanced panelization, and systemized building do.

And that’s where the real resistance begins—not because the systems don’t work, but because they force builders to rethink who they are.

Are they craftsmen?
Or are they system managers?

Are they builders?
Or are they assemblers?

That identity question is far more powerful than any cost comparison or productivity chart.

Comfort vs. Change

Here’s another uncomfortable truth.

Most speakers at IBS are not selling change. They are selling comfort. They talk about how their product or service fits easily into existing workflows. That’s fine, but real transformation never feels comfortable at first.

What’s missing is trust.

Builders do not adopt systems. They adopt people they trust.

That’s why small conversations often matter more than big presentations. That’s why builder breakfasts, peer-to-peer groups, and informal discussions move the industry forward more than keynote speeches.

And it’s why the future of offsite adoption will be driven by relationships, not PowerPoint slides.

What the Leaning Builders Actually Need

The builders who leaned forward in their seats Tuesday morning don’t need another presentation. They need someone to walk alongside them. They need pilot projects. They need real case studies. They need to hear from other builders who survived the learning curve.

They need a safe first step.

Without that, the spark dies.

And that’s the shame of it.

Because offsite is not coming. It’s already here. It’s embedded in the industry. It’s growing quietly. And eventually, yes, it will dominate construction in ways most people still can’t imagine.

But it will not happen because of technology alone. It will happen because someone takes the time to help builders change their comfort level.

That takes patience. It takes trust. And it takes a willingness to admit that human nature moves slower than innovation.

Stop Trying to Change Minds

So here’s my message to the offsite community.

Stop trying to change minds.

Start helping people change patterns.

And the next time you see a builder leaning forward in their seat, don’t let that moment walk out of the room.

Follow them. Talk with them. Build trust.

Because that leaning forward moment may be the beginning of the biggest transformation this industry has ever seen.

Another Modular Giant on the Brink. Are We Paying Attention Yet?

News that Harbinger Production—formerly known as Factory_OS—may close its Vallejo, California factory and lay off 280 employees should send a chill through anyone involved in offsite construction.

The company recently filed a legally required notice warning of possible layoffs later this year.

The reason? A familiar one in our industry: a lack of new contracts and the loss of capital funding. Still, company leadership says the shutdown isn’t a done deal. They are working hard to land new projects within the next 60 days in hopes of keeping the factory alive.

Harbinger has been a major player in modular housing, especially in affordable housing across the Bay Area. Since 2017, the company has produced roughly 4,000 units, with about 90 percent going toward affordable housing developments. That’s not just impressive—it’s meaningful. Their projects have helped communities, provided housing for those in need, and shown what factory-built housing can accomplish when everything aligns. But even the strongest offsite factories are vulnerable when the production pipeline runs dry. A modular factory without steady work is like a cruise ship without passengers. It doesn’t matter how beautiful or efficient the ship is—it still can’t move forward.

The company says it still has a strong pipeline of potential deals, but today’s gap in production has forced this warning. The carpenters union is actively working with Harbinger to prevent layoffs, and that collaboration is encouraging. In this business, survival often depends on partnerships—between factories, labor, developers, and government agencies. When one part of the ecosystem weakens, the entire system feels it.

Harbinger’s challenges also highlight a growing reality many in the offsite world are beginning to confront. Competition is no longer just local or regional. It’s national and global. Projects in California are now being built with modules manufactured in other states or even overseas, in China, for example. Lower labor costs, different regulations, and supply chain advantages are shifting the playing field. At the same time, lawsuits related to labor practices and unpaid suppliers add pressure and uncertainty, making it harder to attract investors and developers.

Workers at the Vallejo plant say uncertainty is high. Some management layoffs have already occurred, and employees worry that if the facility closes, they may struggle to find comparable union jobs nearby. For many, this is more than just a paycheck. Several workers spoke about the pride they feel in building housing for families and the homeless. That sense of purpose is something our industry often forgets to talk about—but it matters.

What’s happening at Harbinger is not an isolated story. It’s a snapshot of where offsite construction stands today. The promise remains strong. Building in factories can reduce costs, improve quality, and speed up timelines. But the business model is still fragile. Factories require steady work, strong capital, and long-term partnerships. Without those, even the most innovative operations can struggle.

The company points to upcoming state legislation and innovation initiatives that could support affordable housing production and modular construction. That may help. But legislation alone won’t save factories. What will make the difference is consistent demand, realistic project planning, and developers who commit to factory-built solutions over the long term—not just when it’s convenient.

If Harbinger secures new contracts, this story may turn into one of resilience and comeback. If not, it will become another cautionary tale. Either way, the lesson is clear. Offsite construction doesn’t fail because the idea is wrong. It struggles because the ecosystem around it is still learning how to support it.

And until that ecosystem matures, stories like this will continue to surface—reminding us that innovation in construction is as much about business discipline and partnerships as it is about technology and vision.

CLICK HERE to read the entire VallejoSun article

Gary Fleisher—known throughout the industry as The Modcoach—has been immersed in offsite and modular construction for over three decades. Beyond writing, he advises companies across the offsite ecosystem, offering practical marketing insight and strategic guidance grounded in real-world factory, builder, and market experience.

Why Affordable Housing Still Isn’t Served Warm: Too Many Chefs, No Recipe

Every time I attend the International Builders’ Show, housing conferences, and meetings, I hear hundreds of brilliant people talk about how to fix housing. Affordable housing. Disaster housing. Workforce housing. Homelessness.

After spending decades attending conferences and covering the evolution of offsite and site-built housing, I’ve noticed a pattern.

It’s not that the speakers are wrong. Most of them are smart. Well-meaning. Passionate. Dedicated. Many have spent their careers studying the problem. But when you sit through enough of these sessions, you begin to realize something troubling.

We’ve created an industry filled with chefs—but few good tasty recipes.

Imagine housing as a giant commercial kitchen. Forty world-class chefs walk in, each carrying their own ingredients. One believes the solution is modular. Another says zoning reform. A third pushes subsidies. A fourth wants technology. A fifth argues for design. A sixth insists financing is the only real problem.

None of them is wrong. But few of them are working together. Expertise, research, and innovation are essential. But without coordination, even the best ideas collide.

Instead of following a shared recipe, each chef starts cooking their own dish. They compete for attention, funding, and influence. They debate. They present slides. They talk about scalability. They critique each other’s approaches. They host panels. They create white papers.

Meanwhile, the people waiting for the meal—the builders, factory owners, developers, inspectors, tradespeople, and ordinary families—are still hungry.

And the kitchen?

It becomes a disaster.

Counters are cluttered. Ingredients are wasted. Time is gone. The fire alarm is ringing. Investors grow impatient. Communities lose trust. Builders walk away. Factories struggle. Projects stall. Regulations multiply. Costs rise.

And then something remarkable happens.

The chefs leave the room.

Not intentionally. They simply move on to the next conference, the next initiative, the next pilot program, the next grant cycle.

And ordinary people walk into the kitchen.

They weren’t invited. They weren’t keynote speakers. They don’t have a slide deck or a research paper. But they know something the chefs sometimes forget.

They know how to clean up.

They organize the mess. They figure out what ingredients are still usable. They throw away what doesn’t work. They put tools back in their place. They simplify. They communicate. They cooperate. They start over.

They don’t argue about who is right. They just want to get dinner on the table.

These are the real problem solvers in our industry. The offsite factory manager trying to hit production targets. The builder juggling supply chains and labor shortages. The developer fighting zoning battles. The transport company moving modules through impossible regulations. The inspector trying to keep projects moving without sacrificing safety.

They are embarrassed the professionals couldn’t work together.

But just as the kitchen begins to function again, the chefs return.

New ideas. New presentations. New funding. New frameworks. And the cycle starts all over.

This is why housing progress feels so slow. Not because we lack ideas. Not because we lack technology. Not because we lack passion.

We lack alignment.

At IBS this week, I hope we start asking a different question. Not “What is your solution?” but “How does your solution fit into a shared recipe?”

Because housing isn’t a single dish. It’s a coordinated meal. It requires planners, regulators, manufacturers, builders, investors, and communities to follow a common process—even if they bring different ingredients.

The offsite industry, in particular, understands this better than most. A factory cannot succeed unless design, engineering, production, transportation, site work, and financing all move together. One delay, one disconnect, and the entire system suffers.

Maybe the real opportunity isn’t another innovation.

Maybe it’s collaboration.

Maybe the most powerful person at IBS this year won’t be the keynote speaker or the visionary founder.

Maybe it will be the person quietly helping everyone else work together.

Because until we agree on the recipe, we will keep hosting conferences about hunger while the people we serve are still waiting for dinner.

And if we don’t change that soon, the ordinary people in our industry will keep cleaning up the mess—while the chefs keep talking about the next meal.

I’m Not Negative. I’m Just Not Lying to You - 10 Questions for Gary

People sometimes tell me I sound negative when I write about the modular and offsite industry—like I’m the guy who keeps bringing up the storm clouds during the picnic. But here’s the truth: I’ve seen too many good people and great ideas get buried under the industry’s own silence. I don’t write to tear anyone down; I write to wake the industry up. If that makes me the pessimist in the room, fine—I’d rather be accused of honesty than hide behind polite applause.

Here are 10 questions about why I write what I do:

1. Why do I write so many articles about failure?

Because failure is the most honest teacher this business has. Every “overnight success” factory has a backroom full of mistakes, and ignoring that history just guarantees a sequel. I write about failure so the next person doesn’t have to relive it.

2. Why not just focus on success stories?

Because success without context is a bedtime story. I’ve been inside those factories, met the people who pulled off the miracles, and seen what it cost them. The wins mean more when you understand what almost broke them.

3. Am I trying to stir things up?

If the truth shakes people awake, then yes. I’m not here to make everyone comfortable. I’m here to make the industry think. We’ve got enough cheerleaders; what we need are more people willing to point out the potholes before we drive into them.

4. Do I enjoy criticizing people?

Not even a little. I enjoy helping good ideas survive bad decisions. When I write about weak leadership, toxic managers, or clueless investors, it’s not out of spite—it’s out of experience. I’ve watched too many companies collapse because no one had the guts to say what everyone already knew.

5. Why do I focus more on business than technology?

Because the smartest robot or AI system won’t save a company that can’t manage cash flow or communication. This industry keeps chasing shiny tools when the real innovation we need is better management and accountability.

6. Why don’t I sugarcoat things?

Because sugarcoating is for donuts, not construction. People deserve the truth, even when it stings. If my words make someone uncomfortable, good—that means they hit close enough to fix something.

7. Have I been called a pessimist?

All the time. But I’m not pessimistic—I’m seasoned. I’ve seen factories rise, fall, and rise again. I write with the memory of every missed opportunity and every hard-won victory. That’s not negativity—it’s clarity.

8. What keeps me writing after all these years?

Curiosity and love for the people in this business. Every week, someone does something brilliant or boneheaded—and both are worth writing about. I keep typing because the story keeps unfolding.

9. What do I want readers to take away?

That hope and honesty can live in the same paragraph. You can believe in the future of offsite construction without pretending everything’s fine. My goal isn’t to scold; it’s to push us toward doing better.

10. What’s my writing philosophy in one sentence?

Tell the truth, make it readable, and never sound like a press release.

My Final Thoughts:

I don’t write because it’s easy—I write because somebody has to. The offsite and modular world is full of incredible people trying to change how we build. My job is to remind us not to lose our way while we’re doing it. If that means sounding like the grumpy old realist in the back of the room, so be it. At least I’m still in the room—and still writing.